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Movie Review

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Jamie Lee Curtis reprises her role as Laurie Strode for the final time. Photo courtesy of Universal Pictures

Reviewed by Jeffrey Sanzel

After nearly forty-five years and thirteen installments, the Halloween franchise comes to a close. Halloween Ends is the third in David Gordon Green’s reboot that began with Halloween (2018) and Halloween Kills (2021). John Carpenter’s 1978 Halloween remains one of the finest horror films of the modern era, while the ensuing sequels and revisions produced diminishing returns.

A scene from ‘Halloween Ends’ Photo courtesy of Universal Pictures

Halloween Ends opens in 2019, three years after Halloween Kills, culminating with Michael Myers slaughtering an entire mob. Twenty-one-year-old Corey Cunningham (Rohan Campbell) accidentally causes the death of his rambunctious babysitting charge, Jeremy Allen (Jaxon Goldenberg), witnessed by the boy’s parents (Candice Rose and Jack William Marshall) as they return from an office party. It is an effective moment, one that is truly horrifying.

The film jumps forward three years to the present. A seemingly healed Laurie Strode (Jamie Lee Curtis) works on her memoir while facing the town’s anger; residents of Haddonfield hold Laurie responsible for Michael Meyer’s rampage. Laurie’s orphaned granddaughter Allyson Nelson (Andi Matichak), shares her new house. Considering the occurrences of four years prior, she also seems rather well-adjusted.

In a chance meeting, Laurie encounters Corey, who has just been terrorized by a quartet of high school band students. Corey, like Laurie, is a pariah in the community. While acquitted, he remains an outcast, replacing the seemingly absent Michael Myers. Corey is the new boogeyman. To treat his injured hand, Laurie takes Corey to the medical office where Allyson works, setting up the pair—a choice she quickly regrets. Allyson is immediately attracted to the shy, awkward Corey, and they become involved. 

After Jeremy’s mother chases Corey from a Halloween party, the bullies throw him off a bridge. He awakes in a sewer, confronted by Michael Myers (played by Nick Castle and James Jude Courtney). In a new twist, the killer sees Corey’s history in the boy’s eyes and lets him go. Immediately following, while defending himself, Corey accidentally kills a homeless man. With this encounter, the film takes a new path, tracking Corey as he assumes the mantle of Michael Myers. 

The disastrous Halloween Kills was a pointless movie, a meandering bloodbath created as a tensionless placeholder between the first and final chapters. Halloween Ends attempts to cover bigger and deeper territory. The film meditates on trauma and healing in individuals and the community. Discussions of evil entwine, questioning whether it is inherent or a result of circumstances—the nature versus nurture argument. Unusually, Michael functions as symbol and slasher. 

While Halloween Kills focused on mob mentality and the resulting violence, Halloween Ends offers a subtler perspective. Laurie refers to Haddonfield as “a plague of grief, of blame, of paranoia.” Pervading is the sense that the town must always have scapegoats—in this case, Corey, the “psychopath babysitter,” and Laurie, “the freak show.” Laurie parses the evil without—the threat to the tribe—and the malevolence within—likened to a core sickness. Evil does not die; it changes shape. Strangely—and out of place—thoughts of forgiveness are also introduced late in the action. These heady concepts stir a more interesting mix, but while raising many theories, most remain muddled and inconclusive. 

Like the previous film, the dialogue is stiff, declarative, and occasionally cringeworthy. A character states: “If I can’t have her, no one will.” Among the most puzzling pieces: Why would a devastated town continue to celebrate Halloween? Also, drawing the connection between Michael and Corey becomes tenuous. Part of Michael’s gestalt is the random and passionless kills. Corey murders predominantly for revenge, harkening to films such as Carrie or even Willard, where a bullied victim seeks retribution. Corey even has the caricature battle-axe mother (Joanne Baron), both smothering and abusive. However, clever references to the first film pepper the movie, particularly in Laurie and Michael’s final encounter.

Curtis, who was sidelined in the second film, spending much of the action in a hospital bed, takes center. Making her seventh appearance in the franchise, she presents both a grand and intimate farewell performance. Curtis owns her scenes with a strength not seen since the original. Matichak matches her as the self-actualized Allyson. Campbell’s burgeoning monster hits most of the right notes, but the predictability stymies surprise.

Thinly drawn characters driving the action populate the rest of the film. Will Patton’s Deputy Frank Hawkins is a bit too “aw-shucks” in his enamorment of Laurie. Jesse C. Boyd, who plays Allyson’s cop ex-boyfriend, is introduced to be easily dispatched. Keraun Harris, as disc jockey Willy the Kid, wandered in from a different film of a different era.

Halloween Ends delivers the promised finish. The trilogy concludes with a communal action that leaves little doubt, with no cheat teased in the credits suggesting a return. But horror movies have a way of reinventing their mythologies as needed. Is Michael Myers truly gone? That remains to be seen. To cite the misquoted Mark Twain, “Reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated.” 

Rated R, the film is now playing in local theaters and streaming on Peacock.

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Billy Eichner (with glasses) and Luke Macfarlane in a scene from the film. Photo courtesy of Universal Pictures

Reviewed by Jeffrey Sanzel

For the most part, romantic comedies are predictable fare. From When Harry Met Sally and Notting Hill to the churned-out Hallmark Channel pablum, they trade surprise for pleasant comfort, rarely deviating from standard boy-meets-girl tropes. Gay characters are relegated to secondary or peripheral positions. Most commonly, they appear as best friends, dispensing sympathy and advice laden with snarky quips. 

The hilarious, delightful Bros is a wholly original comedy that honors the traditional but celebrates what makes the culture and community different. It is not a gay version of a straight movie. Instead, it smartly tells a distinctly gay story in its own voice. It is also the first gay rom-com from a major studio (Universal); nearly the entire cast and crew are people who have lived the experience.

Billy Eichner (with glasses) and Luke Macfarlane in a scene from the film. Photo courtesy of Universal Pictures

At the center of Bros is Bobby Lieber, played with the right balance of angst and insight by Billy Eichner. Eichner, who has co-written the screenplay with Nicholas Stoller, created a more subdued but no less colorful version of his Billy on the Street persona. Eichner’s Bobby is a fully realized character with a host of neuroses and a fierce independence. 

Bobby is leaving his podcast/radio show, The Eleventh Brick at Stonewall, to become a curator for Manhattan’s National LGBTQ+ History Museum. While attending the launch of a new gay dating app, Bobby meets the handsome Aaron Shepard (Luke Macfarlane). After a brief flirtation, no sparks seem to be in evidence. But eventually, after spending a day together, the commitment-challenged pair begin a complicated relationship.

The film follows Bobby and Adam’s struggle to find common ground. While both men deny the value of monogamy, their journey is a push-me-pull-you battle. At heart, Bobby questions whether he could even be loved, especially by someone as good-looking as Adam. Mismatched, Bobby observes, “You’re like a gay Boy Scout, and I’m whatever happened to Evan Hansen.” Self-effacing to the point of self-destruction, Bobby eventually accepts that there could be a life with Adam. The road is fraught with potholes and leads to some very surprising places. But under Stoller’s excellent direction, the story is clear.

Running in the background are “Hallheart” holiday movies such as the bisexual Christmas with Either and the polyamorous A Holly, Poly Christmas along with Have Yourself a Heteronormative Christmas and Miracle on 34th Street But There’s One Gay Guy. These, along with discussions of straight actors co-opting gay stories as Oscar bait, make a strong comment on the cinematic industry. (In a flashback, Bobby suffers through an interview by a studio executive who wants him to shoehorn a gay love story into straight parameters. Jaw dropped, he responds, “Our relationships are different! Our sex is different!”)

Bros is never cloying or indulgent, addressing the characters’ doubts and fears head-on. Often wickedly self-satirizing, at an LGBTQ ceremony, Bobby receives “Best Cis Male Gay Man.” The award is presented by Kristin Chenoweth, adorned in a hat with a revolving replica of the Stonewall Inn. The museum staff meetings cheekily spoof personal agendas, with fractious disagreements over the Hall of Bisexuals and Abraham Lincoln’s sexuality. Even the end of Bobby and Adam’s first date pulls back to one of the funniest and most telling reveals. Harvey Fierstein cameos as a bed-and-breakfast owner, poignantly sharing his losses, but parts with the film’s best throwaway and outrageous exit lines. One of the culminating moments includes the Haunted House of Gay Trauma rollercoaster. 

The writing is funny and sharp, ranging from subtly wry to uproarious. Bobby is both in denial and hyper-self-aware. He acknowledges he does not let things go. As for relationships, “No one’s more emotionally unavailable than me.” But his humanity plays throughout the entire film. In a particularly powerful moment, he shares the experience of seeing Love! Valor! Compassion! when he was twelve, while seated between his parents.

The cast is exceptional, with a wide LGBTQ+ representation. Each actor brings a different and unique shade to the overall tapestry. As Bobby states, “We are not a monolithic group.” Macfarlane is charming and dimensional as Luke. When Bobby is to meet Luke’s upstate family, Luke makes a difficult request: “Be less yourself for three hours; I want them to like you.” Somehow, Macfarlane navigates these dangerous waters by showing Luke’s vulnerability. Guy Branum has the perfect deadpan as Bobby’s best friend, Henry. Ts Madison, Dot-Marie Jones, Miss Lawrence, Eve Lindley, and Jim Rash are flawless as the museum staff. Debra Messing is pitch-perfect, playing a desperate version of herself.

Bros never eschews the many rom-com essentials: the montage, dancing on the beach, Christmas in the City. Even the song climactic song “Love Is Not Love” both celebrates and parodies. But Bros is a fresh, bold take on the genre. Unusual? Absolutely. But one of the best romantic comedies in many years.

Rated R, the film is now playing in local theaters.

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Kathy Najimy, Bette Midler and Sarah Jessica Parker are back in 'Hocus Pocus 2'. Photo from Disney+

Reviewed by Jeffrey Sanzel

In 1993, Disney released the comedy-fantasy Hocus Pocus. The film starred Bette Midler, Sarah Jessica Parker, and Kathy Najimy as the Sanderson Sisters — Winifred, Sarah, and Mary. After their execution in Salem in 1693, the trio of witches are accidentally resurrected three centuries later. Directed by Kenny Ortega from a screenplay by Neil Cuthbert and Mick Garris, the film received negative reviews, and the studio lost over $16 million. However, Hocus Pocus became a cult favorite, with home viewing a Halloween tradition.

Now Disney offers a direct-to-streaming sequel helmed by a completely new production team. Anne Fletcher directs Jen D’Angelo’s script of Hocus Pocus 2. 

Sarah Jessica Parker, Bette Midler and Kathy Najimy with the Book of Spells. Photo from Disney+

The prologue, set in Salem in 1653, shows the young Sanderson Sisters (played with great humor by Taylor Paige Henderson as teenage Winifred, Nina Kitchen as young Mary, and Juju Journey Brener as the child Sarah) confronted by the puritanical Reverend Traske. The minister wants to marry off Winifred on this, her sixteenth birthday. The girls flee to the woods, where they encounter Mother Witch (a nice cameo by Ted Lasso’s Hannah Waddingham). The mysterious sorceress provides them with the spell book that brings them into a life of the occult.

The action jumps to the present: Halloween, 29 years after the first film’s events. Becca and her best friend, Izzy, celebrate her sixteenth birthday with a ritual in the woods. Having received the infamous black flame candle from Gilbert, the owner of the Olde Salem Magic Shoppe, Becca and Izzy accidentally conjure the witches. The newly restored enchantresses announce their desire for revenge on all of Salem. The ensuing plot rehashes much of the original film: similar situations, clumsy jokes, and mid-range magical effects.

The Sanderson Sisters visit Walgreens in a scene from the film. Photo from Disney+

The sequel’s sole reason is the return of Midler, Parker, and Najimy. The roles have achieved a certain iconography, not-so-subtly parodied. Halloween celebrants and trick-or-treaters traipse through, dressed in identical costumes. The gag builds to a look-a-like contest featuring outrageous drag queens (RuPaul’s Drag Race’s Ginger Minj, Kornbread Jeté, and Kahmora Hall). 

The usual time-travelers-out-of-time setups include a requisite but amusing visit to Walgreens. Here, Becca and Izzy convince the Sanderson Sisters the plethora of beauty products contain children’s souls. The visit ends with Midler flying off on a broom, Parker on a Swiffer, and Najimy balancing on a pair of Roombas. They conspire, bicker, and sing snatches of popular songs with alternate lyrics. Nothing new is on offer, but the drive is nostalgia, not reinvention. They truly are the “Gothic Golden Girls.”

Belissa Escobedo, Whitney Peak and Lilia Buckingham in a scene from the movie. Photo from Disney+

However, what works surprisingly well is the young cast. Whitney Peak is wonderful, making Becca real, resourceful, and appealing. She lands her punchlines without precociousness. Her wryness perfectly complements Belisssa Escobedo’s Izzy. Escobedo’s mild handwringing and edge of perpetual panic make her the ideal foil for the cooler-headed Becca. Rounding out the trio is Lilia Buckingham as Cassie Traske, the girls’ estranged friend. While she is less prominent, when she finally reunites with her best friends, her presence provides the wide-eyed incredulity that helps drive the last act.

Tony Hale doubles as the fanatical seventeenth-century pastor and his descendant, Cassie’s goofy father, who happens to be the mayor and the witches’ prime target. Hale is a gifted comedian who makes the on-the-nose quips fun and even occasionally smart. Sam Richardson charmingly mines the slightly bumbling but well-meaning Gilbert. Returning from the original film, Doug Jones gives the same easy performance as the zombie Billy Butcherson. Froy Gutierrez earns honest laughs as Mike, Cassie’s clueless boyfriend.

In the end, Hocus Pocus 2 covers little new territory. The film is often loud and busy, where it could have been clever. Many jokes are forced and do not necessarily play. 

Kathy Najimy, Bette Midler and Sarah Jessica Parker are back in ‘Hocus Pocus 2’. Photo from Disney+

Both films possess an After School Special vibe, but the core issue of the candle lit by a virgin makes for some interesting lunchroom conversation with the elementary school set. But the ending takes a different tone from the original, building to lessons about sharing power and the value of personal connection. The message is very traditional Disney and makes for a sweet resolution. For fans of the original, the film will be a welcome Halloween treat. For the rest, Hocus Pocus 2 is a harmless, if predictable, holiday outing. 

Rated PG, the film is now streaming on Disney+.

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Florence Pugh and Harry Styles in a scene from the film. Photo courtesy of Warner Bros. Pictures

Reviewed by Jeffrey Sanzel

Actor Olivia Wilde made her directorial debut with Booksmart (2019), a coming-of-age comedy about high school seniors looking to break the rules on their final day of classes. The hugely successful film received critical accolades, landed on multiple top-ten lists, and garnered many nominations. 

Florence Pugh and Harry Styles in a scene from the film. Photo courtesy of Warner Bros.

Unfortunately, Wilde’s sophomore outing, Don’t Worry Darling (New Line Cinemas), is an empty, tedious psychological thriller that borrows liberally but poorly from better and smarter films.

Perfect couple Alice (Florence Pugh) and Jack (Harry Styles) reside in an idyllic 1950s community in a seemingly perpetually honeymoon of romance, domesticity, and sex. The California oasis, all sunlight and happiness, is the town of Victory; the name derives from the mysterious company for which the men work. 

Each morning, the wives stand on their perfectly manicured lawns and bid goodbye to their spouses, who join an automotive caravan into the adjunct desert where they labor on an unnamed project. The stay-at-home wives clean, cook, and then visit the club pool where they while away the day gossiping. They vaguely speculate on the corporation’s actual work, discouraged from questioning their husbands on the much-lauded “development of progressive materials.” The Stepford vibe permeates the entire film.

Olivia Wilde and Nick Kroll in a scene from the film. Photo courtesy of Warner Bros. 

The company/community is the brainchild of Frank (Chris Pine), a cult-like figure who stares and smirks and even watches as the happy couple has sex in his kitchen. He leads the group in question-response mantras: “What is the enemy of progress?” “Chaos.” “What are we doing?” “Changing the world.” References to family and to “the mission” are trotted out. The generic catchphrases somehow overwhelm the attempts at tension, resulting in an underwhelming blandness. As Frank lords over the men, his wife, Shelly (Gemma Chan), dominates the women. In a dance class, she encourages them to chant, “There is beauty in control. There is grace in symmetry. We move as one.”

Eventually, cracks begin to show, beginning with ostracized Margaret (KiKi Layne), who went with her son out into the forbidden desert but returned without him. At an afternoon gathering, Margaret claims that Victory took her son away from her, and her husband quickly subdues her. The community sees Margaret as mentally imbalanced and dismisses her accusation. However, there are other indications that something is not wholly right or real in this utopia: A topless woman strolls poolside. Freedom in language uncommon in the period. Jack’s strange dance when he is promoted to the inner circle. Whole eggs that are empty. In the midst of this, Alice has visions and hallucinations, driving her to question the fabric of her life.

Florence Pugh and Harry Styles in a scene from the film. Photo courtesy of Warner Bros.

Conceptually, there is little new on offer in Don’t Worry Darling. The ideas have been presented in countless films. And while there is much that is stylish in the design and Matthew Libatique’s rich and often sunbaked cinematography, the action becomes predictable and repetitive, plodding along with few surprises. 

Florence Pugh gives the scream queen Alice as many dimensions as possible. She is a riveting and honest performer and creates a dimensional woman questioning both her world and her sanity. Pugh makes every moment count as she battles with an ever smaller grasp of reality and what seems to be communal gaslighting.

Styles’ Jack is stiff in a stiff role and incapable of raising the (possibly intentionally?) stilted dialogue. Chris Pine succeeds to a certain extent in the enigmatic Frank, but there is a certain lack of texture to his villain. Wilde is strong as the gossipy and slightly bullying Bunny, Alice’s confidant. Late in the film, she has the most powerful revelation, one of the few moments that manages to be chilling and cathartic. Gemma Chan finds the right balance in the ice princess Shelley. Timothy Simmons provides a creepy, if obvious, doctor, playing it just to the edge of too much. The supporting cast fills out the town ensemble but is given little else: the men curry favor with Frank, the women with Shelley. 

A great deal of publicity has swirled around the film, with backlot drama—initially between the director and the originally cast Jack, Shia LaBeouf, and later between the director and Pugh. But, in the end, the white noise is irrelevant.

And while Don’t Worry Darling attempts to make statements about society and gender roles, the pretentious screenplay by Katie Silberman (from a story by Silberman, Carey Van Dyke, and Shane Van Dyke) fails to answer any of them. Wilde’s showy but hollow direction does nothing to solve the problems or enhance the experience. In the end, Don’t Worry Darling becomes relentless shrill, building to an ambiguously frustrating cheat of an ending.

Rated R, the film is now playing in local theaters.

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Tom Hanks, right, stars in 'Pinocchio,' which uses both live action elements and animation. Pinocchio, left, is voiced by Benjamin Evan Ainsworth. Photo courtesy of Disney +

Reviewed by Jeffrey Sanzel

Disney continues to revisit its animated classics as source material for live-action films. These include 101 Dalmatians (along with a sequel and a prequel), Alice in Wonderland, Sleeping Beauty (Maleficent, with its shifted point-of-view), Cinderella, Beauty and the Beast, Dumbo, Aladdin, The Lion King, Lady and the Tramp, and Mulan. Most have received mixed reactions, but this has not stemmed the flow. Added to this list is the newly released Pinocchio, now streaming on Disney+.

Cynthia Erivo is the Blue Fairy in ‘Pinocchio’

Pinocchio finds its origins in the children’s novel The Adventures of Pinocchio. Italian writer Carlo Collodi wrote of a Tuscan woodcarver named Geppetto who creates a wooden puppet who dreams of becoming a real boy. The name “Pinocchio” is a combination of the Italian words pino (pine) and occhio (eye). The character’s iconography and adventures bridge three centuries: The puppet dreams of being, given spirit guides, and a nose that grows when he lies (occurring only once in the novel). 

Disney’s Pinocchio (1940) deservedly earns the accolade “masterpiece.” Pinocchio, the follow-up to the studio’s Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs (1937), is only equaled by its predecessor. Three years in the making, Pinocchio was a critical hit. Writing in The Hollywood Reporter, the unnamed staff writer described the film in glowing terms: “… the picture is a masterpiece which sets another milestone along the road of screen entertainment …. a new source of joy for which [the creators] deserve and will receive the gratitude of millions who will see it.”

A scene from Disney’s ‘Pinocchio.’

Pinocchio has been seen on both the big and small screens nearly two dozen times. Casts have included the Pinocchio’s of Sandy Duncan, Paul Reubens (a.k.a. Pee-Wee Herman), Jonathan Taylor Thomas, and Roberto Benigni. Geppettos include Burl Ives, Danny Kaye, Martin Landau, Carl Reiner, and Drew Carey. In addition, a host of famous actors appeared in supporting roles.

For the newest incarnation, director Robert Zemeckis has co-adapted the screenplay with Chris Weitz, but the entire film feels like a scene-for-scene remake of the original. Where it attempts to find something new, the substitution does nothing to enhance the storytelling. Instead, it is different for its own sake. 

A few new elements are introduced into the plot but add little to the overall effect, with even the best moments falling short. “Clever” touches receive acknowledgment—cuckoo-clocks with Disney images (Snow White, Roger Rabbit, Sleeping Beauty, etc.)—but seem slightly out-of-place. The mix of live actors and CGI results in the “real” people appearing as if traveling through a virtual reality app. 

Tom Hanks is Gepetto îs Disney’s ‘Pinocchio’

The story remains the same. Inventor Geppetto fashions Pinocchio and wishes upon a star. The puppet then finds himself duped into various dangerous scenarios: encountering the fox and the cat who sell him to Stromboli, the wicked puppeteer; the journey to Pleasure Island where the children are turned into donkeys and sold; being swallowed by a sea monster; etc. Pinocchio’s spiritual guides are, of course, Jiminy Cricket and the Blue Fairy. 

Tom Hanks makes a heartfelt Geppetto, a widower in mourning for his wife and son. He infuses the character with a deep kindness interwoven with a fragile and broken soul. He puts a smile on the puppet so he will “always be happy.” The image of his setting out to find Pinocchio, packing his beloved cat, Figaro, and cradling his adored fish, Cleo, is touching. One could wish Hanks’ make-up to be a little less extreme, with bushy hair, mustache, and eyebrows worthy of their own zip code. 

Cynthia Erivo makes a beautiful, fully present Blue Fairy. The voice work is good, with Benjamin Evan Ainsworth’s sweet and never saccharine Pinocchio. Joseph Gordon-Levitt gives Jiminy Cricket a southern flavor but conveys his concern as the puppet’s conscience. Lorraine Bracco (a friendly seagull) and Keegan-Michael Key, as Honest John, the con-fox, are fine if a bit one note.

The story’s heart remains to be “real” is to be brave, honest, and unselfish. While spelled out clearly, the concept sometimes gets lost in the visual noise. The pacing is uneven and often slow. The comic violence (Stromboli locking Pinocchio in a case) feels jarringly vicious. Jokes referencing Chris Pine, agents, taxes, and educational curriculum do not land so much as thud. The original music is oddly utilized and snuck in, almost as spoken verse and Alan Silvestri’s new songs unfortunately fail to enhance the film. In the end, Pinocchio feels like light-beer-and-water: all the same but less.

Upcoming and in development are live-action versions of The Little Mermaid, Peter Pan (as Peter Pan and Wendy), Snow White, Hercules, The Hunchback of Notre Dame, The Sword in the Stone, Robin Hood, Bambi, The Aristocats, and Lilo and Stitch along with sequels to The Lion King (Mufasa: The Lion King), Aladdin, The Jungle Book, and Cruella. With the track record of previous adaptations, one must wonder—other than money—what Disney hopes to gain. 

Rated PG, Pinocchio is now streaming on Disney +.

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Nathalie Emmanuel in a scene from 'The Invitation' Photo courtesy of SONY Pictures

Reviewed by Jeffrey Sanzel

Who doesn’t like a good vampire movie? Clearly, the creators of The Invitation. “Creators” might be inaccurate. “Responsible parties” is probably more apt. But, in what may be the only horror movie inspired by a DNA kit, the disastrous 104-minute mess manages to be witless, tiresome, and pointless. 

The film opens with a severe case of “we’re going to tell you stuff.” Evelyn “Evie” Jackson struggles as a cater-server with past due bills and aspirations of being an artist. (Her medium is ceramics, not pottery, as she later corrects her host.) Now orphaned after the passing of her mother a few months before, she floats and frets and treads water (not unlike the film). 

Through a genetic test, Evie connects with the English part of her family. Revealed is a history of a footman’s affair with an aristocrat, an escape, and a few other bits revealed throughout the exposition. 

Cousin Oliver just happens to be in New York City on business. He invites Evie to a family wedding in Yorkshire. She bids goodbye to her wisecracking, sassy best friend, packs up, and off she goes, arriving at the estate of the DeVilles. Yes. The DeVilles. Sadly, this is not even the least subtle element of the film. That ignominious award goes to the “sly” Dracula references, including the location being New Carfax, in Whitby, as well as a couple in the village named Harker. And so, it goes.

Quickly, Evie senses that all is not right in this Downton Abbey from Heck. Her idyll adventure becomes sort of an “Eat-Slay-Love” scenario as she becomes involved with Walter, the handsome young lord of the manor. She encounters a range of characterless family members — “patriarch with an eye patch,” “butler who mumbles to himself as he dispatches the hired help,” “worried ladies’ maid,” and other stock figures who are an insult to clichés. 

There is no shortage of moving shadows, darting hands, and creepy whispers on the grounds. The house sports barred windows with sharp points, a mysterious library, candles that go out, and gramophones that turn themselves on. 

The screenplay, by Blair Butler, seems to be absent of original thought and does nothing to help Jessica M. Thompson’s thrill-less, leaden direction. The Invitation might be the least erotic vampire movie of all time. The scene containing the most tension features a manicure and the obligatory cutting of the finger so that someone can suck the blood. 

Lines such as “I feel like I’m going crazy” are only equaled by the equally trite “I want to live life fully. Throw caution to the wind …” When Walter attempts to open up to Evie, the dialogue gives new meaning to cringe-worthy: “I’m tired of the façade. Of keeping up appearances … It’s isolating. I want someone to see me for who I truly am. Someone who accepts me.” Poor, lonely vampire.

There are some explanations of rituals involving the dark lord’s need for three wives (i.e., the Brides of Dracula). The concept of mortals who enable the family is a novel idea. The idea that these surrounding sycophants are collaborators in the evil is intriguing. But, once introduced, the idea drops, and back we go to the tedium. The pedestrian “climax” fails to deliver on a nearly clever twist. The very brief and supposedly amusing epilogue does nothing to solve this dead end.

As far as the presence of gore, The Invitation is a bit bloody … bloody awful, bloody boring, a bloody waste of time.

Nathalie Emmanuel (Game of Thrones)  offers a strong, resourceful Evie and holds the focus. But the material limits her ability to show a great deal of range. Thomas Doherty offers a charmless Walter, more annoying than alluring. Hugh Skinner’s Cousin Oliver seems like a refugee from an earlier time; one expects him to come bounding in with a “tennis anyone?” Stephanie Corneliussen is the mean girl, and Alana Boden is the nice girl; the less said, the better.

At one point, Evie cries, “I want to go home.” (So did I). Shortly after, she asks, “Why are you doing this to me?” (A question I asked aloud to the empty theatre.) Eternal life may feel long, but not as long as this movie. Regarding this Invitation, I suggest RSVP “will NOT attend.”

Rated PG-13, the film is now playing in local theaters.

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Tilda Swinton a scene from the film. Photo courtesy of MGM

Reviewed by Jeffrey Sanzel

In description, the plot is simple. A woman finds a bottle and releases a djinn (i.e., genie). The Djinn grants her three wishes; this is a straightforward story told hundreds of times over thousands of years. But suppose the woman is a narratologist, a scholar studying the literary theories of narrative? Suppose she is an academic who understands the interconnective nature of stories? Althea Binnie understands that “wish stories” are cautionary morality tales and “wishing is a hazardous art.” Her knowledge makes her hesitant to ask for her heart’s desire. So, the Djinn shares the story of his incarcerations. The result is Three Thousand Years of Longing, a thoughtful rumination layered in concepts. While rich in emotional complexity, the depth might not be as profound as it hopes. 

Tilda Swinton and Idris Elba in scenes from ‘Three Thousand Years of Longing.’
Photo courtesy of MGM

Director George Miller has smartly co-adapted (with Augusta Gore) A.S. Byatt’s novella The Djinn in the Nightingale’s Eye. Drawing on a wealth of sources, Miller weaves elements nodding to One Thousand and One Nights, Canterbury Tales, The Decameron, Gilgamesh, and others into a meditative film that somehow still manages to maintain a raw intensity. Miller’s eclectic directing career has included the Mad Max series, The Witches of Eastwick, Lorenzo’s Oil, and Happy Feet. With Gore, he has infused the mostly serious screenplay with flashes of dry wit and a unique gallows humor.

Alithea leaves her London home and travels to a conference in Istanbul. Plagued by bizarre demonic hallucinations, the slightly damaged Alithea is withdrawn and almost taciturn. She purchases an innocuous glass bottle from the backroom of a small shop and, from this container, releases the Djinn. Immediately, she suspects the Djinn to be a trickster, the most common and traditional belief about these spirits.

As the Djinn relates his history, the pair open up to each other. His three personal stories, presented as offerings, create a symmetry with the three tendered wishes. The flashbacks are vividly created with the magic more in the telling and humanity than in the effects. 

He begins by relating his relationship with the Queen of Sheba and how Solomon incarcerated him for the first time. The next story jumps ahead to another court centuries later. The last encounter was in the 1800s when he found a love he desired more than his freedom. 

The framing device occurs in the Istanbul hotel room, where Alithea and the Djinn wrangle over conflicts and needs. Miller beautifully stylizes the merging of the past with the present and the present with fantasy. CGI is not overused, and whenever it is employed is effectively presented.

Tilda Swinton delicately assays the hyper-aware but sensitive and withdrawn Alithea with pain and hope. She yearns for more but expects nothing. Idris Elba’s melancholy Djinn matches her yearning but provides a grounding. The Djinn’s ability to adapt and grow earns Alithea’s trust, allowing her to help him escape being caught between realms that would leave him in oblivion. She learns that “we exist only if we are real to others.” Perfectly matched, these two actors embody the dust of humanity and the fire of a djinn. 

The featured cast populates the flashbacks with appropriately heightened, if slightly generic, performances — woodcuts and illustrations brought to life. The exception is Burcu Gölgedar, as Zefir, the object of the Djinn’s 19th-century passion, gives a ferocious portrait of a woman with an unquenchable passion for knowledge that nearly drives her mad. In addition, Melissa Jaffer and Anne Charleston share a hilarious cameo as Alithea’s bigoted London neighbors.

Much of the film focuses on the importance of stories and the art and act of storytelling. This roots in the idea that stories began as a way to explain existence and the unknown. Gradually, mythos gave way to science, the latter being “what we know … so far.” Gods outlived their purpose and were reduced to metaphor. These are heady topics, and occasionally Miller struggles to clarify so many ideas. However, his perfectly cast stars make these exchanges compelling, if not completely accessible. Wrapped in the mythology is the larger question: Can we escape fate? 

Perhaps the movie poses too many questions and fails to answer many of them. Its epic nature often conflicts with its desire to be an intimate romantic fantasy. But with the underlying passion in its lead performances, Three Thousand Years of Longing makes a strangely haunting and ultimately uplifting experience.

Rated R, the film is now playing in local theaters.

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From left, Daniel Kaluuya, Brandon Perea and Keke Palmer in a scene from the film. Photo courtesy of Universal Pictures

Reviewed by Jeffrey Sanzel

If something tries to be too many things, does it risk becoming about nothing?

Such is the case with writer-director-producer Jordan Peele’s Nope, a science fiction-horror-Western-comedy-domestic family drama that comments on everything from race to commerce to capitalism. The brilliant Peele’s previous work included Get Out and Us, highly original and disturbing films that combine his unique visuals with compelling storytelling.

On the surface, Nope is a traditional summer blockbuster, a high-end It Came From Outer Space, or a darker, violent Close Encounters of the Third Kind. 

With nods to matinee features of the past, the setup trades on well-known tropes with an intentionally old-fashioned feel: Something not right is going on out in the dessert … power ceases, winds blow, horses whinny … could it be that strange object glimpsed in the sky? 

Nope centers on the Haywood family, owner of Haywood’s Hollywood Horses. After the sudden and mysterious death of Otis, Sr., his son, Otis, Jr., takes over the business. (A fascinating Daniel Kaluuya is first-rate: His deadpan, comedic timing is flawless, and his dramatic stillness shows brooding depth.) Otis, Jr.—called O.J. (the first of many odd and unrelated commentaries)—struggles to keep the business going. 

His sister, Emerald (a force of nature in the hands of Keke Palmer), interferes, goads, and offers her opinions, hopes, and visions. She is both a support and a thorn, often simultaneously. In the hands of these gifted actors, the sibling relationship deserves an unencumbered film of its own. 

Quickly, the dessert residents become aware of a UAP—Unexplained Aerial Phenomena (what used to be called a UFO). Former child star Ricky “Jupe” Park (Steven Yeun) runs a third-rate western attraction, Jupiter’s Claim, and introduces the Star Lasso Experience, whereby his audience can see the UAP. With shades of King Kong and the like, this does not go well. 

Meanwhile, O.J. and Emerald enlist a Fry’s Electronics employee, Angel Torres (wryly understated Brandon Perea), to help them film the entity. Eventually, they recruit cinematographer Antlers Holst (a delightfully mannered and just over the edge of bizarre Michael Wincott) to help them capture the phenomenon on film. Earlier, Holst had fired O.J. from a commercial shoot when one of the Haywood horses kicked a crew person. (The importance of why surfaces later.)

All this is standard horror movie fare. Peele adds flashbacks of Park’s childhood incident on a sitcom, Gordy’s Home!, where the titular chimp went on a rampage, mauling and possibly murdering cast members. The link to the present is tenuous. Perhaps it is about predators. Maybe it is about exploitation. Or capitalism. Maybe. O.J. says of the extra-terrestrial: “It’s alive, it’s territorial, and it wants to eat us.” Are we meant to draw a connection?

Or is it that Park was on television? So much of Nope focuses on media and capturing the worst events with the goal of fame and profit? Emerald and O.J.’s reflexive discussion of the “money shot”—the “Oprah shot”—drives them forward. How much relates to the Haywood patriarch’s claim that the unnamed man in the first moving picture, The Horse in Motion, was his great-great-grandfather? Is this a commentary on both racial and historical cinematic issues?

And then those inflatable men? Are they meant as symbols? Or, to bastardize a Freudian quote: “Sometimes an inflatable man is just an inflatable man.” (Oh, and the TMZ reporter …)

Peele poses more questions than he chooses to answer. This can make for a fascinating movie or just a frustrating one. The drive in the first part of the film works on many levels. The latter parts tend to bog down, with the occasional scare and a handful of gross-out moments (fortunately few). The tension becomes looser rather than tauter as it moves to the conclusion. With the seemingly myriad layers of “meaning,” nothing fully reaches closure. 

As for the monster itself, the revelation is interesting, but viewers will divide on its actual effectiveness. In short, it needs to be seen to be judged. Some will find it creatively horrifying, but others will see it no different than the hokier creatures of the 1950s.

Peele will always be a good filmmaker and often a great one. With Nope, the film lives somewhere between “hmmm!” and “huh?” He has assembled a strong cast, first-rate imagery, and a unique take on an established genre. Some will delight in its obscurer moments, and others will sigh and wonder. However, we can bet whatever he dreams up next will be something worth experiencing. 

Rated R, the film is now playing in local theaters.

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Daisy Edgar-Jones and Taylor John Smith in a scene from the film. Photo courtesy of Sony Pictures
Daisy Edgar-Jones in a scene from the film. Photo courtesy of Sony Pictures
Daisy Edgar-Jones in a scene from the film. Photo courtesy of Sony Pictures
Daisy Edgar-Jones and David Strathairn in a scene from the film. Photo courtesy of Sony Pictures

Reviewed by Jeffrey Sanzel

Released in 2018, Delia Owens’ Where the Crawdad Sings became one of the best-selling books of all time, with over twelve million copies sold. The story of Kya, a North Carolina marsh girl, was selected for Reese Witherspoon’s Hello Sunshine Book Club and Barnes & Noble’s Best Books of 2018. In 2019, it was number one on Amazon.com’s Most Sold Books in fiction, as well as The New York Times Fiction Best Sellers of 2019 and 2020. By February 2022, the novel had achieved 150 weeks on the best seller list. Witherspoon’s production company acquired the rights and has produced the film version. 

The book alternates between two timelines. The first, beginning in 1952, traces Kya’s life as it deteriorates, leaving her alone to fend for herself. The second begins in 1965, with the teenage Kya’s involvement with Chase Andrews, Barkley Cove’s former star quarterback. The relationship builds to Chase’s mysterious death in 1969, for which Kya is arrested and tried.

Lucy Alibar (who co-wrote Beasts of the Southern Wild with Benh Zeitlin) has masterfully fashioned a screenplay that honors Owens’ book but somehow transforms the narrative through judicious editing and small touches connecting past and present. Under Olivia Newman’s seamless direction, the film manages the timeline effortlessly. Cinematographer Polly Morgan has richly shot the film, celebrating the natural world but also giving a dark edge to the town scenes. This triumvirate knows how to call attention to even the subtlest details, weaving the two threads and moving the action perpetually forward.

The film closely follows the book’s dual arcs. Young Kya lives with her loving mother and siblings in a rustic cottage. A child of nature, Kya constantly explores, wondering at flora and fauna. However, her father is short-tempered and abusive. After a particularly brutal beating, her mother leaves, followed quickly by Kya’s older brother and sisters. Left with her often drunk father, Kya navigates his moods and mercurial nature. From him, she embraces the creed that you “can’t trust nobody.” But one day, he abandons the girl. Alone, Kya must learn to survive. 

An African American couple running a small store adjacent to the marsh provides her with the only humanity she knows. Kya grows up an outcast but a survivor. (Her one-day foray to school is particularly painful and poignant.) The only other kindness she receives is from a boy, Tate, who one day guides her home when she is lost.

The young adult Kya becomes involved with Tate, who loves her but goes off to school, never explaining (until later) why he did not reach out to her. Following this, Kya embarks on an unsatisfying and tense relationship with Chase. Although romance and connection are absent, she is still devastated when she discovers Chase’s engagement. 

While there is a good amount of plot, occasional sections sag from a lack of tension. A sense of foregone conclusion hovers over many of the events in Kya’s life. Fortunately, a strong cast holds the film together. 

Daisy Edgar-Jones balances Kya’s acceptance of her outsider status with her desire for a “normal life.” Her fragility contrasts with her self-awareness and a sense of inner core. She brings believability to the transition from uneducated recluse to the gifted artist and published naturalist. (Jojo Regina ably plays the young Kya.) 

Taylor John Smith is sweet and earnest as her true love, Tate. Harris Dickinson’s Chase is a bit too villainous at the outset, presenting no surprise when he turns out to be cruel and manipulative. Sterling Macer Jr. and Michael Hyatt are warm and knowing as the couple who see value in Kya, eschewing the slight caricature of the book’s characters. As Kya’s lawyer Tom Milton, David Strathairn effectively channels Atticus Finch right down the white suit; but his folksy charm balances a low-burn need to see justice. As Kya’s nightmare of a father, Garret Dillahunt brings humanity to the abusive patriarch. 

While the courtroom scenes are almost pedestrian (and fairly predictable), they accomplish what they must do. It is in the more reflective moments where the film succeeds best. Kya learns that “being isolated is one thing; living in fear is another.” Facing her own struggles, she finally understands why her mother had to leave. 

The final sequence is beautiful, honoring the novel’s conclusion but emotionally elevating it, rewarding the viewer with a powerful, honest catharsis. For fans of the book and novices of the story, Where the Crawdad Sings is an engaging, emotional, and effective film.

Rated PG-13, the film is now playing in local theaters.

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Sope Dirisu and Freida Pinto in a scene from 'Mr. Malcolm's List.'
Oliver Jackson-Cohen and Zawe Ashton in a scene from 'Mr. Malcolm's List.' Photo by Ross Ferguson/Bleeker Street
Sope Dirisu and Oliver Jackson-Cohen in a scene from 'Mr. Malcolm's List.' Photo by Ross Ferguson/ Bleeker Street
Ashley Park in 'Mr. Malcolm's List.' Photo by Ross Ferguson/Bleeker Street
Sope Dirisu and Freida Pinto in a scene from 'Mr. Malcolm's List.' Photo by Ross Ferguson/ Bleeker Street

Reviewed by Jeffrey Sanzel

With the success of Bridgerton, Regency has currently eclipsed Victoriana as the go-to for period drama. While Jane Austen’s seminal work, Pride and Prejudice, has never been far from television and cinema, Dickens has more often been the primary source for historical adaptation.

In 2009, Suzanne Allain self-published Mr. Malcolm’s List and adapted it for the screen. After a 2015 podcast reading, Emma Holly Jones acquired the rights along with producer Laura Rister. A short film titled Mr. Malcolm’s List: Overture, directed by Jones, was released online in 2019. Subsequently, the novel was published by Berkley Books in 2020. 

The year is 1818, a time of tea and quills, empire waists, and oversized top hats. Mr. Jeremiah Malcolm (Sope Dirisu), the wealthy second son of an earl, seeks a bride. With “twenty thousand a year,” looks, and charm, he is the season’s catch. Courting and then moving on, none of the prospective ladies match the criteria on the titular list. These items include an amiable disposition and a knowledge of politics, a sense of charity, and a host of other desirable traits.

The lovely but vaguely shallow Julia Thistlewaite (Zawe Ashton) fails to engage him during their time at the opera. Shortly after, a humiliating newspaper caricature featuring Julia’s rejection circulates throughout London. Bent on revenge, the spurned Julia—now out for a crushing four seasons—sends for her friend Selina Dalton (Freida Pinto). Julia grooms Selina as the perfect trap for Malcolm by having her embody all of the things on the list. Daughter of a poor Sussex vicar, Selina—surprise, surprise—is the perfect match for the man. 

While the plot is simplistic, it fits logically into the Regency world. With drawing rooms and drinking clubs, Mr. Malcolm’s List comfortably evokes the environment, if not the works of Jane Austen. The priority of marriage and money swirls around the principals, cloaking them in the power of society and the prevailing poison of gossip. Here, “what people say is what matters,” and often, they are “judged and found wanting.”

The elements for a delightful romp into the intrigue of romance gather at the outset as Julia launches into action.

So why doesn’t it work? The answer is simple: They are all too nice. Everyone is not just charming but, for the most part, kind. Even Julia, at her most vindictive, manages to be likable. The narrator states that Malcolm is a nice person. He is no Mr. Darcy, with his haughtiness and self-absorption. He has the reputation of a “trifler”—but his actions seem to belie this. Selina has no side to her; absent is the delightful edge that Elizabeth Bennet possesses, which gives her character dimension. 

Also, there is a dearth of characters that are “more than.” One looks for the mercenary Mrs. Bennet, the oily Mr. Collins, or the roguish Wickham. Here, only two minor characters—an older gentleman pursuing Selina and Selina’s twice-wed cousin, the flittering Mrs. Covington (a welcome scenery-chewing Ashley Park)—approach anything resembling the appealingly grotesque. The overall blandness of nice people makes for what amounts to a tedious two hours.

Pinto is smart, strong, and always watchable. She never allows Selina to become petulant, even when most frustrated. Dirisu embodies Malcolm with a wryness that peeks throughout. His good looks, rich voice, and ability to make even the smallest shift count create a likable (if too likable) protagonist. Oliver Jackson-Cohen manages to elevate the sidekick caught between opposing factions, mining the humor; sadly, he mostly disappears halfway through the film. Given the character’s inconsistency, Ashton finds some arc in Julia. Divian Ladwa’s servant John is funny but short-changed, as are all the “below stairs” characters.

There are weighty discussions about life and love but little wit. Sparks require friction, and the film lacks discord. Even the gossip appears fangless, and the hurdles seem low. Allain’s screenplay is so by the numbers; there is never doubt, not just about the outcome but what will happen moment to moment. Jones’ direction captures time and place but lacks tone. A vague sitcom quality hovers around the edges, including Selina’s clumsy training montage. The costumes and settings are detailed, lush, and a visual feast. But these are not enough to sustain interest.

Comparisons can easily be made to Bridgerton, especially in the show’s second season, a less-than-subtle take on Pride and Prejudice. Both are style over substance. But where Bridgerton manages to find some surprising choices, the facile and often banal Mr. Malcolm’s List offers no such revelations. 

In the end, one would hope for more Thackeray’s Vanity Fair and less Hallmark Movie of the Week. Nice is nice. But it isn’t fun. 

Rated PG, the film is now playing in local theaters.

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