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Harrison Ford in a scene from 'Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny'. Photo courtesy of Lucasfilm Ltd. / Disney

Reviewed by Jeffrey Sanzel

The Indiana Jones films are among the most popular blockbusters of all time: beginning with Raiders of the Lost Ark (1981), followed by the prequel Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom (1984), then Indiana Jones and the Lost Crusade (1989). It was almost twenty years before the fourth chapter was released: Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull (2008). This last received the poorest reviews and the weakest response. Stephen Spielberg directed all four films, with Harrison Ford starring as Dr. Henry Walton “Indiana” Jones, Jr., an archeology professor. Worldwide grosses have approached two billion dollars. 

In between the third and fourth films, a television series, The Young Indiana Jones Chronicles, followed Jones as a child and youth. Twenty-eight episodes and four made-for-television films ran from 1992 through 1994. In addition, dozens of books, comic books, toys, and other tie-ins surround the Jones icon.

Phoebe Waller-Bridge, as Helena, and Harrison Ford, as Indiana Jones, star in ‘Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny.’ Photo courtesy of Lucasfilm Ltd./Disney

Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny opens in the closing days of World War II. Jones faces Nazi adversaries as he attempts to recover the Lance of Longinus. The German officers reveal Hitler believes the relic to contain extraordinary powers that could reverse the course of the war. The Lance is a fake, but Nazi astrophysicist Jürgen Voller has found half of Archimedes’ Dial, an invention of the ancient Syracusan mathematician said to be able to locate fissures in time. 

After an extended fight and chase on a train, Voller is killed (spoiler alert: he is not), and half of the Dial is supposedly lost (spoiler alter: it is not). Of course, Jones and sidekick, archaeologist Basil Shaw, survive.

The action jumps from 1944 to July 1969, just after the moon landing. Borderline alcoholic Jones, a passionless professor at New York City’s Hunter College, instructs indifferent students on the eve of his forced retirement. His son, Mutt, died in Viet Nam, and his wife, Marion Ravenwood, left him. Enter his goddaughter, Helena Shaw, Basil’s only child. Helena seeks the Dial, and while Jones had promised the near-insane Basil to destroy it, he preserved it in the college storeroom.

While retrieving it, Jones and Helena are attacked by muscle sent by Voller, now a scientist working for NASA. During this melee, Helena reveals herself to be less a student of archeology and more a mercenary treasure hunter planning to sell the Dial fragment in a Tangiers black-market auction. What ensues is a world-crossing journey, with a plethora of fights and escapes. These—the film’s raison d’être—are slightly cartoonish but grandly, energetically executed. However, they are too long. Much, much too long. 

Somewhere along the way, the series traded its signature humor and bold but neatly developed characters for impressive but bloated action sequences: extended chases in narrow streets and open spaces, replete with rooftop leaps, helicopters, planes, motorcycles, and innumerable cars. There is even an escape on horseback through a parade, invading the New York City subway.

With a few exceptions, the body count is composed of expendable characters. The almost bloodless violence borders on heightened slapstick, with square-landed punches usually followed by an attempt at a wry quip. The core villain, Voller, could be straight out of a Hollywood propaganda film; his henchmen are the usual obedient thugs. Helena’s sidekick, Teddy Kumar, vaguely replicates Short Round from the earlier films.

So much of The Dial of Destiny is an homage to Indiana Jones, one through three. While the trio paid tribute to the serials of the 1930s and ‘40s, Dial celebrates the trilogy. As soon as the chords of John Williams’ unmistakable underscore play, Jones saves the day (or at least the moment). But building an entire two hours and twenty minutes on waves of nostalgia comes up, if not empty, certainly less than satisfying. The film’s climax, a bizarre sword-and-sandal sequence, becomes uncomfortably comical and slightly clumsy.

While Ford announced this would be his final performance in the role, he remains in fine form as the curmudgeonly Jones, with his have-hat-and-whip-will-travel presence. He continues making the most incredible situations palatable. (Perhaps the CGI that renders the prologue’s younger Jones is the most extraordinary special effect.) 

Phoebe Waller-Bridge creates a quirky, amoral Helena, a great foil for Jones. She infuses the grifter with a mix of noir femme fatale and girl-next-door charm. Mads Mikkelsen’s Voller succeeds as the typically erudite fascist with requisite lip-curling contempt. Ethann Isidore manages to avoid precociousness as Teddy.

The supporting cast play mostly enlarged cameos. Antonio Banderas twinkles as Renaldo, a boat captain. John Rhys-Davies is delightful in his return as Jones’ old friend, Sallah. Toby Jones strikes the right balance between sanity and madness as Basil. Shaunette Renée Wilson gives one of the more dimensional performances as a government agent. 

While forging no new ground, those looking for another chapter in the saga will be either disappointed with its failure to compete with the earlier films or delighted with its improvement over the fourth, ill-conceived outing. With exotic locations, Teutonic villains, time travel, giant bugs, eel-filled waters, and enough stolen car chases for a dozen films, Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny neither improves nor weakens the franchise. 

Disney recently announced that The Dial of Destiny is the final entry. And while not perfect closure, it is good enough to draw the curtain on four decades of epic adventure.

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

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Scarlett Johansson in a scene from the film. Photo courtesy of Focus Features

Reviewed by Jeffrey Sanzel

Auteur Wes Anderson’s first feature film was Bottle Rocket (1996), based on a short he made in 1994 with Luke and Owen Wilson. His sophomore outing, Rushmore (1998), brought him to prominence. The quirky, line-crossing comedy follows a high school student (Jason Schwartzman) with a crush on a fifth-grade teacher (Olivia Williams).The film featured Bill Murray in the first of nine collaborations with the director. 

With a focus on (and often delight in) the dysfunctional and a sense of heightened reality, Anderson’s works (for which he not only directed by served as writer and producer) have included The Royal Tenenbaums (2001), The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou (2004), The Darjeeling Limited (2007), The Grand Budapest Hotel (2014), and The French Dispatch (2021).

His films have received fifteen Academy Award nominations (winning four, all for The Grand Budapest Hotel). In addition, the works have 20 BAFTA nominations (winning five) and 10 Golden Globes (winning two). 

To discuss Anderson’s latest offering, Asteroid City, two terms are helpful. The first is “meta.” Definitions of “meta” vary slightly. The most accessible is Merriam-Webster’s informal explanation: “showing or suggesting an explicit awareness of itself or oneself as a member of its category; cleverly self-referential.” It goes on to cite various examples:

“The Bar?” she said. “I know the place. Been meaning to drop by. Love the name. Very meta.” — Gillian Flynn

A new comedy about fantasy football, which follows a group of armchair quarterbacks as they try to tackle life. How meta would it be if people started betting on what was going to happen on the show? — TV Guide

Leave it to Larry [David] to contort public desire for a Seinfeld reunion into a meta plot that chronicles his not-necessarily-noble struggle to pull off a Seinfeld reunion. —Dan Snierson

The second term is “shaggy dog story.”

Again, let us turn to Merriam-Webster: “of, relating to, or being a long-drawn-out circumstantial story concerning an inconsequential happening that impresses the teller as humorous or interesting but the hearer as boring and pointless.”

And therein explains the meta-comedy/shaggy dog story Asteroid City, one hundred and five minutes of tedious indulgence that evokes an occasional strained chuckle but otherwise ceaselessly plods to a non-conclusion. 

A Rod Serling-like host (Bryan Cranston) introduces a television show following the creation of a play penned by world-famous writer Conrad Earp (Edward Norton). The black-and-white framing device evokes the earliest days of television. Earp’s play, Asteroid City (presented widescreen in vivid shades of sherbet), tells of the titular desert town hosting a youth astronomy convention. The action shifts between the presentation of the play and the television special. Some might complain that the documentary gimmick interferes with the narrative action. However, this is a minor cavil since the story plays in virtual stagnation.

Anderson creates a story where everything means something, even if it doesn’t. The 1955 world of the Cold War, atom bomb testing, a movie star, singing cowboys, a grieving widower, and a host of odd types and situations parade limply through the convoluted plot. Eventually, the assorted characters end up under government quarantine when an alien briefly appears, stealing a meteorite fragment. 

There is enormous potential for commentary and outrageous, pointed humor between the two worlds- the theatrical and the narrative. However, Anderson misses on almost every count. Even his concept of a three-act play bears no sense of understanding, with its only true reference to the indication of scenes.

He has assembled an all-star cast (many veterans of his films), headed by Jason Schwartzman (as the widower) and Scarlett Johansson (as the movie star), supported by first-rate talents including Tom Hanks, Jeffrey Wright, Tilda Swinton, Adrien Brody, Liev Schreiber, Hope Davis, Matt Dillon, Steve Carell, Hong Chau, Willem Dafoe, and Margot Robbie. 

Sadly, they all give the same performance—or rather, the idea of a performance of a performance. Everyone speaks in an identically flat cadence, lips barely parting like poorly skilled ventriloquists, mouthing pretentious dialogue, wanting—but failing—to be outrageously quippy or metaphorically deep. Rarely has so much talent gone for so little. 

The only interest rests in the two-dimensional visuals, alternating between crisp black-and-white and hyper-rich colors, the work of cinematographer Robert Yeoman. A few whimsical pieces—vending machines that dispense martinis complete with lemon twists or others that offer valueless desert real estate—evoke a weary smile. But again, not enough to sustain the short but interminable running time.

Great art manifests best when the whole is greater than the sum of its parts. What happens when there is no center? When the whole is a hole? Several times, the lead actor complains, “I don’t understand the play.” The director’s response: “But just keep doing it.” Well, perhaps not.

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

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Lake, voiced by Ava Hauser; Ember, voiced by Leah Lewis; and Wade, voiced by Mamoudou Athie, in a scene from 'Elemental.' Image courtesy of Disney/Pixar

Reviewed by Jeffrey Sanzel

Elemental marks Pixar’s twenty-seventh animated feature. The most successful include the four Toy Story movies, Finding Nemo, Monsters, Inc., Cars and its sequels, WALL-E, Coco, Inside Out, and most recently, the unusual but fascinating Lightyear. 

Director Peter Sohn pitched the idea for Elemental to Pixar after the release of The Good Dinosaur (2015). The son of immigrants, Sohn took inspiration from his childhood in the culturally diverse 1970s New York City, as well as romantic films such as Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner (1967), Moonstruck (1987), and Amélie (2001). 

In a 2022 Variety interview, Sohn explained: “Maybe it’s because when I was a kid, I really didn’t appreciate or understand what it meant to be an immigrant, to come to the U.S., and all the hard work that [my parents] did to give my brother and me our lives […] On the other side, I married someone that wasn’t Korean, and there was a lot of culture clash with that in my world. And that brought to me to this idea of finding opposites. And the question of what if fire fell in love with water came.”

While perhaps not the most brilliant of the studio’s output (Toy Story, Coco), Elemental is a surprisingly clever, heartfelt story of opposites uniting. Set in a world of the elements—fire, water, earth, and air—daughter of Fireland immigrants, Ember Lumen, becomes involved with water element Wade Ripple, an easily flustered water inspector. 

After Ember causes a plumbing accident in her father’s convenience store, The Fireplace, Wade appears in the soaked basement. An adventure ensues throughout Element City, with the unlikely pair joining forces to solve the immediate situation, then becoming involved in solving a greater problem within the community. Ember learns to curtail her destructive temper, but equally as important, she learns to speak her truth.

The film tackles multiple issues with style and finesse. The story’s foundation focuses on honoring one’s culture and the sacrifices often entailed. But it also celebrates the individual’s pursuit of personal happiness. Much of the screenplay (by John Hoberg, Kat Likkel, and Brenda Hsueh) addresses bias and hostility regarding the treatment of immigrants. Boldly shown in the prologue, Ember’s parents, newly arrived, are shut out of living quarters controlled by people of earth, air, and water. There is also the issue of the burden often placed on first-generation children to continue what their parents have started. The film smartly addresses this with great sensitivity without resorting to preaching.

Ultimately, Elemental is a traditional rom-com, with all the hurdles and pitfalls, and even a dating montage—but an entirely unique setting. (This more adult slant in the film lost some of the younger audience members who became restless as the film progressed.) However, the gloriously exquisite animation is a joy, the anthropomorphizing creating a perfect blending of human and “other.” The visual puns are matched by the cleverly ever-present, sometimes subtle—and often not so subtle—wordplay.

While not as starry as many of the Pixar catalogue, the vocal talent is first-rate. Leah Lewis embodies Ember’s struggle with wry wit and genuine charm. Mamoudou Athie presents Wade’s growth from mildly neurotic underachiever to hero, never losing his kind center. Ronnie del Carmen and Shila Vosough Ommi play Ember’s parents with the right blend of love and whimsy, arcing from frustration to acceptance. 

Catherine O’Hara is delightful as Wade’s mother, Brook Ripple, featured in a hilarious dinner party where Ember is both welcomed and mildly embarrassed by the overly and overtly emotional Wade clan. This scene leads to Ember’s pointed comment on Wade’s rich-kid-follow-your-heart family, said with vexation tinged with a hint of jealousy. In what amounts to a cameo, Wendi McLendon-Covey’s Gale Cumulus, Wade’s employer, makes a bigger-than-life impression in an appropriately grand performance.

Starting with the premise “Elements don’t mix,” touching on the bonds and struggles of parents and children, building to a love that crosses boundaries, and culminating with a message of acceptance and love, Elemental may never become a classic, but it sits easily—and proudly—in the Pixar family.

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

*A bonus, “Carl’s Date,” precedes the feature. The Up short marks one of the final works of Ed Asner, who passed away in 2021. The sweet piece shows a gentler side of the curmudgeonly Carl as he prepares for a date while being advised by the “talking” dog, Dug. It is an ideal complement to the romantic elements of Elemental. 

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Halle Bailey stars as 'The Little Mermaid'. Photo courtesy of Disney

Reviewed by Jeffrey Sanzel

Live-action adaptations of Disney cartoons have become commonplace. Cinderella, Aladdin, Dumbo, Mulan, Peter Pan and Wendy, and The Lion King have been reviewed in this paper. Unfortunately, the results have been predominantly tepid. 

The Little Mermaid (1989) remains the gold standard for the cartoon musicals of Disney’s animated renaissance. Written and directed by John Musker and Ron Clements, the film was funny, imaginative, and beautifully designed. The Alan Menken – Howard Ashman songs remain the strongest in the Disney canon, and the film received two Academy Awards: Best Original Score and Best Original Song (“Under the Sea”). The first-rate voice talent included Jodi Benson (Ariel), Christopher Daniel Barnes (Prince Eric), Pat Carroll (Ursula), Kenneth Mars (King Triton), and Samuel E. Wright (Sebastian, the crab). The film became the first animated feature to earn over $100 million.

The 2008 Broadway musical, with a book by Douglas Wright, limped through a year-and-a-half run but found more success in regional, community, and school productions. In 2019, The Wonderful World of Disney broadcast The Little Mermaid Live, an interesting hybrid, where the film was projected and interwoven with live musical performances.

The source for the various Mermaids is Hans Christian Andersen’s 1836 Danish fairy tale. No incarnation considers the tale’s more serious elements, which focus on the nature of the soul building to a moral of redemption. Andersen’s tale ends with the mermaid’s death and ultimate spiritual transcendence, reflecting a more religious denouement. The Disney interpretation is far more prosaic, focusing on earthly love based on (mostly) physical attraction, and struggles to find a message of empowerment. The narrative is one of sacrificing everything—including your voice—for the love of a man you do not know.

Now Broadway director-choreographer Rob Marshall (who helmed the first-rate Chicago film) directs David Magee’s live-action adaptation, a revision of the Clements-Musker screenplay, swollen to 135 minutes, a full 52 minutes over the 1998 running time. The extended length is the major cavil in an otherwise effective film.

Javier Bardem as King Triton. Photo courtesy of Disney

Once again, Ariel is one of the seven daughters of Triton, ruler of the sea. She is fascinated by the world above: “I wanna be where the people are,” sings Ariel in the anthem “Part of Your World.” She becomes entranced by Prince Eric, who she sees onboard a ship that runs afoul of a storm. She saves him, falling in love with the handsome young man. When her father learns of her feelings, his rage drives him to destroy her collection of human artifacts. Distraught, Ariel makes a deal with Ursula, the sea witch. In exchange for her voice, Ariel will be given legs and three days to make Eric fall in love and kiss her. If she fails, she becomes a prize addition to the sea witch’s nightmarish garden.

The story follows the earlier version, with additional background and minor adjustments. It is twenty-one years since the royal family rescued Eric from a shipwreck. Unlike his late adopted father, the king, Eric wants to be a ruler for and among the people and venture beyond the island. In addition, there is a clear suspicion between the land and sea dwellers. The queen is vocal in her distrust of the “sea gods.” Both communities blame the other for the damage of shipwrecks. The political overtones resulting from this friction is  lost for most of the film, only to return at the end. 

A scene from ‘The Little Mermaid’. Photo courtesy of Disney

A scene in the marketplace demonstrates the joy of legs/feet/dancing (and an opportunity for a cameo by original Ariel Benson). Additionally, Ursula is Triton’s younger sister, upping the revenge quotient. One major—and welcomed change: as part of the spell, Ariel forgets that she must kiss Eric. This enables a more organic growth of their love. 

Most of the new Mermaid follows the original, often shot-for-shot, and here it succeeds best. The shortcomings are few: Truncating both “Poor Unfortunate Souls” and “Kiss the Girl” is disappointing, and the few new songs (written with Lin-Manuel Miranda) add little. The creation of Ariel’s crab, bird, and fish cohorts have an odd flatness, but eventually one gets used to them.

Marshall makes the musical highlight, “Under the Sea,” less whimsical but joyous in a new way. The director utilized Alvin Ailey dancers as templates for creating this photoreal experience. (Much of the film hovers between Jacques Cousteau and CGI.)

Scuttle (voiced by Awkafina), Flounder (voiced by Jacob Tremblay) and Ariel (Halle Bailey), in a scene from the film. Photo courtesy of Disney

Halle Bailey is a luminous Ariel. With a beautiful voice and a knowing presence, she elevates and dimensionalizes the mermaid. Whether singing or just communicating with her eyes, each moment and every gesture ring true. She is a worthy addition to the pantheon of princesses. Jonah Hauer-King makes for a pleasant, if mild, Prince Eric. Given the strength of Bailey’s Ariel, this seems intentional. Melissa McCarthy, channeling Pat Carroll, is a triumph, perfectly balancing traditional Disney villainy with contemporary side comments. Javier Bardem appropriately broods as Ariel’s frustrated father, lending a Tevye quality to his Triton. 

Noma Dumezweni, as the newly introduced Queen Selina, seems like a benign refugee from Bridgerton; however, Dumezweni is a strong actor and brings warmth and strength to her limited role. Art Malik humanizes Grimsby, Eric’s keeper and confidant. Daveed Diggs’ delightful Sebastian offers a less neurotic but highly entertaining crab. Awkwafina finds a new and fun approach to the chatterbox Scuttle, no longer a seagull but a diving bird. Special mention goes to Jessica Alexander, whose brief appearance as Vanessa, Ursula’s human alter ego, easily shifts from charming to maniacal. 

From the pastoral underwater opening to the Clash of the Titans climax, The Little Mermaid does what few Disney remakes have done: it rightfully earns a place next to its dazzling original. Rated PG, the film is now playing in local theaters.

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Ashley Brooke and Bel Powley in a scene from 'A Small Light'. Photo from NatGeo

Reviewed by Jeffrey Sanzel

‘But even an ordinary secretary or a housewife or a teenager can, within their own small ways, turn on a small light in a dark room.’ — Miep Gies

No figure is more iconic than Anne Frank. Whether seen as an ordinary girl in extraordinary times, or a remarkable individual robbed of her potential, her short life and terrible death epitomize the darkest era of the twentieth century. And while her memory transcends decades, she should be remembered as a person with hopes and aspirations, feelings, and foibles. Anne Frank was not a symbol; she was a human being.

The Diary of a Young Girl—often called The Diary of Anne Frank—appeared in its original Dutch in 1947. The first English translation, Anne Frank: The Diary of a Young Girl, was published in 1952. 

Bel Powley shines in her role as Miep Gies in A Small Light. Photo courtesy of Nat Geo

The diary was given to Anne as a thirteenth birthday present on June 12, 1942. She chronicled her life in this book and two school exercise books. On March 29, 1944, she listened to a London radio broadcast by the exiled Dutch Minister for Education calling for the preservation of “ordinary documents … simple everyday material” as a testimony to the plight of Dutch civilians under the Nazi regime. She began revising the entries with this in mind. Her final entry was on August 1, 1944, three days before her arrest and deportation. Miep Gies and Bep Voskuijl, two of the brave people who helped hide the Frank family, saved the loose pages of the manuscript. After the war, they gave the papers to the only surviving occupant of the attic, Anne’s father, Otto.

A stage adaptation premiered on Broadway on October 5, 1955. Adapted by Frances Goodrich and Albert Hackett (supposedly handpicked by playwright Lillian Hellman), the well-received production emphasized the hopeful aspects, highlighting (but perhaps ignoring true context) the signature quote: “Despite everything, I believe that people are really good at heart.” 

In 1959, this version was brought to the screen in the equally lauded version. It was not until 1997, when Wendy Kesselman revised and re-envisioned the play, there was an Anne Frank properly representing the true darkness and struggle, divesting itself from the earlier incarnation’s occasional saccharine. The BBC produced a television film in 2019 with an entirely new script.

Of the cinematic incarnations, the most powerful is Anne Frank: The Whole Story (2001). Due to a conflict between the producers and the Anne Frank Foundation, the creators were denied access to quote Anne Frank’s writings. Instead, according to producer David Kappes (in a private interview), the ninety-year-old Miep Gies was used as a primary source to tell Frank’s history. (Gies passed away in January 2010 at 100.) This account takes Anne beyond the annex, following her through deportation to the Westerbork transit camp, transport to Auschwitz, and finally, her death in Bergen-Belsen.

Gies told her story in the memoir Anne Frank Remembered: The Story of the Woman Who Helped to Hide the Frank Family (1987). Subsequently, she was featured in the Academy Award-winning documentary Anne Frank Remembered (1995). 

[The following is based on a viewing of the first two episodes of A Small Light.] 

Now, National Geographic has produced A Small Light, an eight part miniseries streaming on Disney+ and Hulu. This begs whether there is a need for another screen version of the story. If it is A Small Light, the answer is a resounding “yes.” 

Masterfully directed by Susanna Fogel (from a screenplay by Tony Phelan, Joan Rater, William Harper, and Ben Esler), A Small Light takes Miep Gies from the sidelines. It presents her center in a wholly realized and beautifully dimensional account. The series is an inversion of previous Anne Frank stories. Rather than the claustrophobic fear of being surrounded by the horrors of the outside, this is the terror of living day-to-day in a world with danger at every corner and every turn.

Episode one opens in 1942. Miep Gies (Bel Powley) bicycles with a frightened Margot Frank (Ashley Brooke) through the streets of an idyllic Amsterdam festooned with Nazi banners interspersed with “Resist” graffiti. Miep is attempting to get Margot through a Nazi checkpoint. The scene is taut, tense, and done in quick, sharp cuts.

Before they reach the front of the line, the action shifts back to 1933. After a night of drinking, Miep joins her large, adopted family for lunch, having slept until 2 p.m. Her frustrated parents suggest that if she cannot find a job, she marry her adopted brother (who, unbeknownst to his parents, is gay). Miep lives a leisurely, almost bucolic life. 

After an awkward interview, Otto Frank (Liev Shreiber) engages the unskilled Miep as a secretary. Brash and temperamental, she still learns the business and begins to find her place in the organization. Life goes along with Miep meeting her eventual husband, the shy Jan (Joe Cole), in a bar. 

On May 10, 1940, the Nazis invaded the Netherlands. Within five days, they had taken over the country. Laws change, and the harsh Nazi abuse transforms into greater crimes. (It is not until the middle of episode two that we see the brutality of the round-ups.) The infamous yellow star appears on clothing. 

Eventually, Otto shares the plan of taking his family, along with his employee Hermann Van Pels’ family, into hiding and asks for Miep’s help, to which she immediately agrees. However, Otto changes the moving date when his older daughter Margot receives deportation papers. The first episode returns to the opening scene as Miep gets Margot through the checkpoint and into the annex, the first glimpse of the hiding place.

The second episode shows the earliest days of the new life. On the inside, attitudes are already fraying as the Franks attempt to adapt. Miep must deal with the already frustrated and often frustrating individuals living like prisoners. She also faces the challenges of keeping the secret as well as finding food, ration books, etc. Husband Jan aids Miep but also begins his own journey to help the persecuted. This episode ends with the dentist, Fritz Pfeffer (Noah Taylor), completing the members of the attic.

The cast is uniformly exceptional. Liev Schreiber makes for a slightly mercurial but effective and compassionate Otto. Amira Casar’s Edith Frank is a stronger, more demanding Edith. Billie Boullet is an exceptional Anne, shining and passionate but grounded in reality. Ashley Brooke hits the right gentle notes as the reserved Margot. Joe Cole grows Jan throughout, going from reticence to strength with a charm that comes through.

But the center is Bel Powley’s exceptional Miep. She grows from the lackadaisical party girl and reluctant employee to a ferocious, committed portrait of real courage. Whether flirting with a butcher to get a better chicken or resigned to revealing the true situation outside the attic walls, her reality and depth are flawless.

From an educational standpoint, the series is invaluable. The current curriculum rightfully deals with turning bystanders into upstanders and changing the bullying narrative. Miep Gies reminds us never to stand by; as individuals, we must choose to make a difference. We must do more and must do better. For that alone, her story is beyond important. The fact that A Small Light is art presented with raw integrity elevates the message to a higher level.

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A scene from 'Peter Pan and Wendy' Photo from Disney +

Reviewed by Jeffrey Sanzel

Peter Pan traces his roots back to 1902. Created by Scottish author J.M. Barrie, the Boy Who Wouldn’t Grow Up first appeared in The Little White Bird before being placed center stage in Barrie’s play, Peter Pan (1904). In many stage incarnations, Peter was most often played by a young-looking actress, notably Maud Adams, Mary Martin (the 1954 Broadway musical broadcast on television), Sandy Duncan, and Kathy Rigby. 

Alexander Molony as Peter Pan. Photo from Disney +

There are dozens of cinematic adaptations, both animated and live-action. The story has been revisited and reinvented from the 1924 silent film, spanning Disney’s memorable (and, for many, definitive) 1953 cartoon, to Robin William’s grown Peter in Hook (1991). Captain Hooks have included Boris Karloff, Hans Conried, Jason Isaacs, Stanley Tucci, and Dustin Hoffman.

Now, Peter Pan and Wendy arrives on Disney+. Based on the Barrie source and Disney’s animated feature, the film’s first half covers no new ground, with the opening scene remain predictably problematic. The standard exposition remains the same, showing the Darlings in the early nineteenth-century nursery. The children play pirates, resist bedtime, the mother sings a lullaby, etc. The new piece is Wendy, the eldest child, being sent away to boarding school, something in which she has no interest. Wendy is frustrated by life’s changes, and she makes the wish never to grow up. A vague nod towards the theme of time threads through the opening and carries lightly throughout. 

Ever Anderson as Wendy in a scene from ‘Peter Pan and Wendy’. Photo courtesy of Disney +

The first half of the film feels like a musical without the songs. Each section builds but never quite reaches a climax before shifting to the next moment. Because it offers little original to the well-trod story, the action treads water. However, director David Lowery (who has penned the screenplay with Toby Halbrooks) accelerates the plot by having the pirate’s capture of the children moved to their arrival in Neverland. This allows for a slightly more original second half with a new point of view. 

The emphasis in Peter Pan and Wendy is a message of female empowerment, with the most self-actualized Wendy to date. Here, the protagonist works with a misunderstood Tinker Bell and a re-envisioned Princess Tiger Lily. This Peter Pan is truly the story of Wendy Darling, and where it places this focus, it soars. In addition, there are as many girls as boys in Peter’s tribe, and even a few female pirates. The creators present an overall welcome diversity that feels in no way forced and celebrates both the freedom of fantasy and the changing times.

Jude Law as Captain Hook. Photo from Disney +

Also introduced is a revised history of Peter and Captain Hook. Revealed is the friendship between the young Hook—James—and Peter. James left Neverland to search for his mother, creating a schism between them. Hook failed to reconnect with his parent and was rescued and recruited by the pirates, quickly ascending to captainship. The narrative is a bit convoluted, but once clarified, it provides a certain understanding between the enemies and an almost cathartic resolution.

Alexander Molony is a subdued Peter Pan, stronger in the quiet moments but hesitant in the more bombastic. Perhaps, Lowery chose this approach to highlight Wendy’s independence and maturation. Ever Anderson’s Wendy starts hesitantly but builds in power, stature, and depth in the character’s arc. Anderson easily avoids precociousness, offering a likable, humorous, and resourceful center.

Jude Law presents a less flamboyant Captain Hook but cleverly mines the subtlety. His Hook is smoothly wicked yet introspective, genuinely bloodthirsty, and wholly believable, finally owning the character in his unique approach. The underlying sadness enriches his Hook/James. Barely recognizable, Jim Gaffigan eschews the expectation of an over-the-top Smee and leans towards charmingly underplaying. Alyssa Wapanatâhk and Yara Shahidi do their best with the underwritten Tiger Lily and Tinker Bell, with Shahidi’s final interaction with Wendy strongly resonating.

Jim Gaffigan as See. Photo from Disney +

The almost traditional screenplay has flashes of wit, but more would have been welcome. Peter Pan and Wendy is visually striking, with a darker but evocative palate provided by cinematographer Bojan Bazelli and production designer Jade Healy. The flying effects feel natural, and the sword fighting well-staged. Daniel Hart composed a score that neatly blends traditional “Disney adventure” with a hint of New Age. Cleverly, a running joke makes use of The Pirates of Penzance.

It remains to be seen where this version will land. Compared unfavorably to the popular Robin Williams — Dustin Hoffman Hook? Placed ahead of the disastrous 2014 live event (with Allison Williams and Christopher Walken)? Or left in the forgotten netherworld of the 1976 television special (with Mia Farrow and Danny Kaye)? In the meantime, a handsome, mostly engaging, but somewhat uneven Peter Pan and Wendy will fly across screens for the present.

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

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Florence Pugh and Morgan Freeman in a scene from 'A Good Person' Photo by Jeong Park/MGM

Reviewed by Jeffrey Sanzel

Zach Braff is best known for his acting work, most notably for his nine seasons as Dr. J.D. Dorian on the sitcom Scrubs. Additionally, his extensive work behind the camera includes producing, writing, and directing. The works encompass short films, television, and, most notably, the feature film Garden State (2004), a quirky but effective rom-com featuring Braff and Natalie Portman. Unfortunately, his follow-up, the domestic comedy-drama Wish I Was Here (2014), was not well-received.

Braff’s third offering, A Good Person, is a drama of dysfunction and addiction. The film opens with Morgan Freeman’s voiceover as he works on his model trains, wistfully proffering the idea that life is neither neat nor tidy. Then, the idyllic moment shifts to the raucous engagement party of Allison (Florence Pugh) and Nathan (Chinaza Uche). Allison sings an original song to her future husband, much to the delight of the guests.

The next morning, Allison drives her future sister-in-law and brother-in-law from New Jersey into New York City. Checking the map app on her phone, Allison involves them in an accident where her prospective in-laws die.

A year later, Florence is an unemployed pharmaceutical rep addicted to pills. She lives in a perpetual state of conflict with her mother, Diane (Molly Shannon), who lacks the insight or emotional resources to help her struggling daughter. Florence has run through her oxy, and none of her doctors will refill her prescription. After a failed attempt to blackmail a former colleague, she ends up in a bar where she smokes with two low-lifes with whom she had gone to high school. Florence has hit bottom.

She attends an AA meeting, running into Daniel (Morgan Freeman), the man who would have been her father-in-law. She leaves, but Daniel stops her, suggesting fate has brought them together. They form an odd bond that becomes a tenuous friendship. 

Retired Daniel was a cop for forty years and a drunk for fifty. Sober ten years, he grapples with raising his orphaned granddaughter, the now rebellious Ryan (Celeste O’Connor). He accepts that he does not know how to raise a teenager, having left that to his wife. The worlds collide as Allison and Ryan accidentally meet at Daniel’s house and also form a strained connection. Ryan shares her late mother’s feelings that Allison was the best thing to happen to her uncle Nathan. Ryan lets slip that her grandfather blames Allison for the accident.

The film is rife with revelations and the sharing of histories. An alcoholic father abused Daniel. In turn, Daniel became a blackout drunk, mistreating his own children. In an inebriated rage, Daniel beat Nathan so severely that the boy lost hearing in his right ear. Estranged, the adult Nathan and Daniel have only the slightest of relationships. 

While the film covers no new territory, the narrative contains the makings of a dramatic and interesting story. Sadly, the gap between intention and execution can be the distance between Perth Amboy and Perth, Australia. 

The film tackles difficult subject matters—guilt, addiction, withdrawal, forgiveness—but somehow manages to avoid depth. Director Braff works from his screenplay, which seems a patchwork of acting class scenes. The occasional smart quip—“the opiate of the masses is opium”—is lost among aphorisms and cliches—“Comparison is the thief of joy.” 

Daniel’s Viet Nam veteran cap is jaw-droppingly unsubtle. In a film brimming with life and death issues, the result is often tensionless and pedestrian. The metaphors—the model trains, Allison’s father’s watch, swimming, songwriting—even a haircut—are heavy-handed. 

However, while Braff the writer might have failed, he cast well and brought out strong performances. Florence Pugh finds the anguish and ugliness in Allison’s spiral. She is mesmerizing rawness in every moment, alternating between a hyper-aware ferocity and a disconnected stupor. Morgan Freeman is incapable of shoddy work and remains one of the most watchable cross-genre actors. While Daniel sits in the center of his range, he manages to nuance the darker moments, contrasted with Freeman’s often-seen “wise” humor.

Molly Shannon’s mother is a bit shrill, but her brittleness and immaturity are not misplaced. Chinaza Uche is given little more than shades of pain, but what he does is imbued with sincerity. Twenty-something Celeste O’Connor embodies the angry teenager, Ryan, and easily holds her own against Pugh and Freeman. She proffers fire, grief, and even joy, while hovering on the verge of implosion.

So much of A Good Person feels manipulated, if not downright manipulative. Ultimately, Braff confuses messy lives with sloppy filmmaking. 

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

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Woody Harrelson, far right, stars in the new comedy, Champions. Photo by Shauna Townley/Focus Features

Reviewed by Jeffrey Sanzel

After being ejected for shoving the head coach, disgraced minor league basketball coach Mark Markovich (Woody Harrelson) goes on a bender, hitting a police cruiser. Given a choice between eighteen months in jail or ninety days of community service, he opts for the latter. His sentence is to work with The Friends, the local recreation center’s intellectually challenged basketball team.

“What do I call them?” Mark asks the judge. “I suggest you call them by their names,” the judge replies.

Therein lies the heart and head of Champions, a sweet, predictable, but sincere comedy. 

Woody Harrelson in a scene from ‘Champions’. Photo courtesy of Focus Features

Champions is based on Campeones, Javier Fesser’s 2018 Spanish film which was inspired by a team created with people with intellectual disabilities that won twelve Spanish championships between 1999 and 2014. 

Bobby Farrelly (working solo for the first time) takes a straightforward approach in directing Mark Rizzo’s workmanlike but satisfying screenplay, resulting in a simple but heartfelt story. Thematically, Champions trods no new ground. Mark is a man who “can’t stick” anywhere, bumping from job to job—Ohio to Greece to Turkey to Iowa—his inability to connect results from a combination of anger and almost terminal self-absorption. 

While working with The Friends, Mark is more transformed than transforming. As much as he affects the team, he learns to see the players as human beings—something absent from both his personal and professional lives.

Harrelson’s performance offers nothing surprising, but that does not make it ineffectual. He shows restraint, an ability to listen, and seems fully present. His metamorphosis from ambivalence (texting during their first game) to commitment (running up and down the sidelines) is obvious but acceptable. He manages to make Mark’s retreat from self-destruction believable. 

There are the inevitable plot bumps and the requisite speech about what it is to be a champion. A particularly clumsy comedic interlude involves raising money for the trip to Canada. But these are to be expected. Champions is a light narrative, not a revelatory documentary.

Mark becomes involved with Alex, player Johnny’s sister. An actor of a certain age, she tours in her van, presenting Shakespeare to middle school students. The Shakespeare piece integrates later in the film but is a bit forced. It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia’s Kaitlin Olson makes Alex mildly tough and likable in a mostly limited role. Her fear of Johnny moving into a group home offers an alternate familial insight and provides her with her best moments.

The film triumphs in its small moments. The center’s director, Julio (beautifully methodical Cheech Marin), describes the players, and we are shown moments of their day-to-day lives. One works at an animal shelter; another is a master welder. These glimpses are gentle, tacit, and entirely real. Whether seeing them at work or home, these slivers are wonderfully honest and exposed without feeling intrusive. 

Woody Harrelson, center, with the cast of ‘Champions’. Photo courtesy of Focus Features

The soul and driving force of the film are the ten intellectually challenged team members, played not as victims or outsiders but as wholly realized individuals. Whether it is Casey Metcalfe as savant Marlon, expounding a wide variety of trivia, or James Day Keith’s Benny rehearsing a speech to request time off from work, they are riveting in their presence. 

Madison Tevlin is delightful as the team’s sole female, the no-nonsense Consentino. Kevin Iannucci mines Johnny for dimension and heart. The most powerful scene involves Joshua Felder’s gifted Darius. A car crash survivor, the confrontation with Mark addresses the horrors of DWI. If a bit facile, the validity cannot be denied.

Is Champions exploitive? 

For over a decade, Matt Nelson has worked for Evanston Special Recreation. He has coached basketball, track and field, powerlifting, swimming, volleyball, softball, and flag football. In addition, he has been the assistant athletics coach for Team Illinois at the 2013 USA Games (Seattle) and the 2022 USA Games (Orlando). 

In speaking with Matt on this question, he responded: “Champions is super realistic in its portrayal of a Special Olympics team with regards to their athletic abilities and the individual personalities of each athlete. Each one of my athletes comes from a different living situation—group home, living with parents, living on their own. The movie is no different and stresses how each athlete has a unique story to tell. My teams always succeed the most when they work as a team which Champions accurately portrays. And both my team and I loved the ending and thought it was PERFECT.”

The film’s climax occurs at the North American regionals during the Winnipeg Special Olympics. In agreement with Matt and his players, The Friend’s final shot has a reverberating emotional justice. 

Those looking for great depth and searing truth will find this a slight outing. But for a feel-good sports movie that gently celebrates a unique group of underdogs, Champions delivers. Ultimately, the moral comes not from Mark but from the team. “We play for each other.”

Rated PG, Champions is now playing in local theaters.

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Brendan Fraser in a scene from ''The Whale' Photo courtesy of A24

Reviewed by Jeffrey Sanzel

In 2012, Samuel D. Hunter’s The Whale premiered off-Broadway at Playwrights Horizons. It won both the Drama Desk and the Lucille Lortel Awards for Outstanding Play. Hunter has adapted his play for the screen in a compelling film directed by Darren Aronofsky.

The film opens with Charlie, a morbidly obese college professor, teaching online from his Idaho apartment. While Charlie urges his students to write from a place of truth and honesty, he leaves his camera off so they cannot see who he really is. His friend Liz, a nurse with personal ties to Charlie’s history, urges him to go to the hospital as he is bordering on congestive heart failure. Charlie refuses, citing a lack of health insurance and the fear of incurring huge debts.

Charlie spends his days grading papers, eating, and struggling with declining health. Thomas, a missionary from the New Life Church, visits, attempting to bring him to God. Charlie’s only other outside interaction is with the Gambino’s pizza delivery man, Dan, with whom he speaks through the closed door.

Knowing that his time is limited, Charlie reaches out to his estranged daughter, Ellie. Charlie had not seen the girl since he left her and her mother, Mary, for Alan, one of his continuing ed students. 

A dysfunctional family drama ensues that touches on depression, suicide, religion, money, and homophobia. For the screenplay, Hunter hewed closely to his original work. The play was set entirely in Charlie’s living room, and Aronofsky wisely opts to keep most of the action in the dark, cluttered room, only opening up to the apartment’s additional rooms and the porch (though Charlie never goes beyond the threshold).

The film is not subtle in its storytelling and metaphors. The titular “whale” refers to Moby Dick—both Charlie and a student essay he rereads obsessively. Nevertheless, The Whale derives strength from exceptional performances from its ensemble cast. 

The connection between Liz and Charlie is central to his survival, and Hong Chau balances her love and frustration as Charlie’s only direct contact with the outside world. She frets over his health but is a not-so unwitting enabler. Sadie Sink brings multiple shades of anger and darkness to Ellie, showing her pain but also an almost sadistic need to manipulate. 

Ty Simpkins, as Thomas, avoids cliché and makes the later revelations valid and believable. Samantha Morton appears in one scene, imbuing Mary, the alcoholic ex-wife, with the right sense of hurt and damage. But, at the center of the film is Brendan Fraser as Charlie.

Fraser’s early career included Dogfight (1991), Encino Man (1992), and School Ties (1992). He is best known for The Mummy series (1999, 2001, 2008), with other movies ranging from Dudley Do-Right (1999) and Blast from the Past (1999) to Journey to the Center of the Earth (2008) and No Sudden Move (2021). Certainly, none of these prepare audiences for the heartbreaking depth of this performance.

Going beyond the physical challenges, Fraser makes Charlie a complicated figure. He alternates between a resigned need to apologize—his litany of “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry …”—and a passionate desire to see the good in people (specifically, the mercenary Ellie, who may or may not warrant this faith). 

Harrowing moments include a choking fit and a pizza binge—each horrifying and gut-wrenching in its own way. But they are no more painful than Ellie’s malevolent, “I’m not spending time with you. You’re disgusting.” And his cry, “Who would want me to be a part of their life?” Even his struggle to stand and cross the room resonates with a deep hurt. Fraser never loses sight of Charlie’s humanity, creating a dimensional, unforgettable performance. 

Fraser has already won twenty awards, an equal number of additional nominations, and another dozen pending, including the Oscar for Best Actor.

However, the film has been in the crosshairs of two controversies. Fraser’s casting required him to wear nearly three hundred pounds of prosthetics. This raised questions about why a more appropriately sized actor was not selected. (Shuler Hensley, who appeared in The Whale off-Broadway, was also heavily padded for the role.)

In addition, the character itself has stoked ire in various sectors. “Some of the film’s critics believe it perpetuates tired tropes of fat people as suffering, chronically depressed and binge eating.” (Time Magazine, December 9, 2022) Appropriately, Aronofsky’s career has included a range of controversial films, including Requiem for a Dream, Black Swan, Noah, and Mother!

These challenges aside, the film and its key performance are more than worthy of viewing. At its heart, The Whale asks: Can anyone save anyone? The Whale is a disturbing, extraordinary exploration that leaves the question unanswered. 

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

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Tom Hanks and his furry costar Schmagel in a scene from the film. Photo by Niko Tavernise/Columbia Pictures

Reviewed by Jeffrey Sanzel

Fredrik Backman’s A Man Called Ove (2012) spent forty weeks on the New York Times Best Seller List. First published in Swedish, the English version received almost unanimous raves. The author attributed his inspiration to a newspaper article about a man named Ove who had created a stir while purchasing tickets at an art museum. As a result, Backman created a series of blog posts: “I am a Man Called Ove.” Here, he vented about the world’s many minor aggravations. Eventually, this became the source of the book.

The novel’s Ove is a curmudgeon of the first order. A rule follower, he adheres with almost religious fervor to the letter of the law. He is also deeply mourning for his wife, who passed away six months before the story starts. Forced into retirement, he sees nothing to live for and is determined to end his life so that he may join her. However, a chance encounter with his new neighbors changes his entire course. Reluctantly, Ove becomes drawn into their day-to-day drama and becomes a hesitant but invaluable ally. This involvement shifts Ove’s view of life, and he finds new purpose, mending fences and making changes.

A Swedish film, adhering closely to the source material, was adapted and directed by Hannes Holm, and starred Rolf Lassgård as Ove. Released in 2016, the well-received film was nominated for Best Foreign Language Film and is now Sweden’s third-most-watched Swedish theatrical film of all time. 

In 2017, it was announced that Tom Hanks would star in an English-language remake. (He is also a co-producer, along with his wife, Rita Wilson, Fredrik Wikström Nicastro, and Gary Goetzman). The danger of the material is leaning into its sentimentality and eschewing the darker tones. 

Director Marc Forster (Finding Neverland, Christopher Robin) and screenwriter David Magee (Finding Neverland, Life of Pi) have marginally avoided too gooey a center. While maintaining the plot and most details, this incarnation is distinctly more emotional than the novel or the Swedish version. However, taken for itself, A Man Called Otto is a surprisingly fast-paced, heartfelt two hours and a worthwhile journey. If there are moments that might feel saccharine, the end is both rewarding and cathartic.

The story revolves around Otto, first seen buying five feet of rope sold by the yard. He argues that he does not want to pay the additional thirty-three cents. Even though planning on using the rope to end his life—and clearly, the change would not make a difference to his future—he obsesses on principle. The scene establishes the man and his views.

Each day, Otto makes his morning rounds of the community. Neighbors attempt to engage him, but he responds, “I have too many things to do.” (This mantra will eventually shift from the negative to the positive.) While Backman’s Ove is taciturn, Hanks’ Otto borders on chatterbox, with a running commentary muttered under his breath. Occasionally, his vocalizations conjure an irate Mr. Bean. 

A few changes bring the film into the present: A gay character is now transgender. Social media becomes a force for good. But, overall, the throughline remains the same. 

The major narrative shift is in the use of flashbacks of Otto’s life. The book and earlier film reveal Ove’s history as a series of bad breaks, hard work, and patience. Important is his particular hate for the bureaucratic “men in the white shirts” responsible for many of the worst events in his life. In Otto, the flashbacks are used almost exclusively for his courtship, marriage, and life with Sonya (Rachel Keller). This obscures much of the causality in the story that showed Sonya bringing him out of his misfortunes. (Tom Hanks’ son Truman plays the young Otto, but his work fails to link the two Ottos.) Ove is a man marinated in sourness. Conversely, one suspects Otto is a false Grinch, masking his too-large heart.

Of course, the film’s purpose is Tom Hanks. Tom Hanks is the great American Everyman, so his Otto becomes not a scarred survivor but a reflection of what anyone would become from this loss. Like Jimmy Stewart, Hanks is unique because he manages to be all of us but wholly himself. Different from Backman’s Ove, Hanks makes Otto his own. 

There is a wonderful eclectic nature to the neighborhood residents. In particular, Mariana Treviño brings humor and grounding to Marisol, the new neighbor. In addition, Treviño offers a warm but knowing presence, suspecting that there is more going on with Otto than he shows. 

The interactions between Treviño and Hanks are the highlights of the film. (Christiana Montoya and Alessandra Perez deserve special mention for playing her children with an energy that is neither precocious nor shrill.)

In the end, A Man Called Otto is a different, if gentler, take on a touching, tender, and uplifting tale. 

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

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