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Movie Review

A scene from 'I Am Here'. Photo courtesy of @Micha Serraf/ Sanktuary Films

By Jeffrey Sanzel

The opening of Jordy Sank’s documentary I Am Here is a montage of news reports from recent anti-Semitic events. It is a visual and emotional assault, with the ever-present and always disturbing swastika. From this, he cuts to a disc jockey at a Jewish radio station talking about Holocaust survivor Ella Blumenthal’s response to a hateful attack from a Holocaust denier. In Blumenthal’s letter, she offers to meet with the author. She wants to answer hate with a connection. 

I Am Here is an account of Blumenthal’s life. Celebrating her 98th birthday in Cape Town, South Africa, surrounded by her children, grandchildren, and friends, she relates her story. 

A scene from ‘I Am Here’. Photo courtesy of @Micha Serraf/ Sanktuary Films

Born in Warsaw, she was 18 years old when World War II broke out in 1939. She lost 23 family members—“dear souls”—sent from the Warsaw Ghetto to the Treblinka death camp. She, her father, and her niece, Roma, went into hiding, but following the Ghetto uprising, the three were deported to Majdanek. She witnessed her father struck down by a guard—which was the last time she saw him. In 1943, she and Roma were sent to Auschwitz-Birkenau (where she was tattooed prisoner 48632) and finally ended in Bergen-Belsen before liberation. 

Blumenthal shares her harrowing journey with passion and raw honesty. Speaking of things that she had held inside for years, her details evoke deep pain. She remembers the smell of burning feathers in the destruction of the Ghetto. She tells of the room in which they were held before deportation. At night, guards would come and take young girls and rape them. 

The camps’ horrors are told in vivid, clear detail. She relates of nearly being gassed but getting a reprieve because the quota of five hundred exterminations had been filled. She describes the hanging of a prisoner after an escape attempt. At one point, Roma was contemplating suicide by throwing herself on the electrified fence. When they arrived in Bergen-Belsen, the camp had become nothing more than a charnel house, with the dead and dying everywhere. But even in this nightmare, she states: “I never lost hope, even in the darkest times of my life.”

She believes it was neither luck nor chance but God that helped her survive. Even in her tenth decade, she shows joy, light, and appreciation for all she has. She strives to bond with people, making visits, going on Facebook, and talking to her niece, who lives in New York. She believes that we must “make friends and show kindness.”

Her post-war life led her to Paris, then Palestine, where she met her South African husband, Isaac. They wed after only knowing each other for thirteen days. After that, they moved to Johannesburg, where they opened a business and raised a family. Her married life is shown in a wealth of home movies.

A scene from ‘I Am Here’. Photo courtesy of @Micha Serraf/ Sanktuary Films

Juxtaposed with her history are clips of her current life: spending time with family, swimming, walking, and even making the Sabbath challah. References to “no food must be wasted” and “the plate must be cleared,” as well as a certain frugality (the use of one tea bag to make multiple cups), are presented with humor tinged with the shadow of one who went without.

What separates I Am Here from similar documentaries is the 2D animation. Created by Greg Bakker, the rough cartoons enhance the narrative with muted colors and stilted movement. These sections are more effective and affecting than the standard archival photos and stock footage that are employed elsewhere in the film. These moving illustrations create haunting images.

At the behest of her husband’s family, Blumenthal had her tattoo removed, an unusual and disturbing request, essentially eradicating her experience. She claimed the resulting scar was from a freak car accident. For years, she did not tell her children about her suffering “because the open wounds were still bleeding.” And yet, the adult children speak of her waking up screaming from nightmares. Blumenthal said that these terrible dreams were of the Nazis taking her children. Unfortunately, these questions and ramifications are not fully addressed. The letter from the beginning of the film is never mentioned again.

Blumenthal touches on some of the things that still haunt her. When speaking of her lost family, she muses, “Every person has a grave to go to. I have none. Not even ashes.” She admits that she had trouble mixing with people after the War for they did not know what she went through. She had to build a family to find a new world.

I Am Here offers a portrait of survival but a celebration of life. Blumenthal demonstrates gratitude for the family “next to her now” and “who can hear her when she laughs or cries.” People come to her for blessings as they see her as a source of positivity. She fears that what happened could happen again, and “we should not forget.” But her final message is “We must love people around us. Love everybody” — a powerful statement from a remarkable person.

Rated PG-13, I Am Here is now playing in local theaters.

Zoë Kravitz and Robert Pattinson in a scene from the film. Photo courtesy of Warner Bros. Pictures

By Jeffrey Sanzel

Batman first appeared on screen in the 1940s serials Batman and Batman and Robin. His next appearance was in the high camp television series, where Adam West fought a rogues’ gallery of villains played by beloved Hollywood character actors. In 1989, he resurfaced in the Tim Burton Batman, with Michael Keaton in the title role and Jack Nicholson as the Joker. Three sequels of descending quality followed. 

Robert Pattinson as Batman in a scene from the film. Photo courtesy of Warner Bros. Pictures

Director Christopher Nolan rebooted the franchise in 2005 with Batman Begins and Christian Bale donning cape and cowl. The Dark Knight and The Dark Knight Rises followed in 2008 and 2012. Ben Affleck became the most recent Batman, taking on Batman vs. Superman: Dawn of Justice (2016) and Justice League (2017). Throughout the Caped Crusader’s history, he was seen in various animated incarnations, ranging from the tame Saturday morning cartoons to the challenging Batman: The Killing Joke.

After several false starts with Affleck helming as actor, director, and co-author, The Batman has reached the screen with a different vision. Matt Reeves took an alternate approach, co-writing the screenplay with Peter Craig. Leaving behind Affleck’s action-driven script, Reeves explores Batman in a real-world environment. 

If it’s always sunny in Philadelphia, it’s always raining in Gotham. Undoubtedly, this cinematic Batman is the darkest. And while the Dark Knight rises, the sun does not. Gotham is a world of shadows, a city of chaos and utter corruption. A perpetual sense of disease permeates every corner of a world devoid of safety.

The plot centers around Edward Nashton (Paul DanPaul Dano, channeling the Zodiac Killer), a.k.a. The Riddler, who is eliminating people he feels have abused their power. The film opens with the murder of the mayor who was stepping out on his wife with a woman connected to the Iceberg Lounge, run by underworld mob boss Carmine Falcone (John Turturro). 

Falcone’s number two is thug Oswald “Oz” Cobblepot (unrecognizable Colin Farrell), nicknamed “the Penguin.” The missing woman’s roommate is lounge server Selina Kyle (a phenomenal Zoë Kravitz), a burglar and drug dealer, who is—or will become—Catwoman. Throughout the slightly bloated three hours of playing time, skeletons come to light, including an unsavory history of Bruce Wayne’s parents and a connection to an orphanage where Nashton was raised.

Zoë Kravitz and Robert Pattinson
in a scene from the film.
Photo courtesy of Warner Bros. Pictures

For the most part, Batman’s communication style has been a monotone growl. As played by Robert Pattinson, Batman maintains a gravelly, tight-lipped demeanor. But he introduces an underlying neurotic intensity, reflecting that he is only two years into his crime-fighting career. Pattinson’s Bruce Wayne is not the millionaire playboy living in splendor. Instead, he broods in a decaying Gothic manor worthy of Miss Havisham. 

In addition, Bruce is trapped in a codependent relationship with antagonistic butler Alfred (Andy Serkis, given not enough screen time). Alfred reminds him that he is ignoring his responsibilities. This original approach works, giving depth and insight into the struggle of maintaining two separate existences.

While Batman has often been on the perimeters of society, here he is a true outcast. The police—infested with crooked dealings—see him as a freak. His sole ally is Lieutenant James Gordon (Jeffrey Wright, in a first-rate, definitive interpretation), who truly understands his value.

“Fear is a tool,” states this Batman. “They think I’m hiding in the shadows, but I am the shadows.” His motto is straightforward: “I am vengeance.” Part of him believes Gotham is beyond saving—“maybe it’s eating itself.” With monomaniacal drive, he tries to eradicate the criminal element on all levels to exorcise his demons. He has not yet found a more altruistic drive.

The Batman draws on multiple sources from the comic book but eschews the whimsical villainy for true horror. The Riddler is ridding Gotham of those he feels have betrayed the people. He is “unmasking this cesspool of a city,” a distorted reflection of Batman’s mission. Gone are the green tights with a question mark emblem. Instead, he is a sadistic serial killer cut in the Seven vein, often enacting crimes that call to mind Saw’s Jigsaw. While never fully seen, the vicious murders are suggested clearly. He does not have henchman but instead online followers. This is a timely and more frightening proposition, especially in the film’s finale.

Farrell’s Penguin little resembles anything in the Batman canon. Absent are the traditional umbrella, top hat, monocle, and cigarette. Instead, buried under a fat suit and layers of prosthetics, Farrell’s hoodlum is a plotting opportunist. Perhaps closest to expectations is Kravitz’s conflicted and complicated Catwoman, generating heat and danger.

The Batman focuses on the idea that choices have consequences, and responsibility must go beyond vengeance. In the end, Reeves aims for nobility in the final message. Batman embraces survival to transform. He will endure not for payback but to make the world a better place. He acknowledges that there will be people who will take advantage of Gotham’s vulnerability. But, for him, it must be about not dwelling solely in darkness. Whether this is an earned, uplifting coda or just pulling punches from the film’s true grit is left to the individual viewer. Either way, a forthcoming sequel will find a Batman with a higher purpose, continuing those steps into the light.

Rated PG-13, The Batman is now playing in local theaters.

Haley Bennett and Peter Dinklage in a scene from the film. Photo courtesy of Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer/ Peter Mountain © 2021 Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer Pictures Inc. All Rights Reserved.

By Jeffrey Sanzel

The works of prolific writer Edmond Rostand (1868-1918) included plays for legendary actor Sarah Bernhardt and Les Romanesques (1894), the inspiration for the musical The Fantasticks (1960). But his most enduring work is Cyrano de Bergerac (1897). Rostand based his drama on the life of French novelist, playwright, and duelist Savinien de Cyrano de Bergerac (1619-1655).

Haley Bennett as Roxanne and Kelvin Harrison Jr. as Christian in a scene from the film. Photo courtesy of Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer

In the play, nobleman Cyrano is a cadet in the French Army. Articulate and talented, bold and brash, Cyrano has an exceptionally large nose. His extraordinary proboscis prevents him from expressing his love for his beautiful cousin, Roxanne, fearing his ugliness would cause her to reject him. So instead, he aids the handsome Christian Neuvillette in his courtship of Roxanne.

The first production opened on December 27, 1897, and starred Benoît-Constant Coquelin, who went on to play the role over four hundred times. Subsequent productions were mounted across the globe.

The longest-running Broadway production starred Walter Hampden, in a translation by Brian Hooker; his adaptation became the standard until the 1980s. The best-known Cyrano was José Ferrer, who received a Tony and an Academy Award for his portrayal. Other stars and other translators have since put their enduring impression on the story. Anthony Burgess turned his 1970 adaptation into the libretto for the musical Cyrano (1973), for which Christopher Plummer won a Tony. Steve Martin’s modern screenplay Roxanne (1987) earned him accolades as a writer and actor. 

The story of the selfless soldier with the large nose and eloquent soul has touched audiences on stage and screen for over a century. The newest incarnation, the musical Cyrano, is directed by Joe Wright (Pride & Prejudice, Atonement, Anna Karenina, Darkest Hour, Pan) from a screenplay by Erica Schmidt, based on her 2018 stage adaptation for the off-Broadway production presented by The New Group. 

Haley Bennett stars as Roxanne and Peter Dinklage as Cyrano in Joe Wright’s
CYRANO
A Metro Goldwyn Mayer Pictures film
Photo credit: Peter Mountain
© 2021 Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer Pictures Inc. All Rights Reserved.

Starring Peter Dinklage, the production features music by Aaron Dessner and Bryce Dessner (of the band The National). Rather than focusing on an exceptionally large nose, it is Dinklage’s diminutive size that sets him apart.

The plot of the Rostand remains, with Cyrano in love with Roxanne, but, afraid of rejection, he pours his heart and words into writing and coaching another man to win her heart: “I will make you eloquent while you make me handsome.” 

But the tone is dark and raw, set in a gritty world. The sense of unrest, of a country at war, permeates the entire film. From the opening scene to the last moments, the unease reflects the restlessness of the story’s protagonist. Instead of the Cyrano beloved of his fellow soldiers and connected in the community, Dinklage is a figure of isolation. 

With the absence of comradery, the loneliness creates a deeper poignancy. He says wryly, “I am living proof that God has a sick sense of humor.” But the depth of his pain is present. His yearning and struggle with unrequited love are heartbreaking, never too far from the surface. “My fate is to love her from afar.” Dinklage’s performance is nuanced, subtle, and honest.

However, taken as a whole, the film is uneven. The dialogue is a mix of occasional rhyming (that seems to disappear), genuinely eloquent free verse, and jarring anachronisms. Many classic speeches are gone, often feeling like Hamlet without “To be or not to be ….” The absence of Rostand’s whimsy and warmth are replaced with a harsher edge that serves some but not all the film. 

Humor is rare. Oddly, one of the first lines, delivered by Roxanne’s duenna Monica Dolan), is one of the lone quips: “Children need love; adults need money.” But these flashes are rare.

Haley Bennett’s Roxanne is not a fluttering ingenue but as self-actualized as a woman of the era could be. She is best when paired with Dinklage, especially in the pastry shop that neatly bookends their final encounter. Wright directed the first scene in sharp cuts emphasizing the dynamic relationship. 

Kelvin Harrison, Jr., makes for a likable, if too aware, Christian. Christian and Cyrano should be a study in contrast, with the former tongue-tied and awkward; he is never allowed to commit to the character’s social clumsiness. Ben Mendelsohn’s De Guiche is predatory, going from storybook villain to full-on monster. Bashir Salahuddin’s Le Bret is marginalized. Le Bret is meant to be Cyrano’s confidante and confessor; here, he is reduced to a few small scenes. 

Haley Bennett in a scene from ‘Cyrano’. Photo courtesy of MGM

But the largest flaw is the unnecessary and intrusive score. Sounding quasi-Broadway pop, it consistently detracts from the flow of both the action and the passion. Musical construction is designed to transition into song when the characters’ emotions become too large for dialogue. In Cyrano, it seems the opposite. The energy rises only to be arrested by generic tunes and painfully prosaic lyrics. 

Vocally, Harrison, Jr., has the strongest voice. Dinklage has a pleasant rumble, reminiscent of Leonard Cohen and Bennett is pleasant if unremarkable. An entire song is given over to the soldiers before battle. For some reason, the composers have opted for a Country-and-Western sound.

The designs are lavish, with a well-deserved costume Oscar nomination (Massimo Cantini Parrini and Jacqueline Durran). Jeff and Rick Kuperman’s choreography is intriguing if puzzling. The film is violent, with brutal sword fighting ending in death. Cyrano even sets fire to one of his attackers.

But ultimately, Cyrano belongs to Dinklage, and he shines. He says of Roxanne: “Even her imperfections are perfect.” The same could be said of Dinklage.

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

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Jennifer Lopez and Owen Wilson in a scene from the film. Photo courtesy of Universal Pictures

By Jeffrey Sanzel

Romantic comedies cover a broad spectrum. Whether classics, such as It Happened One Night, The Philadelphia Story, or The Shop Around the Corner or contemporary favorites, like When Harry Met Sally, Four Weddings and a Funeral, and Love Actually, most viewers have their personal favorites. 

On the low end are unwatchable travesties, usually humorless and coarse (thank you, Holidates, for ruining an entire year’s worth of celebrations). The majority play somewhere between, floating in that B-/C+ range on the bell curve. They are watchable but by-the-numbers predictable or just fail to reach their potential. Marry Me, now playing in theatres and streaming on Peacock, is guilty of both. 

Singing superstar Katalina “Kat” Valdez (Jennifer Lopez) is poised to marry the younger Bastian (Maluma) in a spectacular event. The combination concert and ceremony will play to five thousand “guests” and twenty million watching from around the world. It will also unveil the titular duet. Just before she is about to enter and take her vows, an online news source posts video of Bastian carrying on with Kat’s assistant. After a speech about “love is a lie,” Kat selects an unwitting audience member to be her husband. He is math teacher Charlie Gilbert (Owen Wilson), who happens to be holding his daughter Lou’s (Chloe Coleman) “Marry Me” sign. He comes onstage, marries her, and the story begins. 

The premise is ridiculous, but there is an opportunity for both humor and insight if one embraces the idea. The opening shows preparations for a celebrity wedding in all its excess, both the over-the-top production and the media coverage. How much more interesting would the film have been to continue this path, emphasizing the misplaced values and the constant internet hype? Instead, the story becomes painfully predictable. 

Kat’s people convince Gilbert to continue in the faux marriage so she can “change the narrative.” Because he is such a good guy—the windbreaker is a dead giveaway—he agrees. But, of course, they fall in love. She takes him to openings; she teaches his mathalon students to dance. It is all precious and precocious. 

The supporting cast is reduced to ciphers, with Sarah Silverman playing Gilbert’s best friend, a school guidance counselor, who is the “kooky sidekick.” John Bradley (interesting in the execrable Moonfall) and Michelle Buteau play Kat’s considerate handlers. But they are given so little character, they function more to move things along, reminding Kat that she has a photoshoot or a plane to catch. The banality of their performances is no fault of theirs. Maluma, a gifted singer, is given the caricature Latin lothario. Coleman does well enough as Gilbert’s daughter, caught between divorced parents and trying to fit in her new school.

But the film’s sole reason is Lopez and Wilson, and, unfortunately, they seem uncomfortable much of the time. Lopez is saddled with the worst of it; she is the star who is lonely in the crowd. Lopez is a charismatic performer, which shines through when she is allowed to sing. Here, she engages fully, and these are the brighter spots. Wilson is trying to channel an everyman but just comes across as clueless (projected through his use of a flip phone). 

There is not so much a lack of chemistry as no fusion. Kat and Gilbert are quickly too comfortable yet remain distant, mouthing speeches that are a patchwork of cliches. It is as if someone has cut up Hallmark cards and pasted them together as a script. In this case, the someones are John Rogers, Tami Sagher, and Harper Dill, who penned the pedestrian screenplay (based on a graphic novel by Bobby Crosby). Director Kat Coiro fails to bring any originality or point of view.

Many obvious moments will either satisfy expectations or just annoy. The whimsical challenge: Kat will attempt to function without assistants; Gilbert will go on social media. (The arc lasts all of three minutes and then is forgotten.) The requisite surprise birthday gift:  A visit to a childhood amusement park. The romantic date:  They chaperone the school dance. The build-up to consummation: It might be the first time in fifty years that anyone has been inspired by Robert Goulet’s “If Ever I Would Leave You.” The final obstacles involve the Grammy Awards and the big math event, lacking stakes and tension. So much for conflict, contrast, and texture.

One of the major missed opportunities is mentioned in passing. Kat is “north of thirty-five.” Far more interesting would have been incorporating the fears of a not-young-star in a youth-centric culture. Lopez would have brought both depth and dimension to this element.

Ultimately, it comes down to what you want. If you hope for wit and originality, Marry Me does not deliver. But, if you can accept a bland if not unpleasant movie, there are worse ways to spend a couple of hours.

Rated PG-13, Marry Me is playing in local theaters and streaming on Peacock.

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Hallie Berry and Patrick Wilson in a scene from the film. Photo courtesy of Lionsgate

By Jeffrey Sanzel

Did you ever stop to think that the “disaster” in “disaster movie” could have two meanings? You’ll have plenty of time to contemplate this during the two-hour running time (one hundred and twenty minutes (twelve thousand seconds)) that Moonfall takes to grind through its machinations.

Roland Emmerich directed, co-wrote, and produced Moonfall. His other science-fiction films include Stargate (1994), Independence Day (1996), Godzilla (1998), The Day After Tomorrow (2004), and Independence Day: Resurgence (2016). So, Emmerich is the guilty party.

On a 2011 Space Shuttle mission, a mysterious black swarm kills an astronaut. A fellow crewmember, Brian Harper (Patrick Wilson), is accused of negligence, blamed for the death, and fired. The other crewmember, Jo Fowler (Halle Berry), was unconscious when the attack occurred. 

Fast forward ten years. Harper, now divorced, is on the verge of eviction from his seedy apartment. Fowler (also divorced) holds the position of NASA’s Deputy Director. Conspiracy theorist K.C. Houseman (John Bradley) discovers that the moon’s orbit has shifted, bringing it closer to the earth. Failing to get Harper to listen, he goes public on social media. “Moon panic” and looting ensue. A failed attempt to investigate the moon situation leads to the exposure of the black swarms that attacked ten years earlier.

A scene from ‘Moonfall.’ Photo courtesy of Lionsgate

An hour into the film, Harper, Fowler, and Houseman venture out on a space shuttle taken from a museum; they are off to save the world. Spoiler Alert. In a convoluted explanation, everything comes back to rogue Artificial Intelligence destroying a civilization that colonized earth. The moon is a megastructure built by the aliens. (A fun drinking game would involve imbibing on this oft-repeated word. If you don’t want to wait for the myriad recurrences, say it to yourself ten times before going to the movie and take a nap instead.)

Meanwhile, on earth, a subplot involves Harper’s semi-delinquent son, Sonny (Charlie Plummer), rescuing his mother (Carolina Bartczak) and her new family, as well as Fowler’s son. They are trying to get to a Colorado bunker where Fowler’s ex-husband (Eme Ikwuakor), an Air Force four-star general, is holed up with the keys to the about-to-be-released nuclear weapons. Sonny outdrives a tsunami in an amazing feat of auto-heroics, possibly the greatest plug in Lexus history. He is also involved with a preposterous rescue involving the moon’s gravity saving the day.

Science fiction movies have been built on less but have triumphed in style, special effects, and an appeal to a sense of wonder. Moonfall manages to tick no boxes. What is not CGI looks like cardboard models. The same is true for most of the performances. 

Academy Award-winner Halle Berry is truly an exceptional actor and rarely disappoints; here, the headline should be “Halle Berry Cashes a Paycheck.” Patrick Wilson usually does not lack charm, but he comes across as a low-rent Captain Kirk meets Hans Solo. 

John Bradley (best known for his role as Samwell Tarly in Game of Thrones)gives the most interesting performance as the backward Houseman (attached to his mother and his cat Fuzz Aldrin). But, today, something is disturbing in the conspiracy theorist as the voice of reason. Donald Sutherland’s minute-and-a-half of screen time is a minute-and-a-half of screen time. (Beneath Berry’s headline should be “So does Donald Sutherland.”) Often, the performances seem one beat away from Airplane. We wait for Wilson to turn to the other two and say, “And don’t call me Shirley.” Alas, he does not.

Movies like this can be entertaining. Unfortunately, Moonfall is not so much fun as unintentionally funny. With lines as painful as “I work for the American people,” “The sand on the hourglass is dropping quickly for all of us,” “I hope the moon holds together at least for a little while,” “I didn’t come this far to fail,” “I hate to tell you this, but we’re running out of time,” and (multiple times) “I’ve got a plan,” the script is cobbled together from The Big Book of Movie Cliches. A personal favorite is “If the earth gets a second chance, I think we deserve one too.” The pseudo-scientific jargon does not help the situation. 

Moonfall makes us yearn for the integrity of Georges Méliès’ A Trip to the Moon (1902), in which a cannon propelled capsule lands in the eye of an annoyed moon. 

No words can truly describe the Moonfall’s final moments. They must be seen to be believed. Or better, not. Among the film’s promotional taglines is “Earth … We have a problem.” Yup. With deep gravitas, Harper says, “Save the moon. Save the earth.” Perhaps it should have been, “Save your money.”

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

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From left, Matt McGorry, Mamoudou Athie and Dina Shihabi star in Archive 81. Photo from Netflix

By Jeffrey Sanzel

One of Netflix’s top ten most popular shows is the first season of the supernatural Archive 81. The twisty thriller runs parallel timelines that eventually entangle. Smart and well-plotted, the eight one-hour episodes deliver intriguing concepts in a literate, engaging storyline.

Based on the podcast of the same name, Archive 81 focuses on Daniel Turner (Mamoudou Athie, understated and riveting), an expert archivist for the Museum of the Moving Image in New York City, who is hired to restore fire-damaged twenty-five-year-old videos. The head of the shadowy LMG corporation, Virgil Davenport (folksy malevolence as played by Martin Donovan), ensconces Daniel in a remote compound to do the work. 

Mamoudou Athie as Daniel Turner in a scene from the series. Photo from Netflix

The found-footage video belonged to documentarian Melody Pendras (Dina Shihabi), who was writing her Ph.D. dissertation about an apartment building, The Visser. However, Melody’s prime goal was locating her birth mother, who had left her in a church as an infant. 

While Melody lived in the building and investigated, The Visser burned down, leaving thirteen people missing. As Daniel watches the tapes, he becomes obsessed with Melody. Additionally, he is suspicious of the coincidence of his own tragic childhood loss of his entire family in a fire. 

The expansive construction of Archive 81 allows for full portraits of the isolated Daniel and the determined Melody. Their pain and struggles are palpable and are a study in contrast. Melody ferociously seeks the truth, even if it puts her in danger. On the other hand, the damaged Daniel spends his life on the sidelines, not as a creator. Asked if he is a filmmaker, he responds, “No, I restore … films, tapes, photographs … things that have been damaged, lost, or forgotten … I bring them back.”

When Melody begins speaking to him in the tapes and then appearing in person, he questions his sanity. But gradually, both realize they are connecting across time and space, with the lines not so much dissolved as tangled. Time is out of joint in both minutes and years, conceptually playing into the commentary of lost spirits who do not know where to go. Ultimately, this poses the question: “Can the present haunt the past?”

Creator Rebecca Sonnenshine (with four other writers and four directors) has crafted inventive mythology, well-developed characters, and clear and differing styles for 1994 and 2019. The driving force is the building and its occupants. 

Harkening to Rosemary’s Baby, the denizens of the Visser are a strange bunch, harboring secrets and holding clandestine meetings in the community room. But this is to be expected in a story that deals with covens, satanic cults, human sacrifices, and a god-demon named Kalego. 

Add to this spirit receivers, lost television tapes, a Hollywood connection, and drug addiction, Archive 81 boasts a complicated but not convoluted plot. The emotional investment is appropriately life-and-death, with the revelations smartly unveiled. 

The acting is solid, with Athie and Shihabi anchoring the narrative. Matt McGorry is excellent as Daniel’s friend and confidant Mark who runs the paranormal podcast Mystery Signals. McGorry mines the role for dimension, raising it above the stereotypical sidekick. Julia Chan just avoids caricature as Melody’s aggressive artist roommate, Anabelle. Ariana Neal’s Jessica is a likable, off-beat teen groomed for darker purposes. Evan Jonigkeit is wholly believable as Samuel, the most welcoming of The Visser’s residents. If Kristin Griffith and Kate Eastman are two of the more over-the-top tenants, Sol Miranda’s fortuneteller/medium makes a difficult scene soar.

There is little gore, and the handful of jump-out scares are well-earned. Unfortunately, the special effects are not as high-end as the series warrants, landing more functional than impressive.

Oddly, in the penultimate episode, Archive 81 loses tension as it is filled predominantly with straightforward flashbacks of the 1924 origin of the cult. The explanations deflate the existential dread, and its linear style is far less interesting than the early, more peripatetic entries. Clarification seems to diffuse the energy. The final moment sets up for at least a future season, if not seasons.

Archive 81 is an enigmatic fast-paced story grounded in riddles and played for high stakes. And what more could you ask for in a binge-watch? The series is now streaming on Netflix.

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By Jeffrey Sanzel

Vonda N. McIntyre’s The Moon and the Sun (1997) blended science fiction and historical romance. The novel won the Nebula Award for Best Novel, besting George R. R. Martin’s A Game of Thrones. Among the book’s other accolades were a Publishers Weekly Best Book Award, Locus Recommended Book, and Intergalactic Award for Best Novel. Set in the seventeenth-century French court of King Louis XIV, the story follows the longest-reigning monarch’s search for immortality by ingesting an endangered sea monster’s flesh.

Talk of a movie version can be traced back to 2002, with Natalie Portman attached as the lead. But the film failed to be greenlit. Eventually, The Moon and the Sun was filmed in 2014, set for a 2015 release date, but the film remained on the shelf for nearly seven years. Various reasons have been proffered, including test audiences’ less than positive reaction to the visual effects and a tax evasion scandal involving the film’s mermaid, Fan Bingbing, China’s highest-paid female star. The film has finally been released under the title The King’s Daughter.

It has taken a quarter of a century for The Moon and the Sun to land on the big screen. But sadly, one suspects that this is not what McIntyre had in mind.

Choosing Julie Andrews as narrator probably seemed like a good idea on paper, but the once-upon-a-time illustrated prologue along with Andrews’ unique warmth and whimsy point towards Disney’s Beauty and the Beast. Unfortunately, the child-friendly prologue presents the wrong signals for what is—or at least should be—a darker tale.

The opening convent scene features Rachel Griffiths as the Mother Abbess channeling The Sound of Music as she disciplines Marie-Josèphe (Kaya Scodelario) for being too … well, too Maria von Trapp. The Abbess’ departing shot to the girl is that she is going “to a lavish, glimmering hell … where you no doubt will thrive.” If only. 

The court seems to be short on courtiers. Outside of a scene of the king (Pierce Brosnan) addressing what looks like the peasants from a road company operetta, the population of Versailles seems to be on holiday. Perhaps they are off buying some of the strangely non-period dresses that occasionally pop up in the oddest places.

Quickly, with very little explanation other than a gift for music, she is whisked away to the court by the king’s personal confessor, Père La Chaise (William Hurt). Louis quickly elevates the feisty lass to court composer. 

Meanwhile, sailor Yves De La Croix (Benjamin Walker) has found the sea creature (Bingbing). The villainous court doctor (Pablo Schreiber) has promised the monster’s heart and life force will grant the king eternal life. The mermaid must be sacrificed during the upcoming solar eclipse. 

Louis shows particular interest in Marie-Josèphe, as she is his illegitimate daughter, spawning some of the most uncomfortable parent-child scenes ever found outside of the plays of Eugene O’Neill. 

The mermaid’s singing draws Marie-Josèphe to the pool in which the creature is imprisoned. The musician uses the siren’s pinging vocalizations to inspire her composition, meeting the king’s immediate approval. In addition, the girl falls for the sailor. However, as the court is in dire financial straits, Louis wants Marie-Josèphe to marry the wealthy merchant-heir Jean-Michel Lintillac (Ben-Lloyd Hughes).

Barry Berman and James Schamus have taken a range of liberties with the source in fashioning their clumsy screenplay. Director Sean McNamara’s lack of nuance does nothing to enhance the performances. Teeth-grinding earnestness fills every line; emotion is replaced by slow motion. Brosnan is always charming and could have excelled in the role, but the writers could not commit to what they wanted their Sun King to be. His relationship with Hurt’s priest seems like lifted from a buddy movie. Scodelario alternates between pleasantly upbeat (though occasionally a bit rom-com) and crying.

Films of this ilk can be saved by style-over-substance. Lady-in-waiting Magali (Crystal Clarke) tells Marie-Josèphe that “color and bravado are the order of the day.” Again, if only. The filmmakers were granted access to shoot at Versailles. Somehow, they made the spectacular palace look cheap—as if shot in the producers’ Hampton’s backyard.

 The royal ball in the Hall of Mirrors is a missed opportunity to showcase excess and opulence, further ruined by an excruciating father-daughter dance. The underground cave where they keep the mermaid is quasi-Pirates of the Caribbean (not the film—the ride). The special effects seem generated on an ancient laptop, with the final sequence particularly appalling. 

After dithering about souls and morality, the final platitude is “only love is immortal.” Yes. But clear storytelling and character development can be nice, too.

Rated PG, The King’s Daughter is now playing in local theaters.

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Jenna Ortega in a scene from 'Scream.' Photo from Paramount Pictures

By Jeffrey Sanzel

The horror and comedy genres have always been an uneasy mixture. Early examples show a clumsy and ultimately juvenile mix, fodder for the preteen matinee crowd. The most obvious examples include the Abbott and Costello/Universal outings where the duo clashed with a rogue’s gallery of baddies from Frankenstein’s monster to Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.

Jenna Ortega with Ghostface
in a scene from ‘Scream.’ Photo by Brownie Harris/Paramount Pictures

Horror films shifted with the aggressively cold Hammer films and then found a reemergence in the late 60s into the 70s. Rosemary’s Baby (1968) ushered in an era of grudging respect for cinematic terror. The genre reached its peak with John Carpenter’s near-perfect Halloween (1978). Any humor found in these works was incidental and subtle. Wes Craven’s A Nightmare on Elm Street (1984) introduced elements of dark comedy. (As the series deteriorated, serial killer Freddy Krueger descended to the level of a quippy late-night TV host, rather than the rooted evil in which he was forged.) 

Kevin Williamson’s screenplay for Scream (1996), directed by Craven, successfully blended horror and humor. Scream and its franchise are rooted in a meta-view of the clichés acknowledging the classic tropes. The first Scream movie was clever, brilliantly tense, and genuinely funny; its opening scene (featuring Drew Barrymore) is horrifyingly smart. The characters’ awareness of the rules of the slasher film informed their perceptions.

Three sequels followed with the cleverest element: the introduction of the film-within-a-film, Stab (and its sequels), taking self-awareness to another degree. While not completely deteriorating like most films followed by a number, the quality, insight, and thrills were less.

The newest incarnation, returning to the original title, Scream, continues where Scream 4 ended. Matt Bettinelli-Olpin and Tyler Gillett have taken the directorial reigns (Craven having passed away in 2015), working from a script by James Vanderbilt and Guy Busick. Though attempting to dodge a numerical appellation, this is Scream 5 and a standard slasher:

Group of teenagers in various generic relationships. Check.

Some connection to past storylines. Check.

Cameos of expendable characters from earlier films. Check.

Excessive violence and blood. Check.

People being brutalized but managing to not be in too much pain. Check.

Legacy characters appearing as Deus ex machina. Check.

At one point, the writers have given the “expert” a speech about “requels.” These are the films that are neither sequels nor reboots but some hybrid. Whether this is clever or justifying the new Scream is hard to say.

The story occurs twenty-five years after the Loomis-Macher murder spree in Woodboro. The first scene shares DNA with the opening of the original. While on the phone with the killer, terrified high school student Tara Carpenter (Jenna Ortega) must answer questions about the Stab franchise, or her friend will be murdered. Ghostface is actually in the Carpenter home and stabs Tara seven times (though the girl survives).

Ghostface
in a scene from ‘Scream.’
Photo from Paramount Pictures

The attack is a ploy to get Tara’s estranged sister, Sam (Melissa Barrera), to return. Joined by her attentive if slightly uniformed boyfriend, Richie (Jack Quaid), Sam quickly reveals her connection to one of the original killers. She and Richie recruit the dissipated former sheriff Dewey Riley (David Arquette). Ghostface continues his attacks, and the teenagers spout quips, referencing the horror movie rules. Running in the background is the release of a much-maligned Stab 8.

The jump scares are plentiful, predictable, and pedestrian, lacking a sense of danger, either on-screen (or in the audience). Even though there is a sadistic killer in their midst, the town strangely takes it as business-as-usual.

Just before the halfway mark, Sydney Prescott (Never Campbell) and Gale Weathers (Courtney Cox) show up to join the hunt for the killer. The old gang is back together. The most painful, excruciating moment has nothing to do with knives: The reunion of the now divorced Dewy and Gale manages to be both under- and over-written simultaneously. 

Throughout, nods to other horror films include the dangerous hospital (Halloween 2) and the shower scene (Psycho). A character named Wes and an Elm Street memorialize Craven. A vague analysis of toxic fandom is important but not fully realized. A lack of texture and a plethora of stiff dialogue keep the film at a distance.

Even with the return of Arquette, Campbell, and Cox, the film fails to ignite. The new cast members do their best, each suspecting the other of being the killer. Even saddled with excessive exposition, Barrera and Ortega make for self-actualized Scream Queens.

There are definite flashes of wit and enormous meta potential. But clichés are sometimes just that: clichés. And, with all the blood, Scream is the hardest to watch when trying to be noble and sincere.

Whether a sequel, a reboot, or a “requel,” Scream is more of a whimper. And just as in the movie’s world where there will be a Stab 9, we can expect a Scream 2. Or 6. Number it as you will.

Rated R, Scream is now playing in local theaters.

A scene from Disney's 'Encanto'. Photo courtesy of Walt Disney Animation Studios

Reviewed by Jeffrey Sanzel

The question of “What is a gift?” is the driving force of Disney’s 60th feature film, Encanto. Set in the mountains of Columbia, in an unspecified “once upon a time,” Encanto is one of Disney’s finest and most sophisticated animated musicals. Exquisitely directed by Byron Howard and Jared Bush (with a screenplay by Bush and Charise Castro Smith), this is a memorable story of family and responsibility.

Fleeing from marauding conquerors, Alma Madrigal loses her husband, Pedro, but saves her infant triplets. An “Encanto” is a charm; here, the spell is in a candle. The magical force of the candle creates the “casita”—a magic home for Alma and her children.

A scene from Disney’s ‘Encanto’. Photo courtesy of Walt Disney Animation Studios

The Encanto blesses each member of the Madrigal family with a special power. Together, these “gifts” help maintain the community. But what happens when that gift brings visions no one wants to know? Or, even more challenging, when a child seemingly has no gift at all? The latter is the case with granddaughter Mirabel, the heart of the narrative and, ultimately, the center and savior of family and village.

Mirabel is a quirky, frustrated young woman; smart and articulate but under-appreciated. Her mother, aunt, sister, and cousins outshine her with their showy skills. Julieta, Mirabel’s mother, heals any ailment with food. Gorgeous Isabela, Mirabel’s oldest sister, is considered perfect and makes flowers bloom. Just behind Isabela is Louisa, a girl of Herculean strength. Aunt Carolina’s emotions control the weather; she is often followed by her own cloud hovering over her head. Cousin Adassa has unparalleled hearing. Cousin Rhenzy is a shapeshifter, taking on the appearance of anyone he meets. Cousin Ravi-Cabot communicates with animals. 

While seemingly wonderful, these powers carry burdens as well, shared in often hilarious and telling ways.

The action goes into gear on the day Cousin Ravi-Cabot is to receive his gift. Mirabel, his favorite cousin, gives him the strength to face whatever is to come his way. While everyone is celebrating, Mirabel sees the house beginning to crack and the candle in danger of being snuffed. Her alarm is revealed to be a vision, but most do not—or choose not—to believe her. She embarks on a quest to solve the danger, encountering her Uncle Bruno, who had disappeared after his prognostications were met with resistance. 

With the knowledge gathered from Bruno, Mirabel understands her course and the dangers it includes.

Encanto is emotionally complicated and avoids preciousness. There is humor and plenty of magic, but the lessons it imparts are genuine. 

A scene from Disney’s ‘Encanto’. Photo courtesy of Walt Disney Animation Studios

Encanto is perhaps the least saccharine of any Disney film. Visually, the film is extraordinary, exploding with color and action. The house itself is a dynamic character, with its communicating tiles, floorboards that deliver slippers, and an alarm clock that nudges the householders to move along. 

The characters are charmingly animated, simultaneously broad and subtle. But, in the end, the film’s imparting is the all-important message that gifts do not have to be flashy and that miracles come from belief, perseverance, and love. The film never loses sight of these morals.

The vocal talent is exceptional. Stephanie Beatriz’s Mirabel is tremendous, portraying a struggling soul, imbuing her with perfect comedic timing and profound humanity. John Leguizamo’s Uncle Bruno uses twitchy antics to very slightly mask the character’s underlying sadness. Diane Guerrero’s seemingly vain Isabela finds new shades in her transformation. 

In Luisa, Jessica Darrow shows the drain of never complaining. And Maria Cecilia Botero raises the grandmother above caricature, finding depth and pain in the matriarch who comes to terms with her misplaced iron will. (Many of the actors will be voicing the Spanish language version as well.)

Hamilton/In the Heights’ Lin-Manuel Miranda has fashioned a serviceable and pleasant score, but the film stands on its own. An attempt to introduce the roster in “The Family Madrigal” doesn’t quite succeed but establishes the world in which the tale occurs. The strongest numbers are “Dos Orguitas,” a haunting tune sung in Spanish, and the joyous finale “All of You.” 

Preceding Encanto is Far From the Tree, a wordless short about a raccoon parent protecting its child with tough love. While simple and traditionally animated, the two pieces share how families relate and the deep-rooted desire to protect. They are perfect compliments, sharing overlapping cores, with Far From the Tree delicate and Encanto spark and sparkle.

In the end, Encanto teaches not just acceptance within a family but how family and community come together. These are big concepts, and younger viewers might not get them the first time. But like the best of family features—The Toy Story series, Coco, etc.—Encanto will be one that children will return to as they grow. 

And that said, there is much for everyone to relish in this beautiful and beautifully told tale

Rated PG, Encanto is now playing in local theaters.

 

From left, reporter Tom Cullen, editor Art Cullen and publisher John Cullen of the Storm Lake Times.

Reviewed by Jeffrey Sanzel

“Readers decide our future. Not any branch of government.”

Sixty-five million Americans live in news deserts—counties with only one local newspaper or none at all. In the past fifteen years, one in four newspapers has shuttered in the U.S. Storm Lake, the fascinating documentary by Jerry Risius and Beth Levison, follows The Storm Lake Times, a family-run paper located in Buena Vista County, Iowa. Operating at break-even, The Times, a twice-weekly paper, is one of the last of its kind.

Editor Art Cullen at his desk at the Storm Lake Times

Located in the northwest corner of the state, Storm Lake is home to about 11,000 residents. Originally an almost exclusively Caucasian community, it now contains a large Latino population. Tyson Foods employs over 2,200 workers at its hog slaughterhouse, meatpacking plant, and turkey processing plant.

In ninety well-crafted minutes, Storm Lake offers a portrait of the small-town newspaper industry and a family whose goal is to keep it alive. Founded in 1990 by John Cullen, The Storm Lake Times’ face and voice is Art Cullen, John’s brother. Art, a benign curmudgeon and county’s Democratic voice, presents somewhat like a hippie Mark Twain. At age 59, he received the 2017 Pulitzer Prize for Editorial Writing. He “ask[s] the big questions, speak[s] truth to power, and share[s] the struggles and successes of his unique community.” The paper is a liberal bastion in the predominantly conservative area.

The Times has ten employees, including Art’s son, Tom, who is the main reporter. Founder John explains that he donates his salary because he is on Social Security. Art’s wife, Mary, can be seen taking pictures and writing features. Art’s sister-in-law provides the recipe column. The family dog, Peach, lolls on the office floor or rides along with drop-offs. 

Leisure editor Mary Cullen of the Storm Lake Times

The film smartly divides its focus between the big and small pictures. As a result, the day-to-day life of the paper contrasts with larger events. Advertising is the lifeblood of any paper, and The Storm Lake Times grapples with filling its quota. Most of the revenue derives from mom-and-pop stores, but large corporations have driven many out of business. 

There are many happy stories: births, local celebrities, “Miss Pigtails,” educational advancements, and county fairs. Local government is given the same weight as national politics. For their readers, garbage pickup is more important than a presidential hopeful’s visit. “Local journalism is the heart of telling the local story.” The report on Ice Out Day, when the ice melts, encompasses a reference to climate change. The Times follows a local Tyson plant worker who is moving forward on a Spanish language talent show. 

The paper never shies away from addressing issues of prejudice, extremely important in its growing immigrant community. The story of eight-year-old Julio Barroso, who was deported along with his family, is highlighted; the staff tracked him down in Mexico twenty-two years later. In addition, a partnership is developed with the Spanish paper La Prensa to share content and ads.

The staff listens to its community and responds to their thoughts and criticism. “There are consequences for everything we do, and we feel that feedback immediately,” says John.

Storm Lake Times editor Art Cullen interviews Elizabeth Warren in a scene from the film.

Broader politics included the coverage of The Heartland Presidential Forum, with major Democratic candidates speaking: Art Cullen was the draw. He interviewed Elizabeth Warren, Julio Castro, and Amy Klobuchar, among others. The Iowa Caucus occupies much of the middle and latter half of the film. But even here, there is a discussion about the cutting down of the paper’s TV listings from eighty channels to thirty-one to save space and money. Risius and Levison never lose sight of the myriad challenges.

The end of the film deals with the COVID crisis, and specifically, the Tyson plants. The Storm Lake Times reported on the disproportionate number of immigrants endangered by their work in unsafe conditions. Art states that this is “subtle racism—but racism all the same.” The Tyson operation became the hottest spot in the country for COVID cases. 

The denouement shifts briefly to the paper’s labors to survive the pandemic when “ads fell off a cliff,” and Art and John thought of closing the paper. Fortunately, with a go-fund-me and other support, The Storm Lake Times survived. With its new website, it reaches 1.2 million readers per month.

Storm Lake contains the expected filler of printing and binding papers, along with stacks dropped off in stores and machines. Occasionally, there is something meta about the documentarians shooting the television on which Art appears on a talk show. But there are wonderful extended quotes from many of Art’s insightful and passionate editorials. In addition, the documentarians know when to let the film breathe: a talk about feeding the dog, a discussion of a new shirt, or briefly watching Art pick the cashews out of a can of mixed nuts all add to the humanity.

In a world where people want their news for free, Storm Lake is a powerful and important reminder about local journalism’s responsibility, value, and contribution. The film ends on the hopeful note that good journalism elevates a community by reporting on what is good. 

“You can change the world through journalism. The reporter is the cornerstone in a functioning democracy. And without strong local journalism, the fabric of the place becomes frayed.”

For a free viewing of the film, visit www.pbs.org/independentlens/documentaries/storm-lake/.