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Movie Review

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

Reviewed by Jeffrey Sanzel

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Reviewed by Jeffrey Sanzel

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Reviewed by Jeffrey Sanzel

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Reviewed by Jeffrey Sanzel

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Reviewed by Jeffrey Sanzel

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Above, Tom Hanks as Colonel Parker and Austin Butler as Elvis. Photo courtesy ofWarner Bros.
Austin Butler in a scene from the film. Photo from Warner Bros.
Austin Butler in a scene from the film. Photo courtesy of Warner Bros.
Austin Butler in a scene from the film. Photo from Warner Bros

Reviewed by Jeffrey Sanzel

Australian auteur Baz Luhrmann has left his kinetic imprint on a range of cinematic works. Known for his bold visual style and thumping soundtracks, William Shakespeare’s Romeo + Juliet (1996), Moulin Rouge! (2001), and The Great Gatsby (2013) are among his most prominent projects. With Elvis, he has turned his sights on one of the most iconic performers of the twentieth century. Working from a screenplay co-written with Sam Bromell, Craig Pearce, and Jeremy Doner, Luhrmann presents an almost hagiographic portrait, smoothing out many of the rougher edges.

Elvis begins with Luhrmann’s usual frenetic assault. Slow-motion, quick cuts, aggressive music, and even a dissolve into a comic book set the tone for an original, if over-the-top, approach. However, within thirty minutes, the film settles into a traditional biography with only occasionally departing from a straight narrative. It becomes surprisingly pedestrian, given Luhrmann’s signature style. Predictable montages with cities superimposed on a map indicating travel seem a throwback to films of a previous century. Perhaps this is to put the action in its time, but it leans more towards creaky than homage.

The film tells the story from the perspective of Elvis’s agent, Colonel Tom Parker (Tom Hanks). He serves as narrator and villain, tracing the singer from his poverty-ridden childhood through Parker’s elevation of the singer and Elvis’s meteoric rise. Much is made of Elvis’s fascination with African-American music of Memphis’s Beale Street. The huckster Parker becomes guide and gatekeeper to the naive young man, with something Faustian about the story: Parker as a corpulent Mephistopheles making dreams come true.

The film covers little new ground. In two and a half hours of playing time, Elvis reveals bits and pieces but never creates a full portrait of any of its characters. Luhrmann pulls his punches, making Elvis an almost benevolent figure, eschewing many darker elements. The drugs and sex are touched upon but then relegated to the background. While Parker states that Elvis was “the taste of forbidden fruit,” these are seen only in sanitized glimpses.

The greatest star of many generations was the victim of bad choices and insidious management. There are harrowing moments—particularly when his father decides to get him on stage when he should be in a hospital. But these moments are too few and far between. Instead, the movie focuses on performances and the push-pull relationship between the manager and the managed. Nods are made to Elvis’s devastation over the assassinations of Martin Luther King, Jr., and Robert Kennedy and his desire to make bigger statements. But they are skimmed over. 

His career is played in fast-forward, his army service and movies receiving only perfunctory glances, segueing to television, and finally to Vegas. The Steve Allen debacle, with Elvis in tails singing to a hound dog, makes for a decisive moment, and the entire residency at the International Hotel receives more than a cursory treatment. 

Tom Hanks gets points for giving the least “Tom Hanks” performance of his career. His almost freakish Parker is an obese fat suit and distorting prosthetics, calling to mind Jiminy Glick or Danny DeVito as the Penguin. The shadowy “Colonel” was a fraud and a charlatan, not southern but Dutch. For some strange reason, Hanks opted for an untraceable European accent (and sounding nothing like any of the available clips of the real Parker). One expects lines like “He’s the greatest carnival attraction I’d ever seen; he was my destiny” to be followed by a maniacal laugh. He creeps around the film’s periphery, wandering in his purgatory casino.

In theory, the reason for biographical films is to explore historical figures, acknowledge their accomplishments, explore them in the context of their times, or gain insight into what made them unusual, exceptional, and memorable. However, more often, the films become a celebration of the actors’ work: Daniel Day-Lewis in Lincoln; Jennifer Hudson in Respect; Joaquin Phoenix and Reese Witherspoon in Walk the Line; Rami Malek in Bohemian Rhapsody, etc. Somewhere along the way, the portrayal subsumes the persona.

Austin Butler delivers as Elvis. He captures the King in every look, shift, and shrug. He embodies the roiling doubts and the desire for more. Whether struggling with career choices or trying to care for his dysfunctional parents, he infuses each moment with integrity and star power. His vocals are excellent, and he has found the required nuances. (Butler sings all the earlier songs and then is blended with actual Elvis recordings for the later years.)

By the film’s end, little has been revealed about the man or the myth. There are events and interactions and a bit of trivia but not much depth. Unlike Dexter Fletcher’s Rocketman, the gloriously messy look at Elton John, Elvis chooses not to reflect its subject in style or approach. There is nothing “Elvis” about Elvis. Instead, Baz Luhrmann offers a by-the-numbers biopic with a mesmerizing central performance. It is something, but perhaps not enough.

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

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A scene from 'Lightyear'. Image courtesy of Disney/Pixar

Reviewed by Jeffrey Sanzel

“To infinity and beyond” takes on a different context in Pixar’s excellent Lightyear. Instead of a pithy catchphrase, the words become a heartfelt exchange between Buzz Lightyear and his friend and commanding officer, Alisha Hawthorne. This adjustment encompasses the tonal shift from Buzz’s cinematic origin in the world of Toy Story.

Here, Lightyear is the favorite film of Toy Story’s young Andy Davis, who received a Buzz Lightyear toy in 1995 when the movie was released. Lightyear is a meta-spinoff of the Toy Story series but its own entity. Buzz Lightyear is not the action figure but the source character himself. He is less the stiff, oblivious punchline and more a mildly but easily exasperated military careerist. The Star Command Galactic Ranger and Alisha explore the planet Tikana Prime, which is overrun with attacking vines and insectoid creatures. In trying to evacuate, Buzz damages the vessel, leaving the crew marooned as they conduct repairs. 

What follows is a classic science-fiction story dealing with the variegations and complications of time travel. Each time Buzz attempts to go into hyperspace, a time dilation of the four-minute journey passes as four years on Tikana Prime. Buzz fixates on liberating the stranded team. Meanwhile, the crew continues to live and flourish, developing a community that does not include the alienated (and often alienating) Buzz. 

A scene from ‘Lightyear’. Image courtesy of Disney/Pixar

The societal growth is shown most vividly in Alisha, who marries and raises a son with her wife and eventually passes on her love of being a ranger to her granddaughter, Izzy. While Buzz obsesses on the world left behind, Alisha thrives in the world that is present. (This beautifully integrated LGBT element caused it to become the first children’s animated film to be given an NC16 rating in Singapore, equivalent to an R rating in the US.)

The film is not without laughs, but they are often of a subtler variety. Alisha chides Buzz for his constant self-narration, reminding him that no one ever listens to his logs. Buzz receives a robotic service animal, a feline named Sox, whose running commentary and support function as an emotional connection for the lonesome Buzz. Underneath the “I’m Buzz Lightyear—I’m always sure” is a lost and slightly damaged ranger. 

After sixty-two years of failures, Alisha’s replacement, the insensitively bureaucratic Commander Burnside, shuts down Buzz’s attempts. By now, robots have invaded the planet under the control of the mysterious Emperor Zurg (the only other character from the Toy Story canon). A laser shield has been the sole protection from the machines overrunning the vulnerable community. Bruised but undaunted, Buzz goes rogue to complete the mission. He encounters ragtag members of the colony’s defense force who eventually become his team.

There is nothing strikingly new in Lightyear. In its beautiful, rough cinematic animation, it conjures the Lucas universe. Sly references permeate the canny, straightforward screenplay by Jason Headley and Angus MacLane. The stock characters are written with wit, but more importantly, humanity. The revelation of the antagonist provides a powerful “ah-hah” moment, giving Buzz a personal epiphany. 

Chris Evans provides the voice for Buzz Lightyear in the new Toy Story spinoff.
Image courtesy of Disyey/Pixar

Chris Evans embodies Buzz with the right balance of bombast and guilt, never sacrificing the pain for a laugh. Uzo Aduba’s Alisha is the perfect foil: smart, clever, and fully aware. The trio of under-trained recruits form Buzz’s eventual entourage. Keke Palmer captures Izzy’s mix of eagerness and fear. Taika Waititi’s Mo Morrison possesses the right touch of wide-eyed naïveté. Dale Soules, channeling her Orange Is the New Black persona, ideally assays the elderly paroled convict with a penchant for blowing things up. As Sox, Peter Sohn is simultaneously warm and deadpan—with several references to R2-D2. (There is an amusing bit with Sox providing sleep sounds.)

MacLane has directed Lightyear with a sure hand and a clear vision. He has led his voice actors and animation teams to create a story that echoes the importance of belief in others with striking and often thrilling visuals. Told through a man out of time (landing in a world where the sandwich is rethought), Lightyear finds its head and heart in ideas of life and home. More Star Wars than Toy Story, the film plays on an adult level but offers much for young audiences to enjoy. It is most on the nose (i.e., children’s movie) in the lessons of teamwork. But the ideas are smoothly introduced in action (no catchy theme songs like “You’ve Got a Friend in Me”). Like with Encanto, the layers only enhance the watching experience.

With Lightyear, Pixar has found a fresh, enjoyable, and original concept. The creators adeptly transformed a character from one universe to another. Handling the shift with style, Lightyear celebrates wonder, adventure, and, ultimately, integrity. Rated PG, the film is now playing in local theaters.

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A scene from 'Jurassic World: Dominion.' Photo courtesy of Universal Pictures

Reviewed by Jeffrey Sanzel

The Jurassic Park franchise launched in 1993. Based on the 1990 novel by Michael Crichton, Steven Spielberg directed the film from a screenplay by Crichton and David Koepp. Featuring Sam Neill, Laura Dern, Jeff Goldblum, B.D. Wong, Samuel L. Jackson, and Richard Attenborough, the special-effects packed film became the highest-grossing film released worldwide until that time, besting Spielberg’s E.T. The Extra-Terrestrial (1982). Jurassic Park perfectly combined taut structure, grounded humor, and effective effects.

Spielberg and Koepp returned for The Lost World: Jurassic Park (1997), along with cast members Goldblum and Attenborough, joined by Julianne Moore and Vince Vaughn. The film received mixed reviews but a positive audience response, breaking multiple box office records. Jurassic Park III (2001) was the first without Spielberg as director. And while it brought back Dern and Neill, the film received a predominantly mixed-to-negative response. 

A scene from ‘Jurassic World: Dominion.’ Photo courtesy of Universal Pictures

Jurassic World: Dominion, directed by  Colin Treverrow, reunites cast members from the entire network: Dern, Neill, Goldblum, Wong, Chris Pratt, Bryce Dallas Howard, Omar Sy, Isabella Sermon, Justice Smith, and Daniella Pineda. Rounding out the starry cast are DeWanda Wise, Mamoudou Athie, Campbell Scott, Scott Haze, and Dichen Lachman. 

The initial premise is fascinating. A news report explains that following the destruction of the Central American island Isla Nublar, dinosaurs now live among us, always hungry and often violent. The new normal raises ethical questions of accountability and coexistence. These de-extinct animals result from man’s manipulation of science and, therefore, society’s responsibility. Quick cuts of dinosaurs attacking juxtapose with compelling images of these wandering creatures living out of time and place. One powerful clip shows a dinosaur eating garbage next to a train track. Beauty, danger, nobility, and abandonment are all on display. 

However, after this brief prologue, the film denigrates into a mess of science fiction and thriller clichés that are hopeless retreads of the first three films. The convoluted machinations include the corrupt Biosyn (sin?) Corporation, Sir Benjamin Lockwood’s cloned granddaughter, biogenetically engineered locusts the size of Dachshunds destroying the food chain, altering DNA and splicing of genomes, black market breeders, and a few other threads not so much woven into the narrative fabric as clumsily stapled. 

A scene from ‘Jurassic World: Dominion.’ Photo courtesy of Universal Pictures

However, with all the plot, there is something ploddingly by the numbers, with one predictable action sequence after another, repetitions of previous Jurassic outings, or pale copies of Indiana Jones. Dominion recalls Godzilla vs. Rodan more than the earlier focused and well-crafted incarnations of the Jurassic universe. Strangely, Dominion nods more to the work of animator Ray Harryhausen and the Sinbad series than to Crichton’s world.

And while strong actors populate the cast, they cannot elevate the stiff dialogue of Emily Carmichael and Colin Trevorrow’s witless screenplay. It is nearly impossible to play multiple notes in a one-dimensional character. Stock outlines substitute for human beings, with everyone talking in breathy, important voices. Fortunately for them, they are mostly directed to look up when they hear dinosaur footsteps. There is lots of running (the people) and chomping (the dinosaurs) and disinterest (the audience).

Dern and Neill give vague performances and are uncomfortable in the cringe-worthy romance awkwardly forced onto their characters. Goldblum’s quirky mannerisms make his Apartments.com commercials appear subtle. Scott plays the corporate villain like Tom Hanks channeling a neurotically twitchy Steve Jobs. Platt and Howard show up. Wise and Athie almost—but not quite—manage to rise above the swamp. As the clone, Maisie, Sermon finds a few more shades than the rest of the company, bringing honesty to the struggle with personal revelations. But these glimpses hardly save the film.

The special effects seem tired, with a ragtag combination of CGI (the locust swarm is particularly unimpressive) and animatronics (basic Disney World). As a result, Dominion feels less blockbuster and more thrill ride without the thrill. Michael Giacchino’s generic score does most of the heavy lifting, with dark chords and lush strings substituting for emotion, style, and actually earned tension. 

The final moments of the film return to the movie’s initial potential. But at the end of a bloated two and a half hours, it is far too late. Let’s hope, as with the real dinosaurs, Jurassic World: Dominion marks the extinction of the franchise.

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

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Tom Cruise as test pilot Captain Pete 'Maverick' Mitchell in a scene from the film. Photo courtesy of Paramount Pictures

Reviewed by Jeffrey Sanzel

In 1986, 24-year-old, pre-couch-jumping Tom Cruise was featured in a string of high-profile films: The Outsiders (1983), Risky Business (1983), All the Right Moves (1983), and Legend (1985). Poised for a breakthrough, his performance as rebellious Naval Aviator Pete “Maverick” Mitchell in Top Gun secured his stardom. The highest-grossing film of the year, it made over 350 million dollars worldwide. 

Many critics found little to love outside of the aerial dynamics, but it became a pop culture hit, winning the Academy Award for Best Song, “Take My Breath Away” (music by Giorgio Moroder; lyrics by Tom Whitlock). Inspired by Ehud Yonay’s article “Top Guns,” the film’s screenplay (by Jim Cash and Jack Epps, Jr.) combined endless flight jargon with dialogue lifted from the lesser After School specials. 

Peppered with clichés like “he’s a wild card” and “it’s not your flying, it’s your attitude,” the film lacked depth, subtlety, and even basic tension. The insufferably smarmy Maverick is not so much a character but the smirk of one. Outside of one “steamy” scene between Cruise and co-star Kelly McGillis, the homoerotic movie is populated by men in towels talking about the need to shower. Both misogynistic and juvenile, Top Gun made Risky Business seem emotionally sophisticated. 

As early as 2010, a Top Sequel was in development. Finally, after years of delays, Top Gun: Maverick arrives 36 years after the original’s release. Instead of a clumsy sequel, the creators have forged a smart, entertaining, well-made film that is visually stunning. If the screenplay (by Ehren Kruger, Eric Warren Singer, and Christopher McQuarrie) is not exactly Citizen Kane, the storytelling is defined. The characters are simply drawn but true to the situation. There is an honesty and a general earnestness that harkens back to the better war movies of the 1940s. Joseph Kosinski has directed his actors to play the characters straight down the middle. There are not a lot of surprises, but the can-do spirit works.

Cruise’s Maverick is a much-decorated pilot but still a captain. For every commendation he has received, overstepping has prevented him from receiving a promotion. While his skills are never in doubt, his problematic behavior towards authority has not so much stalled his career but buried it. At the end of the first film, Maverick requested a position as a Top Gun trainer. He reveals that he only lasted two months.

The older Maverick is low-key but still rebellious, rankling his superiors. Rear Admiral Chester “Hammer” Cain (Ed Harris) tells him, “The future is coming. And you’re not in it.” 

Maverick’s formal rival, “Iceman” (Val Kilmer), now commander of the U.S. Pacific Fleet, has called Maverick back to Top Gun. (Except for Cruise, Kilmer is the only holdover from the first film. He has a single scene where he mostly communicates by typing as the admiral has throat cancer.) The mission is to take out a rogue state’s uranium enrichment plant before it opens. Surface-to-air missiles and skilled fighter pilots protect the canyon. The only way to bomb the plant is to literally fly under the radar in a demanding, dangerous mission.

Vice Admiral Beau “Cyclone” Simpson (John Hamm) and Rear Admiral Solomon “Warlock” Bates (Charles Parnell) have gathered an elite group of fighter pilots for Maverick to train.

The plot is simple, with the sole complication that one of the pilots, Lt. Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw, is the son of Maverick’s former radar intercept officer and best friend, Nick “Goose” Bradshaw (Anthony Edwards in Top Gun). While cleared of the responsibility for his pal’s death, Maverick still carries guilt, and he reveals that at the request of Goose’s widow (now dead—Meg Ryan in the earlier film), he has done everything to prevent Rooster from flying. Eventually, Maverick and Rooster come to terms with their joined histories.

A minor romantic subplot involves Maverick and a bar owner, Penny Benjamin (Jennifer Connelly), but it generates little heat or interest.

The film’s two driving forces are Cruise and the mission. Both Cruise and Maverick have aged well, and the general lack of arrogance makes for a watchable experience. As the writing is focused, the technical details are clear. The actors lean into the physical demands and challenges of the flying and the mantra that “It’s not the plane. It’s the pilot.” The cavalier comment in Top Gun—“A need for speed”—here actually makes sense. Everything builds up to a spectacular final act, with the operation beautifully orchestrated with the right amount of suspense and a couple of twists that help keep it interesting. The faceless, but ominous enemy, is smartly handled.

Top Gun: Maverick’s major song, Lady Gaga’s “Hold My Hand,” plays over the credits. It is an appropriate metaphor for the film. A bit schmaltzy but also effective, honest, and wholly satisfying.

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

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From left, Harry Hadden-Paton, Laura Carmichael, Tuppence Middleton and Allen Leech in a scene from the film. Photo courtesy of Focus Features

Reviewed by Jeffrey Sanzel

In 2015, the landmark television series Downton Abbey ended its six-season run. Four years later, Downton Abbey arrived on the big screen (reviewed in this paper in September 2019). Set in 1927, the story focused on a visit from King George V and Queen Mary. While the film lacked the weight and depth of the series, it was a satisfactory outing for Crawley fans, featuring almost the entire roster of principals. 

After several delays in release, Downton Abbey 2, rechristened Downton Abbey: A New Era, arrives. Picking up one year later, the film opens with the wedding of former chauffeur Tom Branson (Allen Leech) to Lucy (Tuppence Middleton), the illegitimate child of Lady Bagshaw (Imelda Staunton). The scene serves as a reverse curtain call of the entire cast—both upstairs and down. 

A New Era weaves two unrelated plots. In one, the Dowager Countess (Maggie Smith) has inherited a villa in the south of France, left to her by a possible former paramour, the late Marquis de Montmirail. While the Dowager is too ill to travel, members of the household journey to meet the man’s irate widow (Nathalie Baye) and welcoming son (Jonathan Zaccaï). Here, questions arise regarding the Earl of Grantham’s (Hugh Bonneville) birth.

Meanwhile, in need of a cash influx, the family leases Downton to a film company. Lady Mary takes charge of the endeavor, dealing with the director (Hugh Dancy), who, in traditional Downton fashion, falls in love with her. The undertaking is made more difficult by its beautiful but crass leading lady (Laura Haddock), coupled with the reality that silent films are dying.

The plots serve to put the characters in action but do little more. However, they offer a reminder that the Downton universe revolves around property—acquisition, ownership, and maintenance. Beginning with Episode One, Downton Abbey was driven by the issue of entailment and succession. With this shadow no longer present, the tension is gone. Even the roof repairs seem less dire and more a whacky (and almost desperate) way to introduce a screwball element. There is something tamped down in the emergency.

The simplistic arcs are predictable and provide opportunities for glorious scenery and occasionally sitcom exchanges. There are many jokes at the expense of the film industry and the French, but the barbs are benign. The film is liberally sprinkled with minor subplots involving a peppering of romance and domestic frustrations, but these function to give the less active characters a bit of screen time. 

Ultimately, the problem at the core of both films is that the characters have matured. They no longer have the life-and-death conflicts that shook their worlds and forced them to look outward and inward. The entire clan has become not just better people but their best selves. The often dangerous and destructive relationship that fueled the conflict between Lady Mary and her sister, Lady Edith (Laura Carmichael), no longer exists. If they are not best friends, they are as close as possible. 

Even the usually destructive Barrow (Robert James-Collier) has become a more benevolent soul. Happiness is not bad, but it is not the furnace that heats a story. The roadblocks and hurdles are minor; the experience is almost tacit. The culmination of emotional growth is not necessarily the best dramatic force.

Because of this, the first two-thirds of the film are composed of brief scenes (sometimes as short as two or three lines), jumping from place to place and from one set of characters to another, allowing for barely a breath. The frantic, frenetic, and often whimsical quality has a Muppets Take Downton Abbey feel.

Strangely though, these are minor cavils. Watching A New Era—which is an improvement on the first—reminds us of the journey taken. The actors are uniformly true to the characters who have aged and seem appropriately worse for wear. The delicacy and honesty of the performances echo a world created over many years. The final act allows the characters to breathe. Even in the most contrived situations, the company is incapable of a wrong or false note.

In one of the most beautiful scenes, Isobel (Penelope Wilton) and the Dowager (Smith) reflect on their history, reminding us how these longtime adversaries developed a deep bond. This is the film—and Downton—at its best.

Many loose threads are tied up, providing closure. But the ending also honors the circle of life, composed of births and weddings, illnesses and deaths. 

It would be a safe bet that there will be a Downton Abbey 3, probably dealing with the problematic situation in Lady Mary’s marriage to racing fanatic Henry Talbot (absent from the film as actor Matthew Goode had production conflicts). In addition, societal changes, financial challenges, and global conflict will likely offer myriad opportunities. And while nothing will take us back to the height of Downton Abbey, we will gladly join the Crawleys as they move forward.

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

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