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Movie Review

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A scene from 'The Green Knight'. Photo courtesy of A24
A scene from 'The Green Knight'. Photo courtesy of A24
A scene from 'The Green Knight'. Photo courtesy of A24
A scene from 'The Green Knight'. Photo courtesy of A24
A scene from 'The Green Knight'. Photo courtesy of A24

Reviewed by Jeffrey Sanzel

The tales of King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table have always been fair game for adaptation. Whether it is Mark Twain’s A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court (1889), Lerner and Loewe’s Broadway musical Camelot (1960), or the gritty but entertaining film Excalibur (1981), the story has embraced (or at least stood up to) revisionism. As a result, the legends have endured over seven centuries, from The Sword in the Stone (1963) to Spamalot (2005).

The Green Knight loosely draws on the fourteenth-century poem Sir Gawain and the Green Knight and other sources. Knowledge of the story and history is not necessary to view the film. Clearly. David Lowery has written, directed, edited, and produced the film. So, he can be considered the responsible party.

Gawain (Dev Patel) awakes on Christmas morning in a brothel, having spent the night with Essel (Alicia Vikander). His mother, sorceress Morgan le Fay (Sarita Choudhury), sends him on his way to celebrate Christmas with King Arthur (Sean Harris) and Queen Guinevere (Katie Dickie). 

Unbeknownst to Gawain, his mother performs a ritual, raising and sending the Green Knight to the feast where the tree-like titular lord issues a challenge: If anyone can land a blow on him, he will win his green axe. However, in exchange, the victor must meet the Green Knight on the following Christmas to receive a reciprocal hit. For some reason, Gawain, a bit of a slacker, volunteers. He decapitates the Green Knight, who then picks up his head and leaves. Sort of a hah-hah-see-you-next-Christmas.

Fast-forward a year. Gawain has become something of a celebrity; he is even featured in a puppet show. He sets off to the Green Chapel, and throughout, he encounters a handful of challenges, mostly unsatisfying blips. He also meets a fox who joins his journey. “The Quest” is a well-known, often-trod trope and can be exciting, engaging, and enthralling. Unfortunately, it can also be an epic slog into scenery, mumbled dialogue, and symbols. Oh, so many symbols. The Green Knight is full of meaning and “meaning” and meaning and MEANING. 

One suspects that Lowery’s goal was a rumination on the nature of heroism and honor, with a few nods to the dangers of celebrity. But this is all lost in a meandering and pretentious narrative. There are a few dramatic strokes, but these do not add up to a film.

In the theatre across the hall, the sounds of The Suicide Squad could clearly be heard. Sitting at The Green Knight was like attending a lecture that you suspect might be good for you, but next door, there’s a barnburner where everyone is having a good time. “I’ll bet it’s fun over there,” you think. “But, no, this is going to make me a better and smarter person.” You have plenty of time to think these thoughts because, in The Green Knight, the pauses are longer than the dialogue. There are pauses and scenery. Lots of pauses. Lots of scenery. Then a monologue. Please note the singular: monologue. While there are multiple long speeches by various characters, they all sound like the same monologue. Followed by some pauses. And then some scenery.

The filming itself is impressive, highlighting the vast expanses of wilderness as Gawain travels towards his destiny. Cinematographer Andrew Droz Palermo has done beautiful work capturing the natural/supernatural world. But landscape only goes so far. In this case, it seems to go really, really far.

Dev Patel is a fine actor, and he does what he can. But he is offered the emotional range of dissipated to slightly less dissipated. The script’s Gawain is painfully passive; Patel ultimately struggles to show the character’s evolution. The rest of the talented cast is saddled with dialogue that is spoken in harsh whispers with a great deal of meaning and “meaning and … (One suspects the CGI-ed fox called his agent mid-filming to see if he could get out of his contract.)

The ending—one of the only brisk moments in the film—has been much discussed on the internet. Suffice it to say, the denouement owes not a little to t, the well-crafted story by Ambrose Pierce later made into a memorable short film.

As a public service and attempt to salvage the reader’s time, the balance of this review is given over to something of value. Here is the beginning of a recipe for a good vegan pound cake: Preheat the oven to 350 F. Grease a 9 x 5-inch loaf pan.

Rated R, The Green Knight is now playing in local theaters.

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A scene from 'Old'. Photo courtesy of Universal Pictures
A scene from 'Old'. Photo courtesy of Universal Pictures
A scene from 'Old'. Photo courtesy of Universal Pictures

Reviewed by Jeffrey Sanzel

Will we be intrigued? Engaged? Frustrated? Homicidal? These are the questions that revolve around any M. Night Shyamalan release. The Sixth Sense made an indelible mark on twisty cinematic thrillers. The Lady in the Water made us appreciate the high level of integrity in reality television. 

In his newest offering, Old, Shyamalan has used Pierre Oscar Lévy and Frederik Peeters’ graphic novel Sandcastle as his source. The premise is intriguing. A group of people staying at an exclusive tropical resort are given access to a private beach. Beautiful sand, clear (and notably fish-less) water make up this idyllic cove. 

The first problem is that there are not actual people but more the idea of people. It is as if Shyamalan jotted down quick notes and called it a day. “Let’s see … we’ll have a doctor who is struggling with paranoia. Let’s give him a vain wife, and let’s throw in a daughter and his mother.” Like in a teen slasher movie, they are less human and more cannon fodder.

The focus is on a couple with marital problems (Gael García Bernal and Vicky Krieps) and their precocious children (Nolan River and Alexa Swinton). They are joined by the aforementioned doctor (Rufus Sewell), his almost skeletal wife (Abbey Lee), his mother (Kathleen Chalfant, one of the great actors of the American theatre, given about six lines), and their gifted daughter (Mikaya Fisher). Added to this is another couple (Ken Leung and Nikki Amuka-Bird), a nurse and a psychologist, respectively; the latter saddled with some of the most cringeworthy lines. Finally, a mysterious rapper named Mid-Sized Sedan (Aaron Pierre) is there when they arrive. 

Also, there is Shyamalan himself as the driver who drops them off. The meta-beyond-meta is both annoying and unnecessary. (One assumes he fancies himself Hitchcock. He is wrong.)

There is a potential for a range of dynamics, genuine psychological interaction, personal growth in the face of challenges, tension, plot development, and insight into the human condition when facing challenges. The operative word is “potential.” 

Revealed is that one person in each of the groups has a physical or mental illness. (Not so much revealed as proclaimed.) And very quickly they realize that they are aging rapidly—at the rate of two years an hour.

So, by this calculation, the movie is just shy of four years long.

Spoiler Alert. This is not a good movie.

There are a few (very few) clever twists. The children’s maturation is more noticeable, with them hitting hormonal teenage years rather quickly, resulting in a serious problem that is dealt with and dispatched rather quickly. There are a few scares and a few gross-out moments. But for the most part, they talk, they attempt to leave, and then they pass out. And then they die.

Maybe this would all be fine if the ending were satisfying. Things are explained (sort of). And resolved (kind of). But, by that point, we don’t care (nope).

The film includes accomplished, and even some gifted actors, and they do their best. But it is a struggle that they are not going to win. The dialogue is so wooden that they could have used it to build a raft and float away.

The blame lies squarely with Shyamalan as director, screenwriter/adaptor, and producer. His work seemed to have been wedging every cliché about time and aging, jamming them into the first ten minutes, and then panning the camera in circles on the beach for the next hour and forty minutes. As a result, the “surprises” are few. Old gets old … really, really fast. Or, in this case … over four years.

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

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A scene from 'Roadrunner'. Photo courtesy of Focus Features

Reviewed by Jeffrey Sanzel

Not since Julia Child has a chef had a higher profile than Anthony Bourdain. Smithsonian Magazine labeled him “the original rock star” of the culinary world. Gothamist referred to him as a “culinary bad boy.” His uncensored television persona was known for its profanity and sexual references. 

Born in Manhattan in 1956, Bourdain graduated from the Culinary Institute of America in 1978. He ran several high-end kitchens, notably serving as executive chef of New York’s brasserie Les Halles. Bourdain’s memoir Kitchen Confidential: Adventures in the Culinary Underbelly (2000) became a bestseller, followed by additional works of both fiction and non-fiction. His television work included A Cook’s Tour, Anthony Bourdain: No Reservations, The Layover, and appearances on a variety of television programs. 

A scene from ‘Roadrunner’. Photo courtesy of Focus Features

On June 18, 2018, while in France filming Anthony Bourdain: Parts Unknown, he committed suicide. He was sixty-one years old.

In Roadrunner: A Film About Anthony Bourdain, director Morgan Neville explores the controversial celebrity chef through extensive video and interviews with friends and associates. While his childhood and early career are mentioned, the timeline begins with his rise to fame with the publication of Kitchen Confidential. 

With a two-hour running time, the expectation is a complete look at Bourdain. Fans will embrace the documentary, showing the subject in a sympathetic, if complicated light. Those who are less enamored will find it unsatisfying. Bourdain talks, smokes, eats, smokes, preens, and smokes. It touches on his drug use and hedonistic lifestyle. But mostly, the film consists of watching him smoke, talk, and preen. He ponders about life and his purpose. He travels. He smokes. In one particularly ghoulish cut, he eats a beating cobra heart. But mostly, he talks and smokes.

Neville almost ignores Bourdain as a chef for highlighting the man “hooked on travel,” describing him as “always rushing (thus the title). Bourdain was on the road at least two hundred and fifty days a year, covering hundreds of thousands of miles. The film emphasizes the exotic places: Lebanon, Port-au-Prince, Laos, and most dangerously, the Democratic Republic of the Congo, his Apocalypse Now/Heart of Darkness moment.

This would all be fine if it did not feel so posed. Neville constantly presents a brooding Bourdain, looking lost and despondent, or walking alone on the beach. Whether this reflects Bourdain or the filmmaker cobbling together footage to support his thesis, it is hard to parse. Particularly squirm-worthy is a clip of Bourdain in therapy that rings false and hollow.

There is a nod to his nearly thirty-year marriage to Nancy Putkoski that dissolved with Bourdain’s rise in fame, which “burned down [his] previous life.” His second wife Ottavia Busia (to whom he was married from 2007 to 2016) is interviewed extensively and has mostly kind things to say (whether this is fact or editing …). It was with Ottavia that he had his only child, Ariane. 

A scene from ‘Roadrunner’. Photo courtesy of Focus Features

In 2017, he began seeing the much younger Italian actress, Asia Argento. She became heavily involved with and perhaps manipulative of his professional life before ending the relationship. The film less than subtly speculates that this contributed to his suicide. Argento declined to be interviewed, leaving a large hole in the accounting of his final days.

Neville alludes to Bourdain’s controlling side, illustrated by Bourdain’s range of obsessions, including taking up jujitsu at age fifty-eight. He became outspoken during the #MeToo movement, but this might have been due to Argento’s activism more than his personal beliefs. (One fascinating detail references him speaking ad nauseum about Argento’s skill at parking.) But nothing lasted with him—“not a person, place, or thing.”

The talking heads range from his producers and travel companions to various artists and musicians who became confidants. They seem to speak freely and appear devastated by his death. What is missing are interviews with people outside in the inner circle, who might cast light on the less sensitive behaviors and actions of which there are only hints.

There are multiple clips of Bourdain referencing violence against himself or others. His talks of self-doubt may be real or just part of the façade. Given the myriad footage, these could be passing comments. Even more damning is Helen Rosner’s interview with Neville in The New Yorker. Neville admitted to using A.I. technology for the construction of some of Bourdain’s voiceovers: “There were three quotes there I wanted his voice for that there were no recordings of … I created an A.I. model of his voice.”

Roadrunner feels incomplete, vaguely disingenuous, and almost rigged. And while all documentaries have a point-of-view, one wishes for a more objective and whole look at an unusual individual with a troubling legacy.  

Rated R, Roadrunner: A Film About Anthony Bourdain is now playing in local theaters.

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Image courtesy of Searchlight Pictures

Reviewed by Jeffrey Sanzel

In the summer of 1969, a series of concerts was held in Harlem’s Mount Morris Park. A celebration of African American music and culture and an opportunity to promote black pride, the Harlem Cultural Festival (sometimes deemed the Black Woodstock) was held on Sundays at 3 p.m., from June 29 through August 24. Performers included Nina Simone, B.B King, Sly and the Family Stone, Chuck Jackson, The 5th Dimension, Gladys Knight & the Pips, Stevie Wonder, Mahalia Jackson, among many others. Over 300,000 people attended the free events.

Director/producer Hal Tulchin filmed the concerts, but they were never commercially released. As much as he tried, he could find no interest in the films of the concerts. Whether this was due to its focus on the African American community or that Woodstock had overshadowed it is hard to say; most likely, it was a combination of the two. Segments were broadcast on Saturday nights by WNEW-TV Metromedia Channel 5 (now WNYW). After that, the footage languished in a basement where it remained for five decades.

Gladys Knight & the Pips perform at the Harlem Cultural Festival in 1969, featured in the documentary SUMMER OF SOUL. Photo Courtesy of Searchlight Pictures. © 2021 20th Century Studios All Rights Reserved

Ahmir “Questlove” Thompson makes his directorial debut with the documentary Summer of Soul (…Or, When the Revolution Could Not Be Televised). The multi-hyphenate Thompson—musician-composer-disc jockey-author-journalist-producer—is the drummer and joint frontman (with Black Thought) for the hip hop band The Roots. With Summer of Soul, he has created an exceptional cinematic experience that resurrects both the performances and the driving forces behind it. In addition to a treasure trove of first-rate artists, interviews with festival attendees offer insight into both the event and the world surrounding it. Some of the surviving performers share perspectives of their experience; Chris Rock, Shelia E., Rev. Al Sharpton, Lin-Manuel Miranda, and his father, Luis, are just some who offer brief and pointed contemporary commentary. 

The first song shows nineteen-year-old Stevie Wonder moving from keyboards to drums in a jaw-dropping percussive display. His performance sets the tone for all that follows. There is a party atmosphere, a perpetual sense of anticipation, and the feel of a true communal gathering. The appreciation of culture is celebrated by a community that is unifying but also in the midst of great change and revolution. These elements are flawlessly blended.

Lounge singer Tony Lawrence hosted the Harlem Festival and served as producer, director, and promoter. His assistants speak of him with wry awe as a man who knew how to talk big and deliver. The film delves briefly into the overwhelming technical aspects of scheduling, contracting, equipment, and the myriad challenges the producer faced. The budget was such that the concerts needed to face west so that the sun could light the stage. Maxwell House underwrote the Festival, and liberal Republican Mayor Lindsay was in complete support and even appeared on stage.

With Viet Nam raging and general political disharmony, there was an underlying potential for violence that created a certain amount of anxiety. As a result, black Panther volunteers supplemented the limited police security presence. All of this serves as a background for the true joy: the celebration of identity through music. The performers range from the well-known to the more obscure. 

There are many highlights: The iconic Mahalia Jackson is an overwhelming and unique powerhouse. Up-and-coming Gladys Knight and the Pips perform “I Heard It Through the Grapevine.” In an interview, Knight remembers being taken aback by the magnitude and energy of the crowd.

One of the more delightful moments is watching Billy Davis, Jr. and Marilyn McCoo watch the videos of themselves performing. It gives them a chance to revisit as well as reflect on their status at the time. They felt it would help “the black group with the white sound by appearing in Harlem.” Their blending of “Aquarius” and “Let the Sun Shine In” has become a classic.

The Edwin Hawkins Singers, part of the Pentecostal movement, felt that they spread the gospel to the people in song. Religious aspects of the Christian church were core to many performers, and this was “an eruption of spirit.”

The audience goes crazy for Sly and the Family Stone’s “Sing a Simple Song” and “Everyday People.”

There was jazz, blues, gospel, rock, and Motown. Music also reflected both African and Cuban influences, showing the Harlem melting pot.

There are musings on hair and clothing changes that established distinctiveness. Difficult questions dealing with racism and economic disparity from the heroin epidemic to black militancy are explored. A good portion of the ending highlights the connection to Africa. New York Times writer Charlayne Hunter-Gault states that it was in 1969 that “Negro” died and “Black” was born.

One of the most enlightening sections features attendees questioned about their feelings towards the moon landing. The majority skew negative, expressing the belief that the money could have been used to feed people on this planet. Whether this was the consensus or just the opinions shown is hard to parse.

The place of honor goes to the extraordinary, versatile Nina Simone. In 1969, she was at the height of her popularity and most present in her outspoken advocacy for Civil Rights. Three full numbers are in the penultimate placement. “Backlash Blues” is followed by the more pastoral “To Be Young Gifted and Black,” inspired by the off-Broadway play that was running at the time. She finishes with the confrontational “Are You Ready?”—the strongest and most direct call to action. The final song is Sly and the Family Stone’s “Higher,” unifying the crowd in genuine delight.

Questlove has done incredible work creating Summer of Soul. His vision for the film shows unerring instinct. There is a seamless integration of interviews, both past and present, juxtaposed with news footage, historical context, and stock video footage of Harlem of the era. He knows when to present a song in its entirety or show a clip, cutting in with complementary material. His structure is subtle, and he has matched the excitement with peripatetic energy that builds the overall narrative. He smartly circles back to the individual experience, highlighting what it meant personally to both the performers and spectators. One man, who was a child when he attended, says, “It took my life from black and white into color.” Summer of Soul is more than a concert film, and the crime has taken fifty years to reach the screen.

Summer of Soul could not be timelier in its offering of the work done in the Civil Rights era—and a powerful reminder of the work yet to be done. Director Questlove offers a rich film preserving exceptional musical artistry and advocacy through the prism of a sadly forgotten event. 

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

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Rita Moreno in 'West Side Story'. Photo courtesy of MGM/Roadside Attractions

Reviewed by Jeffrey Sanzel

At age 89, Rita Moreno has shown no signs of slowing down. The actor-singer-dancer’s seventy-plus year career spans from Hollywood to Broadway to London’s West End, from clubs to television to regional theatre. The documentary Rita Moreno: Just a Girl Who Decided to Go for It is a fascinating glimpse of this iconic figure.

Rita Moreno in a scene from the film.
Photo courtesy of MGM/Roadside Attractions

The film, made around the time of Moreno’s eighty-seventh birthday, is a revelatory exploration. Moreno is candid, whether speaking of the highlights of her career or her personal demons. She is one of the most award-winning performers, including that rare EGOT — Emmy, Grammy, Oscar, and Tony. (Only fifteen people have achieved this honor.) Moreno also has a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame, has received a Screen Actor’s Guild Life Achievement Award, and was presented with a National Arts Medal by President Barack Obama. 

But in all her fame, the documentary shows a warm, humorous, down-to-earth individual who has never let discrimination or gender inequality from stopping her. She faced some of the worst mistreatments common to young women in Hollywood. She braved setbacks and disappointments as well as violence. Moments of self-doubt have plagued her for seven decades. And yet, in all of this, she maintains a remarkable and inspiring sense of self.

Born December 11, 1931, in Humacao, Puerto Rico, Rosa Dolores Alverío Marcano was brought to the United States by her divorced mother when she was only six years old. (She never saw her brother again.) While barely into her teens, she began performing in New York City before a talent scout brought her out to Hollywood, where she began a film career that would span well over half a century. 

Landing a contract with MGM, Moreno was given the look of a Latina Elizabeth Taylor. Subsequently, her roles consisted of playing “ethnics,” often with darkened skin and thick accents. One exception — and an experience that she clearly prizes — was playing Zelda Zanders in the Golden Age musical Singin’ in the Rain. Here, she was allowed to eschew the stereotype that had been and would continue to dominate most of her career.

She achieved cinematic immortality (and an Oscar) for her portrayal of Anita in West Side Story. She expresses deep gratitude for the opportunity to play what she saw as an empowering role. She hoped that it would lead to more varied roles, but the offers that followed were much the same type — gang-related films and the like. 

Moreno continued to work on stage and in film and television, garnering praise and accolades. For many, she is the “Hey, you guys!” cast member of the PBS children’s show The Electric Company. The show ran from 1971 to 1977 and led to her Grammy Award.

The 1990s saw her as Sister Peter Marie Reimondo on the prison series Oz, something she credits with bringing her back into the public eye. Most recently, she featured as the grandmother in the short-lived reboot of One Day at Time. In addition, Stephen Spielberg created a role for her in the remake of West Side Story, due out on Dec. 11. 

Rita Moreno as a young girl with her parents. Photo courtesy of MGM/Roadside Attractions

Moreno shares openly about her personal life. Her Hollywood agent raped her; to her horror, she continued to use him as her agent. She speaks of her emotionally abusive seven-year on-again-off-again relationship with Marlon Brando, by whom she became pregnant. (Brando insisted she have an abortion.) Her heartbreak over the actor led to a suicide attempt. 

Equally as revealing is the frank discussion of her marriage. In 1965, she wed cardiologist Leonard Gordon, to whom she remained married until he died in 2010. To the world, they were the perfect couple. However, she admits that she was never truly happy with him and wished she had left him. Nevertheless, she remains close with their one daughter, Fernanda Gordon Fisher, and her two grandsons.

Throughout the film, her colleagues give insight into her success. Morgan Freeman (with whom she appeared on The Electric Company), producer-director Norman Lear, playwright Terrence McNally (for whom he wrote her Tony-Award winning role in The Ritz), her West Side Story co-star George Chakiris, fellow EGOT-winner Whoopi Goldberg, and one of the film’s executive producers, Lin-Manuel Miranda, marvel at her talent and tenacity. Film historians chime in with commentary about how she managed to rise above what were often dimensionless roles.

The film emphasizes Moreno as a social trailblazer, including her involvement in fighting racism and sexism. She is shown with Sammy Davis, Jr. at Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.’s famous “I Have a Dream” speech in August 1963. She continues with her social activist work to this day. 

Director Mariem Pérez Riera has constructed an elegant and eloquent film that celebrates not just Moreno’s fame but, more importantly, her humanity. The story is of a life both rich and challenging and one that led to the fullest. Any biography is a “version” of the subject. Riera presents Moreno in the strongest and most positive light. But there is something so completely present and unpretentious about the dynamic Moreno that one would be hard-pressed to doubt her sincerity.

Moreno’s recent remarks defending Lin-Manuel Miranda and the casting of In the Heights overshadowed the film’s release. Shortly after, she walked them back, but the controversy still hovers. It would be sad if this affected the documentary’s success. Rita Moreno: Just a Girl Who Decided to Go for It is an honest look at an important figure: a survivor, a role model, an exceptional talent, and a vibrant and valued human being. 

In her own words, “You always have to be able to get up, dust yourself off, and move forward.” Hopefully, viewers will keep this in mind and embrace this incredible portrait. Rated PG-13, the documentary is now playing at local theaters.

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A scene from 'Breaking Boundaries'. Photo from Netflix

Reviewed by Jeffrey Sanzel

Netflix’s Breaking Boundaries: The Science of Our Planet explores the idea that humanity has pushed the planet beyond survival and sustainability. While ably hosted by the ever-reliable Sir David Attenborough, the dominant voice is Swedish Professor Johan Rockström, an informed and articulate scientist with a range of facts and concepts that he introduces over the one hour and fifteen-minute running time.

Swedish Professor Johan Rockström

There are few topics — if any — more important than the future of Earth. And while some make claims against it, climate change, global warming, and other man-driven destructions are real and present dangers, ones that seem to be growing geometrically. This documentary attempts to explain these issues by setting down a theory of boundaries. It then proceeds to explain how they are being crossed.

Breaking Boundaries opens with a discussion of the stability of Earth’s temperature and climate for 10,000 years; this allowed for the development of the modern world. The documentary then proceeds to cite examples of our destructive behaviors and how they have negatively impacted various ecosystems, including the Amazon, the Great Barrier Reef, etc. Rockström’s refrain is, “It is not about the planet. It is about us. About our future.” Perhaps he is trying to appeal to our self-centered nature rather than our desire to correct what we have broken. Unfortunately, his slightly skewed sense of humanity is probably well-founded.

The film starts with a glimmer of hope, but five minutes in, the bad news is announced: over the past fifty years, we have pushed ourselves out of the norm that existed the previous 10,000 years. And there may be no fix for this situation. 

Over the next fifty minutes, a disjointed narrative attempts to explain the nine planetary boundaries — the distance from the safe zone to the danger zone to the high risk/critical zone. Carbon dioxide in the atmosphere has caused droughts, heatwaves, forest fires, and flooding. Ocean acidification, the dangers of aerosols, and novel entities of human pollution are just some of the ideas introduced. Thus, there is an immediate need not just to reduce but to fossil-free within three decades.

‘Breaking Boundaries’. Photo from Netflix

Scientists meditate on the destruction of the icecaps, evaluate the reduction of flora and fauna to the point of extinction, and offer a great number of numbers that sometimes seem like … a great number of numbers. (Overwhelming statistics and an extraordinary list of theories make for a bit of confusion.) Finally, the film circles back to the four boundaries that have been crossed and possibly irrevocably (but maybe not?): climate, forest loss, nutrients, and biodiversity.

Every bit of this is important information. But the problem comes down to this: Breaking Boundaries is a documentary dealing with a life-and-death topic in a clumsy and wrong-headed approach. Director Jonathan Clay has underestimated his audience, deciding that an MTV assault is the only way to connect. As a result, the bells and whistles drown out the material. Yes, they are alarm bells and fire whistles, but this is an onslaught, not an explanation. 

One talking head goes so far as to refer to the “Mad Max future.” A drinking game based on the repetition of “tipping point” and “irreversible” would put the players out in under twenty minutes. There is probably truth in every statement and comment. But judicious editing would have allowed for a variety of tactics, rather than what comes across as a relentless, one-note attack. 

The effects are overwhelming and non-stop, with even the most sedate moments backgrounded with a strange light show. (Was this Mr. Clay’s first time with a green screen?) The graphics seem to be inspired by the 1980s’ Tron. Or perhaps Saturday Night Fever. Everything explodes on screen, making for restless, jittery filmmaking. The result wholly lessens the film’s integrity.

Many moments succeed in capturing the beauty of nature. If a bit generic, they serve as a strong reminder of what is being destroyed. Some disturbing images are not sensational but instead are telling: wild animals who now live close to settled and “civilized” areas are shown in droves on highways and the environs of cities. While we are always warned not to anthropomorphize, there is a palpable fear in their eyes.

‘Breaking Boundaries’. Photo from Netflix

There are two moments of resonating humanity. First, a scientist discussing the bleaching of the Great Barrier Reef becomes choked up, clearly a spontaneous and honest reaction to what he has seen. Second, a conservationist revisits one of the sites where she had studied birds before its incineration. The destruction of fifty million acres of Australian land caused the displacement or death of an estimated three billion animals. While she looks at the bleak landscape, she says, “This is an ecological catastrophe.” But this is also highly personal and, again, powerful in its simplicity. 

If only the director had trusted moments like these. Instead, he chose window dressing that makes the experience a late-night infomercial for the predictions of Nostradamus.

After fifty-nine minutes of apocalyptic prognostication, there are twelve minutes of “but-it-can-all-be-saved.” We need to bend the global curve of emissions, cutting 6 to 7% per year. We can draw down the carbon by planting more trees. Changing our diets to healthy foods will contribute to the saving of the planet. We can eliminate waste by turning the linear cycle into a circular one by recovering raw materials (and benefit the economy). Finally, we must turn towards renewable energy. “The window is still open.” Rockström believes that 2020 to 2030 is the decisive decade: what happens in these ten years will determine what happens over the coming centuries.

Perhaps there is no longer a way to make people listen — and more importantly, take action — without being sensationalist. However, this film will win no converts and will probably not engage the already aware and committed. The call is to act as “earth’s conscience — it’s brain — thinking and acting with one unified purpose — to ensure that our planet forever remains healthy and resilient — the perfect home.” It is not just a noble purpose but an essential one. There have been, and there will be many valuable examinations of this subject matter. Unfortunately, in the end, Breaking Boundaries is not one of them.

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Anthony Ramos and Melissa Barrera in a scene from the film. Photo courtesy of Warner Bros./A24

Reviewed by Jeffrey Sanzel

Before there was Hamilton, Lin-Manuel Miranda burst onto the scene with the wholly personal In the Heights. A celebration of a largely Dominican community living in Washington Heights, Miranda provided music and lyrics and starred as Usnavi. The show was an instant hit with only minor carping on the book. The production ran from March 9, 2009, through January 9, 2011, for 1,184 performances. 

The show received thirteen Tony Award nominations and won for Best Musical as well as Best Musical Score (Miranda), Best Choreographer (Andy Blankenbuehler), and Best Orchestrations (Alex Lacamoire and Bill Sherman). The original cast recording received a Grammy for Best Musical Show Album. Dozens of subsequent companies — including multiple productions in Spanish — have been seen in the Philippines, Panama, Japan, Brazil, Australia, Peru, Denmark, and many other places. 

After a false start in November 2008 (with cancellation in 2011), it was announced in May 2016 that Miranda would co-produce the film with Harvey Weinstein. In the wake of Weinstein’s sexual misconduct charges, he was removed as the producer on the film, and Warner Bros. acquired the production.

The history of stage-to-screen musicals is an uneven one. For every Music Man and Sound of Music, there is an Annie or a Rent. Whether it is to one’s taste, Grease proved to be an enduring hit. Disasters have included Camelot, A Little Night Music, and Les Misérables. Genre connoisseurs argue the faults and merits of the cinematic incarnations of A Chorus Line and Into the Woods. Over the last few years, there has been a resurgence with mixed results: the brilliant reimagining of Chicago, the head-scratching Hairspray, the train wreck Cats. Being released this December is Stephen Spielberg’s much-anticipated remake of West Side Story.

It all comes down to whether the musical is making a joyous noise — or just making noise. 

Does In the Heights live up to expectations? Oh, yes. That and much more. While it does not reinvent the genre, the film’s sheer exuberance is a celebration of both “a” community and this particular community.

The basic plot follows two couples. Usnavi, a bodega manager, pines for aspiring fashion designer Vanessa, who works in a local salon. Benny is a dispatcher in love with his boss’s daughter, Nina, who has just returned from Stanford, where she must confess that she dropped out. What follows is three days leading up to a blackout and its aftermath. 

While Vanessa wants to move downtown, Usnavi struggles with a desire to rebuild his father’s restaurant in the Dominican Republic. Nina grapples with her experience in college and the events that led up to her return. In the Heights is equally a portrayal of the neighborhood — the connections, the gossip, the struggle, the pride — as it is the romance. If anything, the personal relationships are less engaging than the exploration of identity.

The film has departed from the Broadway production, adjusting multiple plot points for streamlining purposes. Some of the changes improve the narrative; others are less successful. Small cavils can be launched at the screenplay, which is serviceable but never rises to the level of the music and choreography. New issues — most notably that of the Dreamers — are introduced. Nina also speaks of a horrible racist experience she endured at Stanford. It is brought up and then dropped. If the writers choose to take on such important and complicated topics, the results deserve deeper exploration. 

In addition, some of the scenes go on longer than necessary. (A dinner party meanders, never quite focusing.) “It Won’t Be Long Now”— one of the best numbers — is oddly broken up. The framing device of Usnavi telling the story in flashback seems to undermine the immediacy. But these are minor quibbles on what is pure joy. 

John M. Chu directs the film with an eye for detail and an energetic but never rushed pace; the nearly two and a half hour running times flies. But it is Christopher Scott’s spectacular choreography that dominates. His work is bold, fearless, and epic, often encompassing hundreds of dancers. His dances will enter the annals of movie musical history (the climactic ballet in An American in Paris, the rooftop “America” in West Side Story, the barn-raising in Seven Brides for Seven Brothers, the opening to La La Land, just about any moment in Singin’ in the Rain, etc.)

The combination of old-fashioned musical theatre and contemporary style are perfectly blended. The title number sets the tone for the stunning production numbers to follow. Most notably are “No Me Diga” (a wryly hilarious and delightful number in the salon), “96,000” (a swimming pool blockbuster with more than a few shades of Busby Berkley), the haunting and jaw-dropping “Paciencia y Fe” (which will be referred to in perpetuity as “the subway song”), and the finale-like “Carnival del Barrio,” the celebrates rejoices at communities within communities. (Even the “small” numbers are equally impressive, especially Nina’s “Breathe.” Certainly, credit should be given to Chu, who knows when to pull back.)

The cast is uniformly excellent, all exceptionally effortless singers and dancers whose performances are grounded in truth. They make the transition from dialogue to singing seem natural, often something that feels disjointed or, worse, falls flat in the movies. Anthony Ramos delivers a heartfelt Usnavi, both anchor and core to the story. He is matched by Melissa Barrera’s strong but conflicted Vanessa. Corey Hawkins brings warmth and vulnerability to Benny. Leslie Grace’s Nina shows the strength and struggle of someone trying to both go forward in her life but honor her past. Her scenes with the gifted Jimmy Smits as her father are effectively complicated. (Smits shows a pleasant singing voice in his few vocal moments.) 

Daphne Rubin-Vega (Broadway’s Mimi in Rent) finds humor and dimension in Daniela, the salon owner, who aspires for grander things. Olga Merediz, the only major holdover from the Broadway production, embodies matriarch “Abuela” Claudia with love and light. As Usanvi’s clerk Sonny, Gregory Dia IV easily mixes charm and “chutzpah” with a melancholic underpinning. Miranda is terrific as Piragüero, the Piragua Guy (shaved ice). While it is a small turn, his confrontation with the Mr. Softee vendor plays as the film’s cameo/Easter Egg highlight.

Usnavi speaks of sueñito — the idea of “little dreams.” The residents of this world all have them. But what comes through is that ultimately, they are not little. The dreams are big and powerful, honest and revelatory. In the Heights immerses the viewer in these hopes in a film that somehow manages to be both intimate and spectacular. This is the feel-good movie for which we have been waiting. While available on HBO Max, In the Heights is one of the best reasons to leave your couch behind and venture out to enjoy this bright shining jewel. Rated PG-13.

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From left, Paul Walter Hauser, Emma Stone and Joel Fry in a scene from the film. Photo courtesy of Disney

Reviewed by Jeffrey Sanzel

Villains are by far more interesting than heroes. The antagonist seems to have the opportunity for greater richness; there is an opportunity for variety and texture that is often absent in the world of the “good.” Snow White and Sleeping Beauty and Cinderella are almost interchangeable. But the difference between the Wicked Queen, Maleficent, and the Stepmother is an entirely different story. Disney’s rogues’ gallery includes the aforementioned three as well as infamous favorites Captain Hook, Jafar, Scar, and Ursula. 

Emma Stone as Cruella in a scene from the film. Photo courtesy of Disney

Perhaps most unusual in the lot is The 101 Dalmatians’ Cruella de Vil, created by Dodie Smith for her 1956 novel. While her name is a pun/elision of “cruel” and “devil,” there is also the possibility it is a reference to the Rolls-Royce 25/30 Sedanca de Ville motorcar Smith purchased in 1939. In any case, the character’s goal is to make puppy pelts into fur coats. In a world of villains with questionable actions, something about this separates her from general wickedness. 

Following the successful animated film (1961), the story found its way into various television series, before being recreated in a live-action outing (1996) and a sequel (2000), with Glen Close headlining as Cruella, reimagined as a fashion house magnate specializing in fur haute couture.

Now comes Cruella, a prequel to the entire canon, offering the character’s backstory. Directed with great style by Craig Gillespie, it has a screenplay by Dana Fox and Tony McNamara, from a story by Aline Brosh McKenna, Kelly Marcel, and Steve Zissis. McKenna, who penned a screenplay for the project in 2013, is best known for her adaption of The Devil Wears Prada. (Keep this fact in mind.)

The film opens in 1954, with the birth of Estella, crowned with her natural half-black/half-white hair. Raised by a single mother, the action jumps ten years to her entering school, where the rewards for being strong and standing up to bullies are demerits that result in her expulsion. The young Estella (a decidedly spot-on performance by Tipper Seifert-Cleveland, without a whiff of precociousness) shows a knack for extreme fashion, so her mother decides for both their benefits to relocate to London. On their way, they make a stop at a remote manor where a gala is underway. Estella witnesses her mother pleading with the unseen hostess for money before her mother is driven over a cliff by the hostesses’ dalmatians. Estella thinks she caused it and carries this guilt throughout her life.

Estella escapes to London, where she takes up with two scrappy urchins, Horace and Jasper (Ziggy Gardner and Joseph MacDonald, both terrific and a match for Seifert-Cleveland). She joins them and learns the ropes of survival through petty crime. Fast forward ten years to the swinging London of 1974, and the trio have elevated their grifts, but, more importantly, have formed a family built on mutual respect, trust, and love. 

Estella is still obsessed with fashion, so Jasper arranges an entry-level job for her as a cleaner at the high-end Liberty department store. There she is discovered by Baroness von Hellman, the dangerously self-absorbed (and just plain dangerous) haute couture designer. Estella goes to work in von Hellman’s factory-like design house, a place of abuse and terror. What follows is the birth of Cruella, Estella’s alter-ego that her mother had encouraged her to suppress as a child. Cruella becomes a sort of superhero/supervillain/anti-hero/competitive designer. 

This split personality reflects in the screenplay that is part origin story (think The Joker meets Harley Quinn meets dominatrix), part personal awakening, part send-up of the fashion industry, part heist movie, and part Disney caper. You can see the problem. The film never lands on a tone or style for too long before it shifts or twists. The dialogue is full of quips and is delightfully arch, and the first half plays at an engagingly break-neck pace. 

But, the second half slows and repeats. Issues of nature versus nurture, the driving forces of guilt, and the need for revenge (Estella/Cruella refers to this as the sixth stage of grief) swirl around the film, either enriching the experience or confusing the flow, depending on your point of view. Moreover, much of it makes no sense to what has been established about Cruella in the later works. At two hours and fifteen minutes, there is too much material with no real commitment.

However, in the win column is a uniformly phenomenal cast, with not a weak link or false performance.

At that center is Emma Stone, who never fails to delight. As Estella/Cruella, she hits bottom and bounces back; she plots and plans and schemes. And while Cruella is a larger-than-life character, Stone never loses her center. Glen Close (who played Cruella in the Disney live-action movies) was brought on as an executive producer for character continuity. There is little that connects the style and quality of the two actors. Close, who finds her villainy in a brittle soprano, is nothing like Stone’s earthy, growling alto, whose performance is reminiscent of Tallulah Bankhead. (There is an homage to this with a clip from Hitchock’s Lifeboat.) Whether the put-upon Estella passing out drunk in a store window or the leather-clad, crop-wielding Cruella, she is a wicked triumph. (The film’s PG-13 rating could be summed up in that sentence.)

Matching Stone stitch for stitch (forgive the pun) is Emma Thompson as the vicious Baroness von Hellman. Similarities to Meryl Streep’s Miranda Priestly of The Devil Wears Prada are less than subtle. Miranda and the Baroness are cut from the same cloth (forgive the pun). But the similarities do nothing to detract from Thompson’s outrageous, hilarious monster. Every line drips with venom; every look is a poison dart. Whether she is slashing a dress with a straight razor, taking a nine-minute power nap, or ordering a murder, she is both contained and over-the-top, and pure comic danger.

Joel Fry is wonderfully understated as Jasper, the thief who cares for Estella. As a sister and perhaps more, his love for her embodies the power of what we do for the family we make. He pairs perfectly with Paul Walter Hauser’s Horace, a bumbling cross between James Corden and Bob Hoskins. The duo is the perfect double-act, caring and funny, physical and heartfelt.

Kirby Howell-Baptiste brings a wide-eyed wryness to Estella’s sole childhood friend, Anita Darling, now a gossip columnist. Mark Strong (looking like Stanley Tucci) is stoic as John, The Baroness’ trusted henchman. John McCrea finds depth in the flamboyant vintage clothing store owner, Artie. The supporting company is strong, with great timing, and all are playing in the same story.

Award-winning costume designer Jenny Beaven created a visual explosion that perfectly complements Fiona Crombie’s rich and varied production design. 

For those looking to connect the source material to the origin story — or are looking for a great outing for the kids — Cruella isn’t for you. But if you want to revel in sensational performances in a stunning setting, and often laugh-out-loud antics, there are worse ways to spend a couple of hours.

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Reviewed by Jeffrey Sanzel

On January 31, 2011, due to a reduced demand for sheetrock, US Gypsum shut down its plant in Empire, Nevada, after 88 years.

By July, the Empire zip code, 89405, was discontinued.

— Epigraph to Nomadland

It is a cold, bleak landscape that confronts the viewer at the beginning of Nomadland, director Chloé Zhao’s powerful adaptation of journalist Jessica Bruder’s book Nomadland: Surviving America in the Twenty-First Century. The theme of empty expanse returns throughout the careful but compelling hundred-plus minutes. The methodical, introspective film is sparse on dialogue but rich in breadth and breath. The film appropriately takes its time traveling down a specific road.

Fern (a brilliantly understated Frances McDormand) is a widow who, in 2011, lost her job at the US Gypsum plant in Empire, Nevada, when the factory shut down. The factory’s closing resulted in Empire becoming a ghost town. Fern has sold most of her belongings and lives in a van that she has retrofitted herself. She travels the country looking for work. The film opens with her at the Amazon fulfillment center, working a seasonal job.

Invited by a coworker and friend, Linda May (touchingly playing a version of herself, as many in the film do), she visits a group in the Arizona desert, run by Bob Wells (also a version of himself). Wells hosts gatherings for “van-dwellers,” offering advice, support, and above all, community. Here, Fern connects with others who share similar plights — who, by fortune, luck, or choice — live on the road. Fern gains both insights into her own life along with practical survival skills. The rest of the film follows her learning curve as she goes from place to place but returning to this loose tribe who don’t want “to die with a sailboat in their driveway that they never used.” She wants nothing more than to coexist in communal friendship with the like-hearted.

There are glimpses into Fern’s earlier life, most notably a trip later in the film to borrow money from her sister, but, for the most part, the film focuses on the ever-present, day-to-day existence. This is a challenging undertaking for a filmmaker, but Zhao’s deliberate pacing and laser focus create both a pastoral arc and one of great tension. Fern drives, makes dinner on a hotplate, sleeps, then drives some more. She takes a job; she works; she leaves. She drives, humming to herself. She walks in nature, taking in its vastness but also completely at peace. And then she drives.

There are no villains in this film; the conflicts are rooted in the struggles of simple living. The people are kind, hard-working, and open. The impact of the challenges is not small. A blown tire or sub-zero temperatures are truly a matter of survival. But there is a complete absence of self-pity, equaled only in their frankness in discussing any topic — from dealing with waste to the contemplation of suicide. 

Throughout, what becomes most pronounced is their cumulative dignity. When questioned by a girl she had once tutored in Empire, Fern responds that she is “not homeless. I’m houseless. There’s a difference.” She says this with a smile and without apology. Her friend Swankie (another in a version of herself), from whom she learns a great deal, shares that she is dying of cancer but choosing to go on her own terms. Swankie gives away many of her possessions and heads back out to visit places she wants to see once more. 

Eventually, Nomadland shows these travelers do not dwell in emptiness, but instead in lives of peace, away from the trappings and limitations of self-imposed restrictions. Fern meets Dave (kind and open as played by David Strathairn) at the gathering and then again later. There are the slightest of romantic sparks. Eventually, Dave settles at his son’s house, where Fern visits him. He asks her to stay, but she realizes that it is not the life she wants. Fern reveals she has found herself in this wandering existence. The revelation is presented in the simplest of ways, but it is epiphanous in its weight and import.

Nomadland’s strength is an absence of pretension. Its documentary feel is intimate and spontaneous; Zhao creates the illusion of the characters speaking for themselves. (She is responsible for the taught screenplay and crisp editing.) And yet, there is a lyrical — almost poetic — quality to the deeper message. These nomads never say, “Goodbye.” Instead, it is always, “I’ll see you down the road.”

McDormand provides a performance of such reality that it is almost impossible to see her as an actor. In the fewest words, she presents stillness, sadness, humor, loss, hope … it is the subtlest rainbow of human emotions. While he has less screen time, Strathairn does not miss a beat. The supporting cast of predominantly “real” people playing some facet of themselves (characters bearing their first names) match these two gifted professionals. There is nothing of reality television or exploitation in this choice. Instead, their presence gives just another subtle shade in the spectrum that Zhao has created.

Composer Ludovico Einaudi has provided an exquisite score. Beautiful and melancholy, the music evokes the spirit and style of George Winston. It is both haunting and life-affirming, perfectly reflecting the film’s tone.

Nomadland has garnered dozens of awards, all of them deserved. The accolades set a high bar of expectation, but it is easily vaulted in the deceptively simple and truly honest storytelling. In some ways, the tale offers a shattering look at the crushing results of failed capitalism. But simultaneously, it celebrates the inspiring resilience of the human spirit. Nomadland is an exceptional journey “down the road.”

Rated R, Nomadland is playing in local theaters and streaming on demand.

Photos courtesy of Searchlight Pictures

 

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