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Stony Brook Harbor. Photo by Pamela Murphy

By Leah S. Dunaief

Leah dunaief

In my basement, where we keep the television, there lives a whole array of characters ready to leap into exciting action with the click of a button. All I needed to make this miracle happen was a subscription to Netflix who, by the way, just raised its rates. It’s still worth it because, when I return from the office at the end of the day, and dinner is over, we can enter any number of worlds and stories for entertainment and in the comfort of our home. Yes, we live in an amazing age. There was a time when only rich Hollywood stars could have movie theaters in their basements; now all us bourgeois types can.

So what am I watching now?

I enjoy the series that have multiple episodes. I particularly like the ones that have been going on for years, and I can bing them from their beginnings on weekends, when I don’t have to get up early the following mornings.

Currently we are coming to the end of the episodes on season five of “Virgin River.” Supposedly set in northern California but actually filmed in the gorgeous mountains of Vancouver, British Columbia, the scenery is worth following the story as much as the plot. There are frequent shots of craggy mountain tops, dense forests, verdant valleys, waterfalls pouring into glistening rivers and often spectacular sunsets. 

The storyline, which is somewhat predictable but nonetheless engrossing, concerns an attractive but troubled nurse practitioner, who comes to the small town of Virgin River in response to an ad from a medical practice. She is seeking escape from her San Francisco past and indeed finds, and begins to build, a new life in a place “where everybody knows your name.” In this instance, it’s Jack’s restaurant. You might already have guessed that the best feature of the eatery is Jack, a hunky guy with his own demons.

The many characters that we then meet are well drawn and we become hooked on all their stories. Many of the themes in each episode draw on contemporary societal issues, such as the fentanyl crisis, sexual assaults and the California wildfires. Our characters face the problems that present themselves with greater or lesser success, but one thing is a relief. There is nothing about national politics or international conflicts. The plots offer pure escapism, which is a welcome change after I have watched the preceding PBS News Hour.

The concept of a small town, in which most people are deeply connected and care for each other, has always been popular for storytellers. Is there any truth to that idea?

Along the north shore of Long Island where our newsmedia focus, we essentially live in small towns that are strung together by our roadways and rail line. Is the quality of life better here than in New York City?

In my opinion, which, of course, is a mere sampling of one, I would say yes. I do hold twin perspectives, however. I grew up in Manhattan, where I spent the first 21 years, then lived in Boston, then Chicago—big cities all. It was only as I approached 30 that we moved here, and I tasted what to me was small town life. 

What did that mean?

It immediately meant not having to struggle for privacy, which is a feature of urban living.There was enough room out here for people to live as they wished. The neighbors were not on the other side of the wall, or in the apartment above or below. And it was quiet sometimes. It’s almost never quiet in a big city. It could also be dark, which means the stars and moon are visible. Is it ever dark in Manhattan? And it certainly smells better. There are no huge exhaust fumes from endless vehicles nor uncollected garbage in the streets.

And with less density, residents interact more willingly—at the post office or in the supermarket. The pace is slower, more conducive to a bit of socializing.

But New York, New York? I’ll always say it. “It’s a wonderful town.”

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

By Jeffrey Sanzel

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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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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The film follows Belinda Lane and her quest to find her daughter's killer. Photo from Netflix

Reviewed by Jeffrey Sanzel

catfish (noun)

cat·fish | \ ˈkat-ˌfish  \

Definition of catfish

1. any of an order (Siluriformes) of chiefly freshwater stout-bodied scaleless bony fishes having long tactile barbels

2. a person who sets up a false personal profile on a social networking site for fraudulent or deceptive purposes

— Merriam-Webster Dictionary

On February 24, 2006, in Riverside, California, twenty-four-year-old Crystal Theobald was fatally shot in the head while riding in a car with her boyfriend, Juan Patlan, and her brother Justin. (Patlan was hit in the abdomen but recovered.) The case would not be fully resolved until January 2020. The investigation revealed that the attack was due to mistaken identity. The shooter, a member of the gang 5150, mistook the car’s occupants for members of MD, a rival gang.

The driving force behind the Netflix documentary is Crystal’s mother, Belinda Lane, and her vow to find her daughter’s killers. Her use of MySpace to collect information is central to Why Did You Kill Me? 

At first, Belinda, who was in the car ahead of her children, identified the shooter from a picture and selects him in a lineup. But it turned out that the boy had a legitimate alibi and was released, making her an unreliable witness. Following this, Lane used MySpace to track down those involved. 

Crystal Theobald was only 24 years old when she was murdered by a 5150 gang member. Photo from Netflix

Lane’s niece, Jamie McIntyre, began with a fake profile — party girl “Rebecca” — selecting a random photo she found on the internet. At that time, MySpace was relatively new as a social media outlet and quite popular, with sixty-six million users. “My typing was acting,” said McIntyre, who spent every day after school until the early hours of the morning on the site.

Through the Rebecca profile, they connected with various 5051 gang members. Lane decided that McIntyre should build another fake MySpace profile for “Angel,” using Crystal’s photo. Eventually, McIntyre became overwhelmed by the experience. “Making someone fall in love with someone who’s dead is not a good feeling inside.” Pretending to be her every day was a double-edged sword. It kept Crystal’s memory alive and close to her; yet it was a constant reminder of what happened. 

When the toll became too much for McIntyre, Lane took over. She created a plan to lure and shoot members of 5150 at “An End of the World Party,” scheduled for June 6, 2006 (6/06/06). “I made a plan to go murder people,” said Lane. But the day before it was to occur, she confronted the driver, William Sotelo, who was infatuated with the non-existent Angel. Lane sent messages beginning with “I know who you are” and “Do you love me?” on to “Then say it,” ending with “then why did you kill me?” Sotelo disappeared and would not resurface for over ten years. Lane gave up the MySpace ruse and released the passwords to the case’s detective, Rick Wheller.

Amid this, the police interrogated William and Manuel Lemus, brothers who had been in the back of Sotelo’s car. They were reluctant to cooperate until members of their gang burned their parents’ home. The pair then turned over the shooter, Julio Heredia. It was not until 2016 that Sotelo, the final perpetrator, was located in Mexico, extradited, tried, and sentenced.

What runs alongside the entire catfishing expedition are revelations about Belinda Lane and her family. Their reluctance to trust Detective Wheeler was rooted in the family’s extensive run-ins with the law. The Lane-Theobold family had “issues back in the day,” including fighting, arrests, and drug issues. Most had been in and out of jail. Belinda admits to being a meth user who became a drug dealer. “I sold a lot. I did a lot of damage out there.”

As she gathered intel through MySpace, Lane did everything she could, including trying to get them deported — calling the FBI and ICE. She contacted members of the Casa Blanca gang, inciting them against 5051. She readily admits that she caused all kinds of violence. As one close friend described her, Belinda was “psycho,” “crazy,” and “insane.” Also, the Lane sons wanted to “handle it their own way.”

Crystal Theobald was only 24 years old when she was murdered by a 5150 gang member. Photo by Netflix

Why Did You Kill Me? feels no different than most shows found on the True Crime Network. Ominous music accompanies quick cuts. Sound effects are heightened — including a heart monitor ceasing its beeping, indicating Crystal’s death. Footage of driving to various areas fleshes out the voiceovers. There is a model of the neighborhood where the killing took place, recreated in miniatures. Throughout, various cast members manipulate the cars in the street. Harrowing footage recovered from the security cameras outside a grocery store shows the wounded and dying Crystal in her brother’s arms. Archival family videos and photos are interspersed.

While we get background about the family, we never know who Crystal was. The facts shared are few: she was married and had won $38,000 on a slot machine. The couple used the winnings to open a heating company. At the time of Crystal’s murder, they were estranged, but no other information on their lives is offered, other than her husband had fallen back into drugs. After being mentioned at the outset, her current boyfriend, Juan Patlan, is conspicuously absent from the film. 

While we know that the family had its plethora of problems, Crystal’s life and challenges are never addressed. 

The gang crises and turf wars are touched upon but also not fully addressed. To give greater depth to the problem and tragic consequences, the creators could have developed this background. No history or explanation is given regarding the origins and presence of the Los Angeles 5150. A nod is given to the investigation into Heredia’s history — revealing drugs, alcohol, and neglect that drove him into gang life. But it does nothing to address the fact that this ruthless, complicated world caused Crystal’s tragic death.

Late in the film, Belinda says, “Justice and revenge. Yes, they are just about the same thing. One means you can stay in the free world, and the other means you can go sit in the defendant’s chair. And that’s a line I almost crossed myself.” Her self-reflection is one of the most powerful moments in the entire documentary. 

Lane’s statement contains the kernel of what the film could have been: something valuable, insightful, and cathartic. As it stands, Why Did You Kill Me? is just one in a long line of sensationalist rubbernecking of today’s violence. Should we marvel at the sleuthing? Delight in the internet as a tool? Find entertainment in Belinda’s eccentricity? There is no call to action, no reflection, and no lesson. Sadly, the result is a simple story of a life senselessly ended.

Why Did You Kill Me? is now streaming on Netflix.

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Photo from Netflix

Reviewed by Jeffrey Sanzel

The world of cinephiles divides between those who think Citizen Kane is one of (if not the) most brilliant films ever made — and those who think it is over-rated. Hundreds of thousands of words have been written about the film, dissecting its structure, cinematography, symbolism, background, and place in moviemaking history. 

The American Experience produced the documentary The Battle Over Citizen Kane (1996). It chronicled the battle between Orson Welles and William Randolph Hearst over the creation and release of the film. It was followed in 1999 by the historical drama RKO 281, which covered the same material and starred Liev Schreiber as Welles, James Cromwell as Hearst, and John Malkovich as screenwriter Herman J. Mankiewicz.

Netflix now offers David Fincher’s Mank. Fincher, best known for thrillers (Seven, Panic Room, Alien 3, Fight Club), has directed his late father Jack Fincher’s fascinating screenplay, less exploring Citizen Kane but instead focusing on the man behind the screenplay, Herman Mankiewicz. This is a piece of high style, evoking the noirish films of the 1940s; in essence, it tells the story in the way in which Welles himself would have. 

The film alternates between 1940 when Welles is eagerly waiting for Mankiewicz to finish the screenplay, and the early 1930’s where Mankiewicz is struggling to find a foothold. The screenplay, which would become Citizen Kane, is a thinly veiled and vicious take on the life of newspaper mogul Hearst and his relationship with his lover, Marion Davies. Mankiewicz is to receive a large fee for the screenplay but no credit. Laid up with a broken leg, he embarks on meeting Welles’ deadline.

Those looking for an account of the making of Citizen Kane should look elsewhere. Mank is instead an exploration of Hollywood, specifically the politics of show business and show business’ involvement in politics. A good deal focuses on the California gubernatorial election of 1934 and how the Republican MGM hierarchy ran a smear campaign against left-wing author Upton Sinclair.

Presented is a Hollywood of hedonism and an old boys’ network, of backroom deals, demanded loyalty, and the unchecked intersections of film, power, and money. In the midst of this is Mankiewicz who is battling his demons, both in his career and with his alcoholism. It is a story in which the protagonist is Quixote and Cervantes, an intriguing and demanding drama that requires full attention.

If the definition of being a great actor is to lose oneself in the role to the point of being unrecognizable, then there is no finer actor than Gary Oldman. He is a true chameleon. It is hard to measure his performances against each other because no two are alike in any way. His Mankiewicz is unique: charming, insightful, dissipated, conflicted, and inscrutable. It is one of the best performances of 2020.

Amanda Seyfried brings charisma and depth to Marion Davies, in contrast with Citizen Kane’s Suzanne Alexander Kane, a spoiled and unaware gold digger; Seyfried’s Davies has a core of honesty and a surprising self-awareness. Arliss Howard is effective as the volatile studio head Louis B. Mayer, a monster manipulator with no conscience. Charles Dance finds shades in his portrayal of Hearst that humanizes the character but in no way detract from the man’s ability to destroy. Tom Burke’s Orson Welles hovers around the periphery, more seen than heard (which is a good thing as he has successfully recreated Welles’ voice as his resemblance is only passing). Sam Troughton makes for a fussy John Houseman, sent by Welles to watch over Mankiewicz. Tuppence Middleton finds warmth and intelligence in Sara, Mankiewicz’s tolerant wife, as does Lily Collins as Rita Alexander, the willful secretary who assists him. The film is populated with cameos of icons of the era (Joan Crawford, Norma Shearer, Ben Hecht, George S. Kaufman, etc.) that enhance the epic feel.

The film is shot in rich black-and-white; Erik Messerschmidt’s cinematography deserves high praise. Equally credited should be Kirk Baxter’s spot-on editing. Donald Graham Burt’s production design complements the art direction of Chris Craine and Dan Webster. Trish Summerville’s hundreds of costumes perfectly reflect the era. 

Fincher’s collaboration with these artists has resulted in a vision of the darker Hollywood of another era. Mank is not so much a film about a film. It is instead a thoughtful portrait of the construction of art in the face of warring forces. 

In the end, Mankiewicz (who did not attend the ceremony) receives the Academy Award for Best Screenplay. Mankiewicz’s career would never reach another high of this proportion, and he would die thirteen years later from complications due to alcoholism, a genius dead at the age of fifty-five. This tacit and disturbing ending is an appropriate coda to an introspective and absorbing film.

Rated R, Mank is currently streaming on Netflix.

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Center, from left, Ariana Rose and Jo Ellen Pellman in a scene from the film. Photo courtesy of Netflix

Reviewed by Jeffrey Sanzel

In 2018, the musical The Prom made its Broadway debut at the Longacre Theatre.  With music by Matthew Sklar, lyrics by Chad Beguelin, and book by Bob Martin and Beguelin, it dealt with a group of narcissistic Broadway actors who are trying to change their unlikable images. Looking for a cause, they select a lesbian high school student who is denied the right to take her girlfriend to the prom. The quartet of Broadway performers travel to the conservative Edgewater, Indiana, where, in an attempt to help, they wreak havoc. Ultimately, it all works out in the way that musical comedies do.

There was a great deal of feel-good material and a lot of messages about understanding and tolerance in the show. Casey Nicholaw strongly directed the production, if leaning a bit into the over-the-top humor alternating with easy sentimentality. His choreography was engaging and vigorous, often leaning towards the athletic. The original cast was made up of Broadway veterans who brought out the best in the material. For the most part, the reviews were good but it failed to find an audience and closed within the year.

James Corden, Nicole Kidman, Andrew Rannells and Meryl Streep in a scene from the film. Netflix photo

Ryan Murphy, who was one of the Broadway producers, has now directed a film version which has been released on Netflix and is also currently playing in movie theaters. Murphy recruited Martin and Beguelin to write the screenplay with the majority of the score intact. They have opened it up, taking advantage of a range of locations to give it more variety and a more kinetic energy. There are also some good flashbacks that enhance the story as well. Murphy has shown the same care and whimsy here that he did with the recent Netflix miniseries Hollywood, and the result is an entertaining two hours.

Murphy has replaced the entire Broadway company with well-known film and television personalities. So many cinematic stage transfers have been ruined by stunt casting that fails to preserve the integrity of the source material. That said, Murphy has assembled an excellent company who deliver. 

Meryl Streep is delightful as the Broadway diva, Dee Dee Allen. She is outrageous but grounded in her own selective reality and manages to make Dee Dee both insufferable and likable, often simultaneously. Her singing voice is solid, and she manages the big numbers well enough. Andrew Rannells is a younger, edgier take on the Julliard-trained Trent Oliver; he has real musical theatre chops (The Book of Mormon) and a hipper approach to the character.

Keegan-Michael Key evokes the right balance of controlled concern and star-struck fan as the principal who is enamored with Dee Dee. Kerry Washington brings snap and spark to the outraged PTA president who is doing all she can to keep the prom “straight.”  Kevin Chamberlin is charming as the long-suffering agent.

Only Nicole Kidman seems lost as the perpetual chorus girl, Angie Dickinson. Her vocals are adequate but she never finds her way with the character. It is also clear that she is uncomfortable with the Fosse style and it undermines her big number — “Zazz” —  and ultimately the character’s core.

Jo Ellen Pellman has a beautiful voice and winning presence as Emma Nolan, the girl who just wants to go to the prom. She shines through the entire film — one just wishes she wasn’t smiling the entire time; the absence of angst makes the final moments not quite as cathartic. Ariana DeBose as Alyssa, the daughter of the crusading PTA president, ably shows her internal conflict as Emma’s closet girlfriend and delivers in her musical number, “Alyssa Greene.” The ensemble of young singer-dancers handle the big numbers well and have a nice ease about them.

But if the film belonged to any one performer, it would be James Corden as Barry Glickman, Dee Dee’s costar in the failed Eleanor Roosevelt musical that incites the entire plot. He is warm and funny but truly vulnerable. He is completely at home as both a singer and a dancer, making his numbers some of the best moments. In many ways, it becomes just as much his story as Emma’s.

The film has a strong start, moving quickly from place-to-place and song-to-song, everything cast in a musical comedy glow. There are many excellent production numbers that are hilarious — “Changing Lives,” “It’s Not About Me,” and “Love Thy Neighbor” — and just plain joyous —“Tonight Belongs to You.” Murphy wisely retained Nicholaw as choreographer.

It is unfortunate that the second half of the movie sags a bit with dramatic scenes that have been introduced to give both weight and extended background to Barry and Dee Dee. While it gives the two actors an opportunity to emote, the tonal shift and the additional time do nothing to drive the action forward.

These additions necessitated the trimming of several numbers, most notably “The Acceptance Song,” done at a monster truck rally.

This is a minor quibble in an overall enjoyable outing. The Broadway quartet learn and grow, just as we know they would.  Emma and Alyssa celebrate their love with the exuberant “It’s Time to Dance” — as celebratory here as it was on Broadway.

If people take exception to the ease with which minds are changed and bigotry is overcome, it should be reminded that this is the world of fantasy. Just as with his Hollywood, Murphy offers us not necessarily the world we have but perhaps the world we can hope for — and some really terrific production numbers along the way.

Rated PG-13, The Prom is currently playing in local theaters and on Netflix.

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The film's opening scene where a brother and sister (Ria Calvin, Kenyah Sandy) ask their grandmother (Phylicia Rashad) to read them a Christmas story. Photo courtesy of Netflix

Reviewed by Jeffrey Sanzel

Thanksgiving heralds the coming of the Christmas season — which means it is time to revisit the myriad opportunities for holiday viewing. In addition to the many Christmas Carols, there are the popular staples — It’s a Wonderful Life, Miracle on 34th Street, and A Christmas Story. Add to these the innumerable children’s classics — Santa Claus Is Coming to Town, Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, How the Grinch Stole Christmas, Frosty the Snowman — there is viewing for not just days but weeks. And this does not touch on the Hallmark romances, television specials, and “very special Christmas” episodes that seem to populate prime-time.

Filmmakers are constantly looking to add to the tradition, finding something that can become an annual event. Strangely, they have been less successful in the area of musicals, a form that should lend itself to season. Discounting the animated features, the field is pretty thin. For every White Christmas, there is a Mrs. Santa Claus.   

Which brings us to Netflix’s offering, Jingle Jangle: A Christmas Journey. There are recommendable aspects in this new film but a lackluster and sometimes clumsy script and uneven storytelling gets in the way of its rising to its potential.

Diana Babincova as the younger Jessica Jangle with Justin Cornwell as the younger Jeronicus Jangle. Photo courtesy of Netflix

Jeronicus Jangle is an inventor, toymaker, and proprietor of Jangles and Things. He has just received a component for his latest invention that will change the world of toys. This element brings to life an automaton, Don Juan Diego, a matador doll. Jeronicus goes out to celebrate with his family, leaving his apprentice, Gustafson, in charge.

Gustafson, who feels underappreciated, is tricked by Diego (who doesn’t want to be mass-produced) into absconding with him and Jeronicus’ book of inventions. This choice destroys Jeronicus’ empire; as his fortunes fail, Gustafson becomes a huge success.

Fast forward to Jeronicus as a bitter widower, estranged from his daughter.  He has turned the toy emporium into a pawnshop which is now on the verge of bankruptcy. However, he continues to tinker with the ideas that had given him his start.

Enter his granddaughter Journey, brilliant in her own right, with a burning to desire to bond with her grandfather. Unsurprisingly, she becomes the catalyst for his resurrection and redemption, all centered around a robot called the Buddy 3000. The major conflict arises from Gustafson’s desperate need for a new product. This fuels the action for the latter part of the story.

The energy ranges from hyper-kinetic to meandering. The result is a strange “fast-slow” whereby the plot holes become pronounced. Perhaps they are banking on the younger viewers not seeing them but this is a mistake. Never underestimate the insight and instinct of children. As much as they will enjoy the magic and pageantry, there is a good chance that they will wonder about some of the more unexplained or contradictory moments. Or, even worse, lose interest.

Concepts from other fare — if you believe, you can fly — are borrowed but not transformed.

David E. Talbert is both writer and director, and it might have served the project to have some objective distance to solve the problems. The score is a mix of hip hop, R&B, pop, and a bit of traditional musical theatre. The songs, by Philip Lawrence, Davy Nathan, Michael Diskint, and John Legend, are all serviceable but nothing overly memorable. 

Madalen Mills as Journey, Forest Whitaker as the older Jeronicus Jangle in a scene from the film. Photo courtesy of Netflix

The choreography is enthusiastically athletic. Ashley Wallen recreates his success with The Greatest Showman’s “This Is Me” with “This Day”— but it seems like all the same and less. The fact that it comes so early in the film is also not helpful: We don’t know who those people are so it is hard to invest.  Sadly, there is no finale whereby Wallen could have once again engaged us — but this time we would have had the knowledge of the journey.

There is no question that the look of Jingle Jangle is a visually rich if overwhelming one.  A cross between benign Steampunk and Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory, it is a vibrant world, full of bold colors and brass gears. The costumes (by Michael Wilkinson) are loudly spectacular in their delicious gaudiness. Gavin Bocquet’s production design is clever and creative, mixing steroidal Victorian with just a hint of FAO Schwarz.

Forest Whitaker just manages to nuance Jeronicus beyond a standard Christmas curmudgeon. He commits to the recluse’s petulance but allows us to see the struggle beneath. He also dodges the saccharine trap most associated with these cantankerous characters. He has a light but pleasant singing voice, which is nicely showcased in the ballad “Over and Over.”

Keegan-Michael Key’s adult Gustafson is a sort of villainous Wizard of Oz (right down to the green costume for his entrance). He seems to be having a grand time in the big number “Magic Man G” but sometimes it seems that he is searching for the right tone. He is a gifted comedian and a solid actor but the script doesn’t commit to a character.

Madalen Mills as Journey has a great deal to carry. She has a lovely singing voice and an open, honest persona, believable as the exuberant young genius. She is given a huge solo with “Not the Only One” and truly owns it. Anika Noni Rose, a very strong actor, plays her mother but, unfortunately, does not enter until late in the film — much past the point of introducing a new character with high stakes. Phylicia Rashad adds both elegance and eloquence as the storyteller.

Keegan-Michael Key plays the villain Gustafson in the film. Photo from Netflix

One of the stranger choices is Jeronicus’ love-interest. The romantically aggressive postwoman Ms. Johnston is a bit over-the-top but Lisa Davina Phillip does her best to give her genuine warmth. It is strange that they didn’t opt for an actor who could actually do her own singing; instead, Marisha Wallace provides this with great style. Hugh Bonneville is barely on screen as the banker Mr. Delacroix; one feels that the role could have provided more forward movement if written to be an antagonist, rather than a semi-supportive, minor player.  Ricky Martin is amusing if predictable as the voice of Don Juan Diego.

Jingle Jangle is a pleasant but mixed outing. It’s heart is absolutely in the right place and its messages of family, honesty, and perseverance are welcomed. But, with its convoluted plot and inconsistent pacing, it sadly won’t find a permanent place in annual visits.

Rated PG, Jingle Jangle: A Christmas Journey is now streaming on Netflix.

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Emma Roberts and Luke Bracey star in 'Holidate'. Photo courtesy of Netflix

Reviewed by Jeffrey Sanzel

“Boy, I hope there’s a really unfunny rom-com to kick-off the holiday season,” said no one ever. But that’s what the Netflix offering Holidate delivers. In place of wit, there is … not wit. Holidate is not even worthy of a deprecatingly clever simile.

The premise is simple and has probably been seen dozens of times. That isn’t necessarily a bad thing. There are many plots that have been revisited over the years. The goal, of course, is to find something fresh, unusual, or intriguing in the situation. Unfortunately, Tiffany Paulsen’s terribly clunky, crass script is further exposed by John Whitesell’s clumsy and pedestrian direction.

Emma Roberts and Luke Bracey in a scene from ‘Holidate’
Photo courtesy of Netflix

Holidate opens with Sloane (Emma Roberts) still reeling from her break-up six months prior. She is having a Christmas from hell in which she is plagued by her family’s constant harping on her singlehood. Sloane is offered advice from her man-chasing Aunt Susan (Kristin Chenoweth) to always have someone to date for the holiday. In Susan’s case, she has brought home a mall Santa.

Across town, Jackson (Luke Bracey) is having a nightmare of his own, spending the holiday with the family of a girl whom he has only dated three times. It is apparent that the young woman thinks that they are in a much more serious relationship, one that she has shared with her eager family.

The next day Sloane and Jackson meet on a department store return line. What comes of this chance encounter is an agreement to be “holidates” for New Year’s Eve. There is not a great deal of background given to either characters. He is a golf pro; she works remotely. She eats junk food; he does not. He’s Australian; she isn’t. And they’re off.

Freed of expectations, this “mismatched” couple has a good time on New Year’s Eve. There is a cute send-up of Dirty Dancing, evoking a smile if not a full-on laugh.   The evening ends awkwardly with Sloane deciding it isn’t worth pursuing.

On Valentine’s Day, Sloane runs into her ex with his new, younger girlfriend.  Jackson (who just happens to be walking by the store) rescues her from complete embarrassment by swooping in, pretending to be her significant other. Realizing that the situation will work for them, they agree to be friends without benefits, committing to all calendar celebrations for the foreseeable future.

The film now begins to traverse a year’s worth of holidays: St. Patrick’s Day, Easter, Cinco de Mayo, Mother’s Day, etc. Each seems to be centered around drinking and almost — but not quite — having sex. While their friendship grows, Sloane’s mother (Frances Fisher) is desperately trying to set her up with the new neighbor, nice guy doctor Faarooq (Manish Dayal).

Fourth of July is particularly eventful with Jackson having a finger blown off as the men launch M-80’s. Sloane takes him to the hospital (where the Faarooq happens to be on-call). His finger is re-attached. There are the stirring of sparks between Sloane and Jackson. Will they? Won’t they? Do we care?

Since this is a rom-com, they get their wires crossed, resulting in a crisis with a Labor Day wedding where they choose to bring other dates. Sloane takes the doctor; Jackson brings Aunt Susan. (The resulting aunt-doctor hookup at the wedding becomes a subplot that can be kindly described as cringeworthy.)

Halloween sees them taking their relationship to the next step. But not before a disgusting laxative encounter. Thanksgiving shows their divide, with a dramatic confrontation that aims for soul-searching but winds up to be just being embarrassing. And guess what happens at Christmas?

Emma Roberts and Kristin Chenoweth in a scene from ‘Holidate’

None of this would be a problem if the film showed a single spark of originality, charm, or warmth. Holidate instead is consistently tasteless — what is less than single entendre? Basically, it’s watered-down Hallmark with an R rating. A raunchy, crude comedy attempting to make a bigger, heartfelt statement. It achieves being the worst of both worlds. Occasionally, they seem to be sending up the genre but this just confuses and contradicts the majority of the film when they are “being real.” You can’t have it both ways. Or at least they can’t.

The problem is further acerbated by performances that lack subtlety and dimension. Emma Roberts is better than this. Of the cast, she comes across the strongest, but she was given a lot of action but little to play. Luke Bracey is handsome but stiff. Kristin Chenoweth, a truly wonderful performer, is painfully miscast as the vamp; every moment feels excruciatingly forced. If she took the role on to expand her range, she didn’t succeed. If she needed the paycheck, a Go Fund Me would have had more dignity.

The rest of the characters (mostly trope cooky family members) come and go but the director’s complete lack of vision gave no consistent style in which the actors could invest. As a bonus, there are the requisite precocious children who make adult observations and occasionally inappropriate comments.

In the final scene, there was one of maybe three genuinely funny moments in the movie. It involves a Christmas choir at the mall. But one bright note does not a symphony make just as ten clever seconds don’t erase and hour and forty minutes of vulgarity.

Spoiler Alert: Sloane and Jackson end up together. Now you don’t have to watch the movie. You’re welcome.

Holidate is now streaming on Netflix.

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Natalia Dyer and Donna Lynne Champlin in a scene from the film. Photo courtesy of Vertical Entertainment

Reviewed by Jeffrey Sanzel

It is the fall of 2000. It is a world of chunky cellphones, dial-up modems, AOL Instant Messaging, and VHS tapes. Alice (a mesmerizingly authentic Natalia Dyer) is a high school junior in a strict mid-western Catholic school. Written and directed with insight and an incredibly skilled hand, Karen Maine has created an engaging coming-of-age story, Yes, God, Yes. It is both laugh-out-loud funny and brutally honest.

The film opens with a teacher (the wonderfully dour Donna Lynne Champlin) passing out detentions and monitoring the hall like an avenging meter maid. This sets the tone for the emotionally claustrophobic  atmosphere in the school, where abstinence is taught and (seemingly) embraced by the student body. 

What comes to light very quickly is that Alice is the subject of an unsavory rumor about an occurrence at a recent party. The scandal spreads as Alice tries to quell the accusation that she doesn’t fully understand. She is both buoyed up and beaten down by her BFF, Laura (Francesca Reale, bringing just the right amount of acid to this borderline mean girl). Alice is also struggling with her burgeoning awareness of her own sexuality and desires, which further complicate the already challenging situation.

Natalia Dyer in a scene from the film.

The majority of the film takes place on a four-day Kirkos retreat, where the students go to connect with themselves and with their connection to God and their religion. It is here that Alice comes face-to-face with both the caring and sensitivity of some of the students as well as the hypocrisy that often comes with repression.

Guilt and gossip flower along with misinformation. There are some extreme moments and some jaw-dropping revelations. There is also terrific humor. After Alice is punished for holding onto her cellphone, one of the girls gives her a s’more from the campfire she missed: “We pretended each marshmallow was a mortal sin before burning it.”

Maine pulls no punches. She presents these people in all of their flaws. And that is the heart of the film. She creates people and therefore legitimate tension. These are not the cyphers and stereotypes found in many teen movies. Instead, there is an inherent truth in her reflection of this particular corner of the universe.

Not all is played as satirical attack; there are instances of genuine compassion. One of the students leading the retreat, Nina (a warmly present Alisha Boe), tells how she has always felt absent in her large family. It is a touching moment and her sharing is met with sympathy and understanding. Letters from their parents are read out loud. Again, they are not greeted with smirks and eye rolls but appreciated with less embarrassment than would be expected. These are sweet and kind flashes of welcomed contrast.

But even in the midst of this idyllic retreat of finding self, the vicious buzz continues to haunt and chase Alice, leading her to several less than generous choices. Ultimately, she takes some if not all the responsibility one would hope.

Timothy Simons (Veep), as Father Murphy, the spiritual leader of both school and retreat, dodges complete caricature. He has some very questionable actions but there is a sense that, more often than not, he is attempting to do the right thing for these children in his care. He is eventually confronted with his own contradictions but it is not presented as a revenge opportunity but more a look at his personal fallibility.

Alice receives the best and most honest answers when she escapes into a lesbian bar. It is owner Gina (Susan Blackwell, grounded and kind) who gives Alice the best advice she gets the entire film — before bringing her back safely to the retreat.

The entire cast is excellent and the young actors manage to come across as “kids,” even in some of the more excessive sections. But it is Natalia Dyer’s Alice who is the heart and heartbeat of the film. In her life, she is both heroine and her own worst enemy. And Dyer makes every moment work. 

Yes, God, Yes is not for everyone. It is crass in the way that young people are not always careful. It tells some unsavory truths. It is boundary-pushing and often cringe-inducing. But it is a beautiful, dimensional portrait of a genuine young person struggling in a real world.

Rated R, Yes, God, Yes is currently streaming on Netflix.

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From left, Henry Cavill, Millie Bobby Brown and Sam Claflin star in 'Enola Holmes'. Photo courtesy of Netflix

Reviewed by Jeffrey Sanzel

The world’s most famous detective, Sherlock Holmes, first appeared in print in A Study in Scarlet (1887). Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s iconic sleuth would become one of the best-known characters in all of literature. For over a century, he has been seen in print, onstage, and onscreen. More than two hundred films, along with the dozens of television episodes, have made him cinema’s most often portrayed character. In addition, there have been offshoots, updates, and parodies that would form a substantial list of its own.

Nancy Springer’s young adult series The Enola Holmes Mysteries features the fourteen year-old sister of Sherlock, who is twenty years her senior. To date, there have been six books, published between 2006 and 2010.  Now, Netflix offers the first adaptation with its Enola Holmes, what is clearly meant to be the premiere of a franchise.

Henry Cavill, Sam Claflin and Millie Bobby Brown in a scene from the film.

Millie Bobby Brown (Eleven on Stranger Things) embodies the brilliant budding detective, Enola. Enola is “Alone” spelled backwards, a nod to her isolated upbringing, and Brown embraces this along with the girl’s spark and insight. Brown is more than enough reason to watch this very entertaining venture. 

Enola wakes-up on her sixteenth birthday (her age increased from the book’s fourteen to allow for romantic overtures) to discover that her mother has disappeared. As she embarks on a quest to find her, she becomes embroiled in a conspiracy to influence a reform vote in the House of Lords. This thread centers on a young marquess, Lord Tewkesbury, who is being hunted as he tries to escape his responsibilities. She reluctantly saves and befriends him, taking her slightly off her initial course. 

Brown delightfully breaks the fourth wall as she ponders, plots, and explores. Like her famous older brother, she finds herself in disguise, infiltrating various social strata. She mines both the humor and the honesty in every moment. She easily shows both Enola’s fears and gradually maturation throughout the two hour running time.

Henry Cavill makes for a heart-throb of a Sherlock Holmes. Tall, broad-shouldered, and charming, he cuts a rather romantic figure, unusual in the canon. That he makes this more emotionally engaged Holmes work is a tribute to strong writing and a desire to create a character with the ability to grow. The fact that he cares about Enola infuses his quest to get her back with more than a disconnected interest.

Sam Claflin, as the rigid eldest brother, Mycroft, finds the center of the self-important and socially-obsessed uncle. Twitchy and smug, he lords over his ward, Enola. There is the faintest glimmer of concern for the girl and that lends him a bit of welcomed texture.

Helena Bonham Carter infuses the eccentric matriarch, Eudoria Holmes, with her usual eclectic style. Where sometimes Bonham Carter’s stock-in-trade seems forced onto a character, here it works well. She is seen predominantly in flashbacks, teaching and training Enola in not just skills and knowledge, but also a sense of self. Her own journey is revealed throughout, showing Eudoria’s larger purpose.

There is an overtone in the series that was certainly less pronounced in the books; this clearly is a reflection of our present time. A great deal of the film focuses on self-empowerment, both of Enola as an individual and as a woman. In addition, the political shades definitely nod towards the issues of the haves and have nots. Fortunately, these elements only enhance the investment in Enola and her stories.

There is a nice balance of intellect and action. The story shifts nimbly from Enola solving puzzles with the use of word tiles to jumping from a moving train to besting a thug (menacing Burn Gorman) with her martial arts training. While perhaps there is nothing surprisingly original, it all comes together cohesively and maintains an energy and sincerity that carries it along.

Harry Bradbeer shows an adept, clear hand directing Jack Thorne’s clever script (much more satisfying than his recent take on The Secret Garden). 

Louis Partridge makes a charming, boy-band marquess who definitely develops a soft-spot for Enola. Adeel Akhtar’s Inspector Lestrade (a staple of the Sherlock Holmes universe) pulls him back before he crosses the line into caricature. Susan Wokoma strikes a powerful presence as one of Eudoria’s allies, Edith. She is given some of the more political and socially reflective material and manages to make it real without seeming too preachy. 

Fiona Shaw, one of the finest actors working on stage and screen, is both hilarious and dangerous as Miss Harrison, the head mistress of the finishing school to which Enola is briefly sentenced. Perhaps the most intriguing performance is given by stalwart Frances de la Tour as The Dowager, Tewkesbury’s grandmother. She creates depth and a hint of melancholy in her few brief scenes, building up to a fascinating payoff. 

The film contains a plethora of visual “asides” with images and animations that enhance the more whimsical elements.  Credit goes to production designer Michael Carlin and the half-dozen members of the art direction department (along with an enormous visual effects team).

While there is some violence (most notably the Brown-Gorman fights), overall, it is definitely “kid-friendly” and is ideal family entertainment. If this is any indication of where the series can go, Enola, in Brown and company’s capable hands, makes a welcome new addition to the world of Sherlock Holmes.

Rated PG-13, Enola Holmes is now streaming on Netflix.

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