Ouch. ©2018 Paramount
(Reviewed February 21, 2018, by James Dawson)
“Annihilation” may be more good-looking than good, but this mostly somber SF drama includes enough stunning scenery and mind-trip moments to be a must-see despite any pacing or plot problems. Imagine an Earthbound mash-up of H.R. Giger’s “Alien” production design and visuals by way of “2001: A Space Odyssey,” but with a tone borrowed from 2016’s deadly dull “Arrival.”
Director Alex Garland, whose similarly slow “Ex Machina” also was better at CGI than logic, adapted “Annihilation” from the first-in-a-trilogy novel of the same name by Jeff VanderMeer. Garland says he did not read the other books when writing the screenplay, which takes liberties including a not very satisfying new ending that one of the film’s producers wanted changed. Garland’s frustrating finale—which bears a regrettable resemblance to that of a certain not-exactly-obscure music video—remained intact.
“Ex Machina” star Oscar Isaac appears here as Sgt. Kane, who has been out of contact with his biology professor wife Lena (a blankly shellshocked Natalie Portman) for a year after leaving on a secret mission. His unexpected return, with significant mental and physical issues, leaves Lena with more questions than answers. When both of them are abducted from an ambulance by the military, Lena awakens in a research facility monitoring an “Area X” quarantine zone nicknamed the Shimmer, where something from space has caused the laws of nature and physics to go haywire. Turns out it was hubbie’s trip into that weirdness that messed him up…and the weirdness is spreading.
Lena joins psychologist Dr. Ventress (a hauntingly grim Jennifer Jason Leigh) and three female scientists on a mission into the zone. The weakest member of that unlikely team is Gina Rodriguez (TV’s “Jane the Virgin”) as Anya, a lesbian paramedic whose portrayal of a psychotic paranoid episode is hammily unfortunate.
The imaginatively mutated flora and fauna they encounter range from benignly beautiful (such as deer-like creatures with leafy “plantlers”) to dangerously horrific (a monstrous alligator-shark hybrid), in settings that include overgrown forests, ominously abandoned buildings, a crystal-sprouting beach and a terrifying lighthouse. Because Lena recounts her tale in flashbacks intercut with the journey from which she has returned, however, the story is robbed of some will-she-make-it-out-alive suspense.
Annoyingly, the script has characters stop watching video files featuring Kane that they find along the way not once but twice, which makes zero sense. Hard as the footage may be to watch, how could anyone searching for answers to such an incredible mystery decide that they are better off not seeing everything Kane thought was important enough to document? Another problem involves the matter of how Kane made it all the way back home in the first place, since it’s kind of hard to imagine him navigating public transportation in his nearly catatonic condition. It’s also odd that we never see anyone in the movie make any attempt to communicate with the life force in the Shimmer.
The biggest flaw, however, is a climax that may bring to mind “Battlefield Earth,” which can’t be a good thing.
One side effect of the Shimmer is that time moves more slowly there than in the outside world, which is a quality the zone has in common with the movie itself. Although “Annihilation” clocks in at under two hours, it feels considerably longer. On the positive side, many of its unforgettable images—all the way from dreamlike landscapes and colorfully dividing cells to frightening new life forms— may stay with you forever.
Back Row Reviews Grade: B
Here kitty kitty.
©2018 Marvel Studios
(Reviewed February 6, 2018, by James Dawson)
Too many politically correct praise-heapers are giving Marvel's blah "Black Panther" the same patronizing diversity pass they bestowed upon last year's DC Comics dud "Wonder Woman," as if movies like these automatically are elevated from generic mediocrity based on how many minorities or women were involved in making them.
While "Black Panther" is a serviceably average superhero flick, it definitely is not a great one, regardless of any historic importance it achieves for featuring a nearly all-black cast as well as a black director (Ryan Coogler) and black writers (Coogler and Joe Robert Cole). Although the character was created in the 1960s by white guys Stan Lee and Jack Kirby, both were Jewish, which may count for something to the sort of people who care about things like that.
The story here is simple enough: Newly installed King T'Challa (Chadwick Boseman) of the reclusive and highly advanced fictional African nation Wakanda is faced with challenges to his rule. He also wants to apprehend a murderous arms dealer who has stolen some dangerous Wakandan precious metal that can be used for nefarious purposes.
The movie's main problem is that the soft-spoken king, who moonlights as the costumed title hero, is unintimidating, uninspiring and uninteresting. He's more of a blandly even-keel Obama than a fiery Malcolm X, which means he also is considerably more mild mannered than the radical political party that adopted the Black Panthers name the same year as the character's 1966 comic-book debut. The silly accent Boseman employs as T'Challa—which falls somewhere between Archbishop Tutu and Apu from "The Simpsons"—doesn't help.
Even worse, T'Challa shows a lack of both passion and compassion that makes him come off like a right-wing Republican's dream: a restrained black man who accepts the global status quo despite knowing that oppression and injustice make life outside his isolated enclave considerably less utopian for other members of his race.
Boseman is outshined by nearly every other member of the cast, especially Michael B. Jordan as the street-lethal and frighteningly militant pretender to the throne Erik "Killmonger" Stevens. With fashionably off-center dreads, hundreds of raised body-bumps indicating each of his kills and a viciously badass attitude, Killmonger wants to supply Wakanda's advanced weapons to his agents in major cities, so "the two billion people that look like us" can rise up and take power.
If Quentin Tarantino had been in charge, it would have been interesting to see Killmonger and company go full Django on various presidents, prime ministers and premiers to create a black planet to be feared. Instead, the safely cornball climax we get is so unsatisfyingly sappy that it not only castrates the Killmonger character but undercuts his revolutionary message. While T'Challa (mild spoiler alert) does finally decide that Wakanda should come out of hiding and share its futuristic tech with other countries, this essentially means providing it to the same business-as-usual leaders still holding the reins of power that Killmonger wanted to seize. Way to elevate the race, your highness!
Politics aside, the script also has logic and suspension-of-disbelief problems. An especially groanworthy one is the idea of anyone accepting the premise that a certain extremely important character is dead without expending any effort whatsoever to confirm this by locating his body. Plus there's the old "allow the bad guy you have wanted to capture for years escape, instead of letting others deal with a wounded comrade while you continue the pursuit" device. And the concept that an otherwise civilized society technologically advanced enough to leave CIA Agent Everett Ross (Martin Freeman) in wonderstruck awe would select its head of state based on a brutally barbaric trial-by-combat ritual seems almost racist in its implication that even the most modern Africans would cling to such a savage tradition. Europe and the US did away with duels shortly after the invention of the combustion engine, but it still is possible to become monarch of 21st-century Wakanda by throwing a dude over a waterfall? Ouch.
Danai Gurira shows that she can wield a souped-up spear as fiercely as she swings Michonne's sword on TV's "The Walking Dead." Lupita Nyong'o is T'Challa's not-so-ex Nakia and an undercover Wakandan spy, although it is not clear what the hidden kingdom would do with intel gathered from outside its bubble-barriered borders. Letitia Wright is T'Challa's teenage sister Shuri, an apparently genius-level inventor who supplies him with Q-type James Bondian gadgets but who seems to have dropped in from an annoying sitcom. Andy Serkis is murderous one-armed arms dealer Ulysses Klaue, whose missing limb has been replaced with a powerful blaster.
The CGI that animates the Black Panther when he is in action doesn't seem quite state-of-the-art; the character often seems as "mass-less" as Spider-man did during the Sam Raimi trilogy. Futuristic aircraft look videogame-like, and a pack of CGI armored rhinos are just plain ridiculous.
There are two end-credits scenes. The first makes the mistake of simply being a ho-hum continuation of the story that just concluded. The second, featuring only a minor character from the extended Marvel Cinematic Universe, will be a disappointment for anyone expecting to be blown away by a wow-level tease for the upcoming all-heroes-on-deck "Avengers: Infinity War."
On the positive side, although Killmonger's hood dialect includes lines such as "I ain't worried about no brand," his "I'ma burn it all" that appears in the movie's trailer does not feature that unfortunate first contraction in the finished film. Score one for the grammar good guys.
Back Row Reviews Grade: C
Say yes to the dress...maker.
©2017 Focus Features.
(Reviewed December 14, 2017, by James Dawson)
The premise of director/writer Paul Thomas Anderson helming a tastefully sophisticated semi-gothic romance about a dictatorial dress designer in mid-1950s Britain sounds unlikely enough to be the followup to SNL's skit about a Wes Anderson horror flick. Instead, the lovely, hypnotic and intriguingly unpredictable "Phantom Thread" turns out to be one of the best films of his career.
Auteur Anderson's considerably less reserved previous works include the porn-biz period piece "Boogie Nights," the sprawling L.A.-mosaic mess "Magnolia," the Adam Sandler dramedy oddity "Punch-Drunk Love" and an adaptation of Thomas Pynchon's bizarre-noir "Inherent Vice." His grim roman à clef "The Master" (featuring an L. Ron Hubbard-ish religious leader) and the Sinclair Lewis-inspired "There Will Be Blood" (about a ruthless turn-of-the-20th-century oilman), while grittier and more aggressively forceful than "Phantom Thread," come closest to its surprisingly traditional novelistic sensibility.
If that description makes this sound like an off-puttingly stuffy good-for-you exercise that only pinkie-extended patrons would appreciate, fear not. While it admittedly is no comic-book thrill ride, the film is so accessibly elegant that even a pop-trash fan who can't help noting the resemblance between star Vicky Krieps and Leighton Meester of "Gossip Girl" can enjoy it. (Ahem.)
Three-time Best Actor Oscar winner Daniel Day-Lewis (who received one of them for his raging brilliance in "There Will Be Blood") says this will be his final film role. If so, he definitely is leaving on a high note, as the solemnly tyrannical and casually cruel London dressmaker Reynolds Woodcock. The domineering designer has a disturbingly codependent relationship with sister Cyril (Lesley Manville), a serious dead-mother fixation, and an apparent habit of discarding female companions who probably would be misdescribed as lovers. Referring to the latest one dismissed by his disregard, he notes, "I simply don't have time for confrontations."
His fancy is struck by the nearly half his age Alma (Krieps), a meekly placid waitress with a slight foreign accent of indeterminate origin. Although she plainly is not of his class, misplaces a step in the hotel dining room and later wears too much lipstick for Reynolds' taste, Alma is no cartoonishly uncouth Eliza Doolittle. That's because "Phantom Thread" is more "Rebecca" than "My Fair Lady," with the imperious and humorless Cyril standing in for nasty Mrs. Danvers.
Reynolds at first regards Alma more as mannequin than muse, insensitively noting that "you have no breasts" during her first fitting and displaying no detectable interest in her as a person, much less a woman. Despite this, his attentiveness to taking every conceivable one of her measurements when she is half-dressed is erotic in itself, with Cyril's intrusion on the moment adding a soupçon of shame. Even as the relationship between Reynolds and Alma develops into something more lasting, it does so with gradual and almost somber inevitability, rather than giddily starry-eyed romance.
When Alma's increasingly distracting presence threatens to result in another Reynolds re-set, the film takes more than one intriguingly decadent, completely unexpected and satisfyingly original turn.
Two small and quirkily humorous aspects involve Reynolds' ridiculously large breakfast order and his comically fast driving, which makes an amusing contrast to the more sedate tone of nearly every indoor scene.
Day-Lewis perfectly portrays Reynolds' desperate dignity, shameless self-absorption and prideful dedication to his craft. One of the few times Reynolds shows genuine vulnerability is when he is hurt to learn that a longtime client has taken her business to a more "chic" competitor.
Krieps is excellent at both teasingly concealing and later revealing Alma's hidden depths. And Manville is icily officious in her attempts to keep her brother undisturbed by the bothersome inconveniences of being human.
Exquisitely made and fascinatingly entertaining, this is one of the year's best films.
Back Row Reviews Grade: A
This amazing adult fantasy is one of the year's best films.
© 2017 Fox Searchlight
(Reviewed November 26, 2017, by James Dawson)
"The Shape of Water" is an R-rated and sometimes viciously grim adult fairy tale with a sweetly sensual and irresistibly touching cross-species romance at its center. Although occasionally reminiscent of numerous other films in plot or appearance ("E.T.," "Pennies From Heaven," "Splash," "Amelie," and even David Lynch's "Dune" come to mind), it somehow feels refreshingly original, in addition to being thoroughly charming. It also manages to include implicit criticisms of human failings such as racism, homophobia, sexism, anti-Semitism, and prejudice against the disabled without seeming too preachy or didactic about being good for you.
In other words, this is the movie that fans of director Guillermo del Toro have been hoping for since his 2006 fantasy masterpiece "Pan's Labyrinth." His other features since then—a visually impressive but flat 2008 sequel to "Hellboy," the 2013 battling-robots adventure spectacular "Pacific Rim," and 2015's forgettable haunted-house flick "Crimson Peak"—had their moments, but none possessed the heart or soul of this awards-worthy wonder.
Like "Pan's Labyrinth," "The Shape of Water" features actor Doug Jones very convincingly costumed as a startlingly inhuman creature, but this time only his exterior is monstrous. Resembling a very upgraded reboot of the creature from the black lagoon or a hunkier Abe Sapien, he is imprisoned in a Baltimore research facility's holding tank in the Cold War days of 1962, after being dragged from a South American river where tribes worshipped him as a god. The American military is brutally studying his physiology for tips on how to win the space race, but the Russians intend to lethally sabotage that plan. "We don't need to learn," one of their agents says. "We need Americans not to learn."
Actress Sally Hawkins perfectly conveys the heartbreaking vulnerability and courage of mute cleaning woman Elisa Esposito, who takes pity on the tortured creature. Michael Shannon is frighteningly excellent as government agent Richard Strickland, who is savagely determined to learn the creature's secrets—either by administering the electric cattle prod he calls his "Alabama howdydoo" or by vivisection. Richard Jenkins shines as Elisa's pleasantly deadpan neighbor Giles, a former ad-agency illustrator and alcoholic striving to get his career back. Michael Stuhlbarg is researcher Dr. Robert Hoffstetler, who has significant secrets of his own, and Octavia Spencer is Elisa's cleaning-staff compatriot and sometime sign-language translator Zelda Fuller.
The screenplay by del Toro and Vanessa Taylor is a marvel of mixed tones that range from tender eroticism to quirky comedy to bloody horror, yet successfully blend into a literally wonderful love story. The always creative Alexandre Desplat supplies an enjoyably distinctive score that perfectly complements the onscreen strangeness. And the production design by Paul Denham Auterberry is stunning, whether conveying the industrial-concrete gloom of Elisa's oppressive workplace, the homey eccentricity of her period-piece apartment, or the floating images of her dreams.
The film's title refers to an unidentified poem quoted in voiceover about the humbling, overwhelming ecstasy of religious love: "Unable to perceive the shape of you, I find you all around me." It also works as a metaphor for the movie's primary moral. Like water, true love will conform to fill the dimensions of any vessel that contains it, whether mute maiden or misunderstood monster. As del Toro has noted, "It doesn't matter what shape we put love into, it becomes that, whether it's man, woman or creature."
This is one of the year's best films, and one so beautiful and emotionally immersive that it genuinely deserves to be seen on a theater screen. Dive in!
Back Row Reviews Grade: A
Yep, it's another dark and dreary DC Comics dirge. Damn it.
© 2017 Warner Bros.
(Reviewed November 16, 2017, by James Dawson)
Even drafting Marvel MVP Joss Whedon to co-write the screenplay and offer an uncredited directing assist to Zack Snyder isn't enough to keep this dismally uninteresting bore from being another DC Comics strikeout. "Justice League" is nearly as bad as Snyder's unwatchable 2016 "Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice," and for many of the same reasons: The movie is almost monochromatically dark and ugly, none of the performances seem emotionally sincere, and the perfunctory by-the-numbers battle scenes are deafeningly incomprehensible.
Everything that Whedon's two "Avengers" outings (and most other Marvel superhero flicks) consistently deliver—likeable-character camaraderie, meaningful emotional beats and mostly the sense of enjoyably adventurous comic-book fun—is off the roster here.
Instead, "Justice League" plays like an oppressive dirge, taking place in a grimly gray world still mourning Superman's "Batman v Superman" passing with black banners on bridges and such. Batman (a barely going-through-the-motions Ben Affleck) is interrupted in the act of apprehending a rooftop burglar by a Parademon (think mechanical flying corpse). He quickly dispatches this CGI antagonist and swings away, puzzlingly leaving the burglar with his sack of loot and no punishment, as if the thief is on the UCLA basketball team or something.
In a wholly superfluous action scene that appears to have been added to the movie just to give Wonder Woman more upfront screen time, the alluring Amazon foils a terrorist takeover in London with her bullet-deflecting bracelets. Blankly wide-eyed Gal Gadot, still as lovely, lithe and lifeless as an exotic mannequin, reprises her role as the sword-wielding Zsa Zsa soundalike from this year's most overrated movie. (Trigger warning side note: Brett Ratner's RatPac Entertainment, which helped fund "Wonder Woman" but reportedly has been barred from involvement with its sequel due to sexual harassment allegations against Ratner, is one of the production companies credited on "Justice League.")
The actual plot kicks in on the hidden island home of Wonder Woman's fellow Amazons, where the otherworldly "new god" giant Steppenwolf (voiced by Ciarán Hinds) unleashes dozens of other Parademons to help him steal one of three mystical power-cubes called Mother Boxes. In a backstory almost litigiously similar to that of "Lord of the Rings," the three Mother Boxes played a part in an ages-earlier world-domination attempt by Steppenwolf that was thwarted by the joined forces of Atlanteans, Amazons and men, who then decided that the boxes must be kept separated because of their combined doomsday-potential danger.
Steppenwolf gets the box, and the surviving Amazons notify Wonder Woman (who is now in Paris and toiling in her Louvre-employee day job as Diana Prince) about what's up. Batman and Wonder Woman go about getting a team of heroes together to combat the potentially world-ending threat, yet they never bother informing anyone in any position of authority about it. Because, you know, who needs armies of thousands or weapons of mass destruction or scientists who might want to get involved and help out. It's only the future of all life on Earth that's at stake, after all, and a mere half-dozen costumed do-gooders can probably handle it.
Jason Momoa's Aquaman is a hard-drinking tattooed bro who seems to be propelled by jets of flatulence bubbles as he zooms around underwater. Ezra Miller's Flash constantly dispenses aggravatingly unamusing sitcom-manchild quips. Ray Fisher's half-mechanical Cyborg is broodingly miserable. And Henry Cavill's Superman (what, you thought he would stay dead?) still looks too waxy, sort of nasty and vaguely sleazy in his strangely textured suit to be a good fit as a wholesomely optimistic man of steel.
Go-to superhero-flick composer Danny Elfman's bombastically generic score is oppressively omnipresent yet never achieves any emotional impact, even in scenes that should have been easy tearjerkers, fearjerkers or stand-up-and-cheer jerkers.
The weak plot is hindered by little annoyances like a scene in which Batman alter-ego Bruce Wayne shows up with a full beard in a far-north fishing village, where he hopes to recruit Aquaman. Does this mean he took a few weeks off from crimefighting before the trip, or was Gotham City treated to the sight of a Batman with facial hair until Bruce got out his razor again? There's also way too much focus on a besieged Russian family that lives near Steppenwolf's evil lair, which is located under a dome that resembles an electric-blue mammogram. A reference to Wonder Woman's World War I traveling companion Steve Trevor, and the fact that Wonder Woman disappeared from public view for most of the century afterward, doesn't address why she was out of sight for so long. A Flash and Cyborg grave-robbing scene, complete with clumsy bonding dialog and attempted fist-bumps, is painfully dumb. And the way the heroes occasionally address each other by their secret identity names in public means that more than a few bystanders can't help hearing who Clark Kent and Bruce Wayne dress up as when they want to punch people.
As Wayne's faithful butler Alfred, Jeremy Irons makes a meta-reference to the days of "exploding wind-up penguins" before commenting, "I don't recognize this world." Unfortunately for viewers who are weary of dreary DC Comics movies like this one, "Justice League" will be all too familiar.
Back Row Reviews Grade: F
Kyle MacLachlan and Sheryl Lee share a mildly risque joke in this lighthearted romantic comedy. Not.
© 1992 CiBy 2000
(Reviewed October 28, 2017, by James Dawson)
The new "Director Approved" Criterion Collection edition of 1992's "Twin Peaks: Fire Walk With Me," available as a single Blu-ray and a two-disc DVD, adds a whopping 90 minutes of expanded and deleted scenes plus other extras to the restored 4K digital transfer of the movie. What's even more shocking, frustrating and incomprehensible than the film itself is why so many original "Twin Peaks" TV series cast members ended up on the cutting room floor, completely excised from the 135-minute theatrical release.
Characters featured only in unused scenes that appear here include juvenile delinquent drug dealer Bobby Briggs' parents, Laura Palmer BFF Donna Hayward's parents, Sheriff Harry Truman, deputies Andy and Hawk, scatterbrained receptionist Lucy, "gas farm" owner Big Ed and his wife Nadine, sawmill owner Josie Packard, and Laura's-corpse-discoverer Pete Martell. Deleted scenes also include more David Bowie appearances as mysterious FBI agent Phillip Jeffries, whose single brief bit that did make it into the finished film was so truncated it did not even feature a single close-up of the actor/musician. (At last, we get a good look at his otherworldly eyes.)
Although making sense probably never was a priority for this prequel, which intersperses the final week of incest-victim Laura Palmer's tortured life with surreally Lynchian backwards-talk weirdness and an FBI investigation of another murder, what takes place in many of the discarded scenes should have been regarded as essential to the storyline. Angel-referencing dialog dispensed by Dr. Hayward (Warren Frost) to Laura (Sheryl Lee) foreshadows the vision Laura has during the film's finale. A comic scene in which Laura's father Leland Palmer (Ray Wise) tries to teach Laura and her mother (Grace Zabriskie) how to introduce themselves to visiting Norwegian businessmen offers a refreshing example of Leland acting appealingly undemonic during a rare "unpossessed" moment. And scenes that jump forward in time to take place after the chilling "How's Annie?" finale of the original series offer a fascinating bridge between that signoff and the "Twin Peaks: The Return" revival that appeared on Showtime this year.
The deleted and expanded scenes have been assembled by Lynch into a continuous feature titled "The Missing Pieces," a feat similar to how more than an hour's worth of "Spinal Tap" deleted scenes were combined to form the equivalent of almost an entire second film on that movie's home-video edition.
Other extras here include new interviews with Sheryl Lee and composer Angelo Badalamenti, as well as 2014 interviews with Lee, Wise, and Zabriskie. A 48-page booklet includes an interview with Lynch from the 2005 edition of filmmaker and writer Chris Rodley's book "Lynch on Lynch."
Back Row Reviews Grade: B
Hulk, Thor, Valkyrie and Loki playing bridge. Rainbow Bridge, that is.
© 2017 Marvel Studios
(Reviewed October 19, 2017, by James Dawson)
The surprisingly silly "Thor: Ragnarok" subverts the big-name superhero genre in a way that could signal a questionable shift in direction for future Marvel movies: Once they've gone wacky, can they ever go back?
Although every previous Marvel Studios film has been at least a little tongue-in-cheek, this third Thor outing marks the first time that any of the company's previously established franchises has given so much screen time to comedy. The two "Guardians of the Galaxy" romps were primarily funny from the get-go, and always stood apart from the rest of what is referred to as the Marvel Cinematic Universe for exactly that reason. (That's why the prospect of the Guardians intermingling with the rest of the Marvel stable in the upcoming "Avengers: Infinity War" crossover is expected to be a tricky oil-and-water proposition.)
Despite the inherent ridiculousness of comic-book heroes in general, whose abilities to fly, turn into monsters, crawl up walls or punch out giant robots automatically require some pretty extreme suspension of disbelief, Marvel's trademark had been presenting its stories more as appealing modern myths than as self-mocking farces. The closest any Marvel Studios non-Guardians movie has gotten to being this outright goofy up to now may have been "Ant-Man," which certainly couldn't be accused of taking itself too seriously, but even it wasn't as broadly laugh-happy as this. (Fox's deliriously over-the-top "Deadpool" isn't technically a Marvel Studios film, so it doesn't count.) Yes, "Thor: Ragnarok" has some un-nutty moments, plus the usual level of violent pitched combat and CGI destruction, but its very broad sense of humor definitely predominates the proceedings.
If "Thor: Ragnarok" racks up big box-office bucks, will Marvel favor humor over heroics from now on, putting more "funny" in all of their funny-book flicks?
Granted, that certainly seems preferable to going darker. For over a decade, Warner Bros. has sucked anything resembling joy or fun out of its Batman and Superman big-screen bores by trying to put too much dreary dramatic weight on those characters' caped shoulders. Marvel, on the other hand, traditionally has succeeded by finding precisely the right balance between adventurous heroics and just enough levity to make its good guys charmingly likeable.
The trouble with "Thor: Ragnarok" is that it plays more like a standalone parody than like a legitimate installment of the franchise. Its serious bits (including what should have been the more meaningful and melodramatic death of an important supporting character) do not blend well with its jokier moments (such as Thor—played as always by the jovially studly Chris Hemsworth— taking the equivalent of a narrated theme park ride to the strains of "Pure Imagination" from "Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory"). Sophomoric but admittedly amusing details include an outer-space portal called The Devil's Anus, a frighteningly lethal weapon known simply as "the melt stick," and rude references to Asgard as "Assburg." Sophisticated, it ain't.
Another reason fans may wish this movie was not part of the official Thor canon: Director Taika Waititi and screenplay writer Eric Pearson (working from a story by Pearson, Craig Kyle and Christopher Yost) playfully break so many of the franchise's best toys by the time the end credits roll that they end up throwing out parts of the baby, most of the bathwater and finally the whole damned tub. Thor has lost girlfriend Jane Foster offscreen, gets his godly blond locks shorn, has his signature hammer destroyed less than a quarter of the way through the movie…plus there are at least three more frustratingly major developments that haven't been spoiled by the trailer.
That wouldn't be a big deal if this were only a standalone "Lego Movie"-type lampoon, with no effect on the "real" character's continuity. But having to live with the significant changes that Thor and Asgard itself undergo here is even more annoying than when Nick Fury's SHIELD organization was obliterated in "Captain America: The Winter Soldier," or when Cap gave up his shield at the end of "Captain America: Civil War" (at least he got to hang onto the thing for most of the movie).
What's even more unfortunate is that the previously non-verbal, rage-fueled but poignantly tragic Jekyll-and-Hyde creature known as Hulk has been turned into a chatty, green-skinned, Mike Tyson-style lunkhead who enjoys a nice hot-tub soak in between gladiator-style bouts. Turns out that after the events of "Avengers: Age of Ultron," he somehow was transported to a distant planet run by the games-staging Grandmaster (played with deliciously hammy relish by Jeff Goldblum). Thor ends up there too, after a showdown with his sadistically nasty big sister Hela, the Goddess of Death (Cate Blanchett, looking drop-dead fabulous in a snug bodysuit costume with a huge-antlered headpiece).
Supporting characters include Tessa Thompson as a hard-drinking valkyrie who has turned her back on her responsibilities, shaved-head Karl Urban as the Asgardian turncoat Skurge (whose fondness for a pair of very Earthly semi-automatic rifles may be a plot point Marvel regrets in the wake of October's Las Vegas shootings), and Idris Elba as former Rainbow Bridge dispatcher and current hero-in-hiding Heimdall. Tom Hiddleston is excellent as always as Thor's devious half-brother Loki, Benedict Cumberbatch cameos as the sorcerer Dr. Strange, and Mark Ruffalo is suitably ruffled as Hulk's brainy alter-ego Bruce Banner.
The most enjoyable supporting character is the endearingly mild-mannered arena fighter Korg (voiced by director Waititi), a large rock-skinned alien resembling a blue version of The Thing from the Fantastic Four. His commiserating comments while Thor reminisces about the wonders of his beloved former hammer are low-key hilarious.
One probably unintentional but touching aspect of the short cameo by Marvel Comics mastermind and Thor co-creator Stan Lee is the sight of Lee's wedding band on his finger. (Lee's wife of 69 years died in July at age 95.)
The movie's quirky videogame-synthy score is by Devo's Mark Mothersbaugh, but the two best musical moments are battle scenes choreographed to Led Zeppelin's relentless "Immigrant Song" (with its fitting reference to "the hammer of the gods"). A mid-credits scene presents a fateful cliffhanger encounter, and a final after-credits bit is good for one last gag.
"Thor: Ragnarok" isn't as full-camp zany as the 1960s "Batman" TV show, but it's definitely leaning in that direction. Will we ever be able to take Thor even semi-seriously again? The God of Thunder only knows.
Back Row Reviews Grade: B
Replicant Ryan Gosling and hologram dreamgirl Ana de Armas.
© 2017 Alcon Entertainment
(Reviewed October 5, 2017, by James Dawson)
"Blade Runner 2049" is about four-fifths of a great film, until its mostly psychological suspense and almost somber elegance give way to a rushed flight-and-fight finale that knocks the smarts right out of it. It's still a must-see sequel, if only for its stunning production design (by Dennis Gassner), photography (Roger A. Deakins) and what may be the year's most appealing supporting character (the hologram girlfriend Joi, played by Ana de Armas). But things stop making much sense shortly after the movie's most anticipated fangasm moment, when original 1982 "Blade Runner" star Harrison Ford finally shows up.
Director Denis Villeneuve, whose downbeat SF flick "Arrival" had a similar payoff problem, at first seems to have a real feel for making the understated interesting. Ryan Gosling's K is miserably deadpan as a gets-no-respect "blade runner," a synthetic made-not-born LAPD officer tasked with hunting down earlier-model replicants who have gone rogue. Villeneuve is good at moving K around between futuristic settings that range from the dismal dystopian (dead-tree protein farm, slum apartment, scrap-metal junkyard) to the art-installation exquisite (a lit-slit reception window, shadowy water-platform rooms, a landscape of colossal sculptures).
Lieutenant Joshi (a slicked-hair severe Robin Wright) wants K to take care of a potential "this breaks the world" replicant-related situation that K has discovered before word gets out. Unfortunately, quietly creepy sociopath Niander Wallace (Jared Leto), a corporate-head visionary who revived the banned replicant industry in the years following the first "Blade Runner," has a rather evil reason for wanting to find K's quarry first. His lethally efficient assistant, a coolly high-kicking replicant he has named Luv (Sylvia Hoeks), secretly monitors K's progress, with an occasional murder along the way.
The movie's most captivating cast member is K's shockingly beautiful hologram girlfriend Joi, who is lovingly sincere and sweetly guileless in addition to being irresistibly sexy. Sufficiently pillow-lipped and big-eyed to play Felicity Jones' exotic kid sister, Ana de Armas makes Joi an impossibly perfect dreamgirl. A scene in which she overlays her projected image onto a flesh-and-blood hooker to share a tangible sexual experience with K is both more tender and more erotic than a similar scene in 2013's "Her," when operating system Samantha likewise employed a surrogate to hook up with her owner.
"Blade Runner" director Ridley Scott (who executive produced this sequel) and Ford famously disagreed in the past about whether Ford's character Rick Deckard was a replicant in the first movie. (Ford said no.) The matter has been settled now in Scott's favor, but the new suggestion that Deckard and his "Blade Runner" love interest Rachel may have been designed specifically to meet in that film is too contrived to be credible. And although Ford is believably surly, morose and gruff here as old man Deckard, it's hard to fathom how he survives in his current circumstances, or even why.
The screenplay is by "Blade Runner" co-writer Hampton Fancher and Michael Green, based on a story by Fancher, using characters from the 1968 Philip K. Dick novel "Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?" Without divulging any spoilers, the movie's ending is unsatisfying both logically and dramatically, setting up an obvious but unnecessary (and hopefully not inevitable) sequel.
The film's first line of dialog is "I hope you don't mind me taking the liberty," which also could be taken as a plea from director Villeneuve to worshipful fans of the first "Blade Runner." While his gorgeous effort to extend the franchise gets more right than wrong, it's too bad that 35 years apparently wasn't long enough to come up with a more fitting final act.
Back Row Reviews Grade: B+
No, they're not watching online porn.
© 2017 Fox
(Reviewed September 18, 2017, by James Dawson)
"Kingsman: The Golden Circle," like its 2014 predecessor "Kingsman: The Secret Service," is an enjoyably inventive next-generation spoof of mid-period 007 flicks that actually outdoes some of those disco-era James Bond escapades when it comes to huge set pieces, over-the-top action and gags that actually are funny. It's also slightly better than the first "Kingsman," if only because it doesn't have to spend any time setting things up.
But at 141 minutes, this tongue-in-cheek romp may actually be too much of a good thing. Just as manners maketh man, less can be more…even if there certainly are worse problems a movie can have.
Likeable Taron Egerton is back as Gary "Eggsy" Unwin, a former lower-class layabout who was "My Fair Lady"-ed into a bespoke-tailored secret agent by the urbanely proper Harry Hart (Colin Firth) of the undercover Kingsman organization. Eggsy has assumed Hart's Galahad codename following Hart's apparent demise in the last movie, and the method in which his missing mentor rejoins the living is one of this movie's sillier pleasures.
"Kingsman: The Golden Circle" is the second flick this year (after Edgar Wright's "Baby Driver") with the cocky confidence to start off with a wild car chase that could be the last-act highlight of other action movies. In the backseat of a customized cab that's taking fire from malevolent motorists, Eggsy fights off rejected Kingsman candidate Charlie Hesketh (Edward Holcroft), who is now cybernetically enhanced with a viciously versatile mechanical arm that puts the Winter Soldier's to shame. The highlight of that perilous pursuit is an overhead shot of Eggsy's cab doing an extremely extended "London drift" around a long curve, before converting to wheels-sideways amphibian mode and going underwater in Hyde Park. Good evening, Mr. Bond!
When Kingsman security is compromised and nearly the entire English operation is explosively eliminated, Eggsy and tech wizard Merlin (Mark Strong) head stateside to team up with their American equivalents: Statesman operatives whose cover is a Kentucky distillery. Tobacco-spitting agent Tequila (Channing Tatum) and electric-lasso-wielding Whiskey (Pedro Pascal) take their orders from a spittoon-employing supervisor known as Champagne (Jeff Bridges). Halle Berry, as a wannabe-agent support techie for the undercover organization, only gets to be called Ginger Ale.
Julianne Moore is de rigueur megalomaniacal villain Poppy Adams, a massively successful drug lord who has turned her remote jungle hideout into a retro smalltown "Poppy Land" complete with diner, bowling alley, beauty salon, theater…and a couple of murderous robot dogs, of course. Having tainted her products with a deathly disease affecting millions to which only she has the antidote, she tries blackmailing the United States into legalizing all drugs.
Director Matthew Vaughn, who created the Kingsman franchise with comics writer Mark Millar and artist Dave Gibbons, co-wrote both movies with Jane Goldman. Nearly everything about the first movie that differed from its comics incarnation was a change for the worse (including a completely different beginning and ending). This sequel has the odd advantage of being an original story, however, which prevents any comparisons to an existing work. The result is a fun ride that may go on a half-hour too long, but more because it is crammed full of too many treats, as opposed to padded out with filler.
Vaughn, who also directed the Daniel Craig thriller "Layer Cake," the fantasy "Stardust," Millar's "Kick-Ass" and the superhero reboot "X-Men: First Class," does a great job of keeping even the most ferociously frantic fight scenes intelligible. He accomplishes this mainly by staying with the precisely choreographed action through long takes that occasionally shift into slow motion to show off particularly impressive moments of impact.
The movie also includes a fittingly Blofeldian alpine installation, a parachute nod to "The Spy Who Loved Me," and a reluctant seduction scene that turns Bond's brand of conscience-free licentiousness on its head.
There are plenty of enjoyable references to the first movie, including Harry Hart's stuffed dog Mr. Pickle, yet another epic bar fight, and rescued Swedish princess Tilde (Hannah Alström), who is now Eggsy's girlfriend. "If you save the world, you know what that means," she tells him in their bedroom.
As anyone who gets that reference from the first installment knows, Eggsy is more than inspired to give it his best shot.
Back Row Reviews Grade: B+
"I'm definitely getting rid of the damned welcome mat."
© 2017 Paramount
(Reviewed September 13, 2017, by James Dawson)
The unexpectedly allegorical and eventually overwhelming "Mother!" is a bizarre hybrid of nightmarish surrealism, sly social satire, psychological terror and cellar-dark humor. It's basically a two-hour art-horror version of the classic Monty Python skit "The Visitors," in which a couple's home is invaded by increasingly obnoxious and destructive uninvited guests, reframed as a creepy metaphor about the perils of fame, the insidiousness of religion and the egotism inherent in artistic creation. If director/writer Darren Aronofsky's brutally gritty "Requiem for a Dream" and his incomprehensibly loopy "The Fountain" had a baby, in other words, it would look a lot like "Mother!"
(That exclamation point is part of the title, by the way, possibly to distinguish it from the Albert Brooks comedy "Mother"—which certainly would make an interesting double-feature companion to this far less family-friendly film.)
None of the characters have names, which is a story conceit that may have worked better if not for places where characters who are introduced to each other for the first time obviously would exchange them. That anonymity may be because everyone here is supposed to be an archetype: the martyr-like muse, the self-involved writer, the ineffectual father, the wicked mother, the sinister sons, and the oppressive unwashed masses.
The adoring woman-child wife (lushly radiant Jennifer Lawrence) of an old-enough-to-be-her-dad poet (believably detached Javier Bardem) live in an isolated country house that she has been restoring following a fire. When a smilingly insinuating but vaguely threatening older stranger (the perfectly cast Ed Harris) with a persistent cough appears on their doorstep claiming he thought they had a room for rent, Poet invites him to spend the night, despite Mrs. Poet's wariness.
Mrs. Poet is even more upset when Cougher's brash, nasty other half (a viciously catty Michelle Pfeiffer) shows up, followed by their ferociously argumentative grown sons (Brian and Domhnall Gleeson). Things quickly go from bad to much, much worse, resulting in the spilling of blood that apparently has the same acidic quality as that of the creature in "Alien," judging from how it eats through the floorboards.
Are hellish scenes like that actually Mrs. Poet's passive-aggressive hallucinations, fragments of an extremely unpleasant dream, or psychotic reactions to that yellow stuff from the medicine-cabinet that she takes whenever she gets a gut-pain? Or is she just plain nuts? And what the hell is that bloody organ (or organism) in the toilet?
Mrs. Poet goes from confused to exasperated to horrified by hubby's further acts of inexplicable hospitality, as he refuses to evict increasingly irritating interlopers despite their escalating offenses. What starts out as her slow-burning annoyance at his oblivious inconsideration for her feelings grows into distrust, anger and outright fear.
Aronofsky goes completely over the top in the film's high-firepower final act, which is wildly violent, unrelentingly intense and includes what may be the year's single most shockingly disturbing scene. An ambiguous reality-bending ending somehow seems like a perfectly fitting finale to this offbeat ordeal. In a mystifyingly mental movie this stylish and strange, making sense is beside the point.
Even if this metaphysical mash-up isn't your cup of mud (and there's a better than even chance it won't be, especially if you go in expecting a conventional horror flick), "Mother!" is audaciously outrageous enough that you definitely won't forget it.
Back Row Reviews Grade: B
"Ha, you blinked!"
"No, you blinked!"
© 2017 Sony
(Reviewed August 2, 2017, by James Dawson)
The deliciously distinctive "The Dark Tower," adapted from a series of Stephen King novels by Akiva Goldsman, Jeff Pinkner, Anders Thomas Jensen and director Nikolaj Arcel, is a genre-blending mash-up of young-adult fantasy, dystopian SF drama, monster-mayhem horror and six-gun-blazing western that proves "more" sometimes actually can be more.
Like 2011's unfairly unappreciated "Cowboys and Aliens," which attempted a similar colliding-worlds concoction, this beautifully shot adventure is played surprisingly straight. And that's saying something, in a frenziedly far-fetched tale about an evil sorcerer abducting gifted children from various worlds to power a death-ray designed to destroy a massive tower at the center of the universe that keeps terrifying outer-darkness demons from getting in and destroying everything. Oh, and that murderous villain's never-say-die adversary is a vengeance-bent gunslinger whose magic-bullet-shooting revolver is forged from the metal of King Arthur's sword Excalibur. Everything here is so brazenly outrageous, in other words, that the plot easily could have been played as a total tongue-in-cheek parody, which makes it impressive that there's almost no winking at the audience on display.
Tom Taylor plays believably troubled New York teen Jake Chambers, who has disturbing dreams of a miles-high tower and an evil Man in Black. His frustrated mom and even more fed-up stepdad are about to ship him off to a special psychiatric clinic when Tom notices dead-giveaway seams in the necks of two not-exactly-human would-be kidnappers who arrive to take him there. After a rooftop chase and a terrifying ordeal in a may-as-well-be-haunted house, he ends up in the world of his visions.
Idris Elba is excellent as the tersely tough and doggedly determined Roland Deschain, aka the Gunslinger. He is everyone's last hope for protecting the tower against all enemies, but his sole focus is on killing the sinister sorcerer Walter, aka the Man in Black, for murdering Roland's father.
Matthew McConaughey is scene-stealingly, Voldemort-level vicious as the casually cruel Walter, whose power of suggestion is so effective that he can kill simply by telling people to stop breathing or burn. Onetime Victoria's Secret model Abbey Lee plays his gorgeous deadpan henchbabe, who seems to have modeled her way-too-much-makeup and tight-red-minidress look on old Robert Palmer music videos. (Look them up, kids.)
The Gunslinger's seemingly endless ammo supply is good for extended shoot-'em-ups with "Matrix"-level displays of firepower. Settings such as a desolate tornado-columned wasteland, a decayed theme park and Walter's dismal high-tech base are suitably creepy. In one of many visually interesting scenes, a telepathic recap of past events is shown with overlapping time-lapse images in Jake's bedroom back on Earth.
Before the movie's release, some readers worried that the elaborate storyline in King's "Dark Tower" novels (and Easter-egg elements within them that tie all of King's books together into a single all-encompassing multiverse) might prove hard to adapt. Speaking as someone who has not read the series, I have no idea how faithful the movie is to its source material—but that also means I can set other newcomers' minds at ease by saying that they will have no trouble jumping into the screen story without any background from the books. And even if you've never heard of "The Shining," Jake's psychic "shine" abilities still will make sense.
The film has echoes of everything from "The Wolverine" ("I heal fast," notes the seemingly indestructible Gunslinger) to the torture-chair from "Brazil" to the "Chitty Chitty Bang Bang" Child Catcher to the not-entirely-happy ending of "Time Bandits," yet still manages to seem fresh. Also, the last-act showdown between the Gunslinger and Walter features a jaw-droppingly ingenious game-over feat that manages to be simultaneously preposterous and yet incredibly satisfying. Which is a good description of the movie as a whole, in fact.
A prequel TV series featuring the Gunslinger is planned, but a big-screen sequel that continues this wild, wild weirdness would be even more welcome.
Back Row Reviews Grade: B+
Trouble? Bank on it.
© 2017 Columbia Pictures
(Reviewed February 4, 2009, by James Dawson)
Note: This review originally appeared on a shall-remain-nameless website that has now purged all movie reviews in an apparent attempt to rebrand itself, so I am re-posting it here.
With a hopelessly generic title and nobody under 35 in the cast, "The International" looks at first glance like box-office poison. Those aren't the only things that give cause for commercial-prospects concern. It's a paranoid-conspiracy thriller about getting the goods on a bad bank. There is no comic relief. The leads not only keep their clothes on, they never even kiss. Also, there are no car chases, snappy one-liners or pop songs.
Granted, there is a huge shootout that Swiss-cheeses the Guggenheim Museum. But aside from that extremely out-of-place example of endless-ammo overkill, the movie plays more like a tense novel about corporate intrigue than a jumped-up superhero videogame.
A movie for and about adults? What was the studio thinking?
The good news is that this expertly crafted throwback to films like "Day of the Jackal" and "The French Connection" is so suspenseful and interesting that it feels convincingly classic. At the same time, Eric Warren Singer's smart screenplay -- in which a character explains that "the true nature of the banking industry is to make us slaves to debt" -- feels uncomfortably contemporary.
Shoulda-been-Bond Clive Owen is excellent as Louis Salinger, a relentless Interpol agent who watches one of his colleagues drop dead after meeting a would-be informer from a shady multinational bank. That's not the first time the money managers have taken deadly retribution, but it is one setback too many for the permanently seething Salinger. Seems he was roadblocked once before when he was on the verge of taking the bank down, and he is not about to be stymied again.
His partner in crimefighting is Manhattan Assistant D.A. Eleanor Whitman (Naomi Watts), the more level-headed of the two. Just when their inquiries turn up proof of the bank's role in everything from an assassination to a nation-toppling arms deal, pressure from higher-ups threatens to stop their investigation cold. That's because, as elderly bank associate Wilhelm Wexler (Armin Mueller-Stahl) puts it, "everyone's involved."
Watts doesn't have much to do except look concerned, but Owen and Mueller-Stahl are perfectly cast. Owen's Salinger is the kind of frustrated but doggedly determined obsessive we can believe would spend days without sleep to get his man. Mueller-Stahl's former East German secret police Colonel Wexler has a calmly untroubled exterior that hides decades of sins and sad regrets.
Director Tom Tykwer, best known for his stylishly flashy "Run Lola Run" and lushly sensual "Perfume," uses a more straightforward and restrained style here that is suited to the police-procedural material. Well, "restrained" except for the way over-the-top Guggenheim firefight, anyway. That high-powered run-and-gun showstopper is the most gloriously choreographed shoot-em-up set-piece since, well, Michael Davis' absurdly violent "Shoot 'Em Up" (which also happened to star one Clive Owen).
Appropriately for a movie titled "The International," the film was shot in several European countries as well as the United States. A pursuit scene through Istanbul's Grand Bazaar and across the city's rooftops is one of the most memorable. The impressive cinematography is by regular Tykwer collaborator Frank Griebe.
The movie's release amid the current global economic meltdown either is perfectly or disastrously timed. Audiences are predisposed to root against nasty bankers right now…but who needs to be reminded that bankers are nasty?
Back Row Reviews Grade: B+
War is...well, you know. © 2017 Warner Bros.
(Reviewed July 18, 2017, by James Dawson)
More of an IMAX-spectacular technical feat than a traditional movie, "Dunkirk" plays like an assemblage of elaborate second-unit footage for a film that should have included more story for those scenes to enhance. Most of the admittedly impressive land, sea and air coverage is presented in an almost documentary style that makes it hard to differentiate between many nameless characters. "Dunkirk" is the equivalent of a silent movie with musical accompaniment that could have dispensed with even the very little dialog it bothers to include, because Hans Zimmer's relentlessly ticking and throbbing score is more important than anything anyone says when it comes to giving scenes a meaningful emotional context.
Director/writer Christopher Nolan, whose "Dark Knight" Batman trilogy proved that bleak can equal big box-office, uses an interesting structure to tell this thin tale, which is based on the 1940 evacuation of 300,000 mostly British troops hemmed in by Nazi forces in World War II. The movie's three interwoven narratives span different amounts of time: a week for the under-fire soldiers awaiting evacuation from the beach in France, a day for one of the privately owned "little boats" dispatched from the British coast to help rescue them, and an hour for three Royal Air Force planes headed over the channel for air support.
Mark Rylance gives a stoic performance as a calmly stalwart British citizen who sets out for Dunkirk with his son and another boy on their small boat despite the obvious danger of heading into a war zone. Tom Hardy is a coolly professional pilot whose flight across the channel is made more difficult by his Spitfire's broken fuel gauge. Fionn Whitehead is a stranded private whose often dishonorable-at-best attempts to get off the beach and make it home to England are repeatedly thwarted by bullets and bombs.
Strangely, the movie never shows a single German (no cutaways to Hitler, sorry), and doesn't provide any explanation for why Nazi forces didn't make more of an effort to wipe out the huge number of all but defenseless sitting-duck Allies who were stranded on Dunkirk beach for days. Also, all of the movie's characters are fictional, even Kenneth Branagh's noble Commander Bolton, who valiantly waits with his men at Dunkirk. Creating Bolton out of whole cloth seems insultingly disrespectful in a movie dealing with a historical incident, but that's Hollywood for you. Also, pop star Harry Styles appears as one of the interchangeable British soldiers who may as well be considered crowd-scene extras.
Visually awe-inspiring yet somehow not terribly moving, "Dunkirk" is like a two-hour trailer for a movie that could have used more meat for the grinder.
Back Row Reviews Grade: B
This movie is more fun than a day at the beach. Especially a beach with spaceships crashing onto it. © 2017 EuropaCorp
(Reviewed July 11, 2017, by James Dawson)
Forget about waiting to catch this dazzlingly spectacular SF-adventure at home. As its fittingly grandiose title implies, "Valerian and The City of a Thousand Planets" contains so many awesome wonders to behold that it deserves to be viewed on the biggest theater screen available ASAP. As much fun as "Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 2," more visually stunning than "Avatar" and sexy-cool enough to make "Star Wars" and "Star Trek" seem positively stodgy, it's this summer's most must-see movie.
A clever opening montage of historic first meetings between astronauts from different countries, planets and possibly dimensions, set to David Bowie's "Space Oddity," is like an amusing short feature unto itself. That's where we find out that Earth's original international space station eventually grew so huge with add-ons that it eventually was set free from Earth's orbit to become a wildly diverse world unto itself called Alpha, aka the City of a Thousand Planets.
That's where the enthusiastically fearless Major Valerian (Dane DeHaan) and his deadpan delightful sidekick Sgt. Laureline (Cara Delevingne) run into escalating problems with their superiors, various aliens and hatchet-headed killer robots when they bring back a last-of-its-kind creature from their latest mission.
The two confidently competent and effortlessly appealing characters, who originated in French graphic novels by Pierre Christin and Jean-Claude Mézières that were first published 50 years ago, genuinely seem to like and respect each other, despite some occasionally exasperating behavior. When Valerian runs through a wall and ends up floating in space because Laureline accidentally misread a number, his pleasantly unperturbed response to her apology is, "That's okay. We all make mistakes."
It's hard to believe that 20 years have passed since "Valerian" director/screenwriter Luc Besson's similarly eye-candy delicious "The Fifth Element" was released. Both movies share an outrageous sense of style and a winkingly tongue-in-cheek attitude that paradoxically comes across as innocently sincere. The boyish seven-medals-of-honor Valerian, despite an apparently well-deserved rep as a playboy, is obsessed with getting Laureline to accept his wholesomely heartfelt proposal of marriage. And Delevingne is so good at making the resting-beautiful-face Laureline convincingly sexy, brave and smart that it's easy to see why Valerian wants to put a ring on her.
Clive Owen is scarily intense as their commander-with-a-secret, Herbie Hancock (yes, the musician) is Alpha's no-nonsense Defense Minister, and Ethan Hawke is a flamboyantly hustling Paradise Alley pimp. Pop star Rihanna is excellent in a brief role as a shape-changing dancer named Bubble, whose Fosse-esque very-quick-change act transforms her from naughty nurse to French maid to lingerie-clad catwoman, with a few other male fantasies in between.
Special-effects-wise, the ridiculously large variety of alien creatures and the stare-worthy settings are so impressive that the movie would be worth watching even with the sound turned off. There's such an embarrassment of visual riches—such as when hot-pursuit Valerian runs, flies and swims through numerous Alpha environments in rapid succession—that repeat viewings may be required to fully appreciate them.
There also are sight gags aplenty, such as when Laureline admires the wrong "pretty butterfly," suffers the result of a repulsively retaliatory roar, and gets crowned in more ways than one. The fast-moving screenplay also manages to work in references to topics such as illegal immigration, genocide and refugees without seeming heavy-handed about it (although the specific number "6,000,000 dead" can't help having obvious connotations). And if you can't make it to the beach, there are a couple of incredibly scenic ones here that are the next best thing to a virtual vacation, if you don't mind the view being ruined by crashing spaceships.
"Valerian and The City of a Thousand Planets" is the kind of fresh, franchise-deserving fun that makes everything else at the multiplex look very been-there, seen-that. This is the kind of huge, extravagant, thrilling and sometimes silly popcorn flick that makes leaving the house actually worth the effort. A Bromosaur on even the biggest TV screen just wouldn't be the same.
Back Row Reviews Grade: A
Given all the choices of photos from this movie, somehow this is the one I couldn't resist using: Marisa Tomei as the ridiculously hot Aunt May. © 2017 Columbia Pictures
(Reviewed June 29, 2017, by James Dawson)
"Spider-Man: Homecoming" gets enough little things wrong about the classic superhero to bug fans of the original comic-book version of the character. Fortunately, it gets two very big things right: Tom Holland is the most likeable and age-appropriate actor ever to take on the role, and finally bringing the webslinger into the Marvel universe of other heroes in one of his own movies is every fan's dream come true.
Holland is a youthful and exuberant breath of fresh air for the re-rebooted franchise, making high school sophomore-with-a-secret Peter Parker believably eager, immature and insecure. Previous Parkers Tobey Maguire and Andrew Garfield were too old for the role. Maguire's Parker also was hindered by the wrongheaded decision that he should shoot webs directly from his wrists as a creepily mutated hybrid, instead of from mechanical webshooters.
Because Sony/Columbia owns the rights to make Spider-Man movies, the character never was able to swing over and interact with any Disney/Marvel heroes until his memorable cameo in last year's "Captain America: Civil War." His relationship with Robert Downey Jr.'s wealthy genius inventor and benefactor Tony Stark (aka Iron Man) from that outing continues here, Captain America pops up for a cameo or three, and the alien invasion from 2012's "The Avengers" is referenced as taking place in the same New York where Parker is a science student in Queens.
Michael Keaton hams it up as the obnoxiously vicious Adrian Toomes, whose illegal sales of salvaged alien technology from that invasion catch Spider-Man's attention during an ATM robbery that goes disastrously wrong. Toomes' much lower-tech incarnation in 1960s comics by Stan Lee and Steve Ditko was called The Vulture, but (in an obvious nod to Keaton's Oscar-nominated role in 2014's "Birdman") he only is referred to here as "the bird guy."
Toomes gets into the action in a huge metallic contraption with massive rotors and what looks like a more than 20-foot wingspan. The suit seems ridiculously massive and heavy in a world where Iron Man, and even The Falcon, get airborne with a lot less elaborate equipment, but it's definitely intimidating.
When Parker isn't pestering Stark's right-hand man Happy Hogan (Jon Favreau) with endless calls and texts about when Spider-Man can Avenger-up for another mission, he's John-Hughes-style high-schooling with nerdy best friend Ned (Jacob Batalon), name-calling nemesis Flash (Tony Revolori), fantasy dream girl Liz (Laura Harrier) and sardonic oddball Michelle (Zendaya). A wacky Spidey chase scene through suburban backyards, complete with asides to people he encounters, is such an obvious homage to "Ferris Bueller's Day Off" that producers apparently thought they should acknowledge their debt by including a shot of the movie playing on a TV in the background.
The movie's flaws include a little too much scary-brutal violence for a flick that should have stayed lighter even in the fight scenes, and some miscastings that range from unfortunate to patronizing to downright bizarre. Keaton is so crazy-eyed and cruelly nasty from the get-go that he never seems human (unlike, for example, Thomas Haden Church's thoughtful portrayal of bad guy Sandman in 2007's "Spider-Man 3"). Flash, Liz and a much more important character from the comics whose identity is a last-act reveal are no longer Caucasian, making this version of Parker's world more diverse but regrettably disrespectful of the source material. (Note: If you have seen the movie, see the addendum at the end of this review for updated information on that third character.) Likewise, turning Parker's elderly and sickly Aunt May into a tank-top-rocking 50-something beauty who is sexy enough to elicit horndog appreciation from Stark, a lusty "hot Italian lady" compliment from a bodega owner and free sticky noodles from a leering Thai waiter is just plain weird.
And while the amiably endearing Ned provides great comic relief ("Do you lay eggs? Can you spit venom? Can you summon an army of spiders?"), giving Parker a buddy who shares his unpopular-loser social status and knows his secret identity defeats the point of Parker being a misunderstood loner. Like director Sam Raimi's Spider-Man trilogy, this movie makes the mistake of having too many people know that Parker is Spider-Man way too soon. Unlike almost every other hero in what is known as the Marvel Cinematic Universe, Parker has a secret identity, so why throw that away? Similarly, giving Spider-Man a souped-up suit with an artificial-intelligence voice that provides him with KITT-car-like guidance and advice robs the character of his sometimes awkward autonomy.
Director Jon Watts (2015's "Cop Car") gives the film an almost cheesy vibe that works by keeping things teen-comedy casual for the most part. The special effects are a little inconsistent, sometimes making Spidey seem too much like a weightlessly flitting CGI image, and some too-fast fight scenes are hard to follow. One of the most dramatic action scenes turns out to be one of the simplest, involving plummeting-elevator peril inside the Washington Monument.
Watts and five other writers get screenplay credit, which could explain the shifting tone. After Toomes disintegrates—as in for-real outright kills—a henchman, he looks only mildly surprised and quips, "I thought that was the anti-gravity gun." Later, one of the movie's best lines is so absurd that it seems to have been lifted straight from "The Simpsons." (It's what Parker's teacher says after a field-trip disaster is averted.)
In the "non-spoiler" category (as in "things that don't happen"), there is no J. Jonah Jameson, no Gwen Stacy, and the writers strangely resist a perfect opportunity to have the public mistakenly regard Spidey as a villain (which was a staple of the comics).
On the positive side, the 1960s animated TV series theme song is back (although without lyrics), Stan Lee makes another welcome cameo, and just about all of the movie's humor actually is funny. Also, after playing a video of Captain America addressing students, a deadpan-disinterested teacher notes that he's "pretty sure this guy's a war criminal now," which is a nice nod to current Marvel continuity.
Stick around for two bonus scenes at the end. The last one works even though it's the second time a Marvel-character movie has referenced the same classic gag. Which is appropriate, because "Spider-Man: Homecoming" proves that everything old really can be new again.
Back Row Reviews Grade: B+
7/10/17 Addendum (warning: contains spoiler): After the movie's opening weekend, a story appeared in which Marvel Studios President Kevin Feige said that the third character mentioned above who underwent a race change for this reboot actually is not the person we are led to believe she is. In the movie, Zendaya's character Michelle (who is black) mentions at the end of the movie that her friends call her MJ, implying that she will be this universe's version of the classic comics character Mary Jane (MJ) Watson. Sure, "Michelle" isn't "Mary," but it seemed unlikely that the franchise would expect us to infer that this MJ is merely another girl who happens to go by that nickname, and she's not the as-yet-unintroduced MJ who plays such a crucial role in Spider-Man's life. Feige, however, is now saying that "we never even looked at it as a big reveal necessarily but more of just a fun homage to his past adventures and his past love. She's not Mary Jane Watson. She never was Mary Jane Watson." (See the article at ComicBookMovie.com for more details.)
As the writer of the article notes, "It's possible that Marvel and Sony wanted to test the waters with the whole 'MJ' reveal and that they've now realised that it would have been a mistake to handle Mary Jane like this." That's exactly what I think. Having Michelle announce that she goes by MJ without expecting everyone to assume that she will be THE MJ is the equivalent of having Peter meet a fellow student named Gwen who would turn out to be just another girl who happened to go by that likewise instantly identifiable name. I'm not buying it. But having said that, I'm glad that the classic white redhead version of MJ presumably has yet to meet this new Peter Parker, and that such an important character has not been re-raced to become Michelle.
Do these look like "vengeful bitches" to you?
© 2017 Focus Features
(Reviewed June 20, 2017, by James Dawson)
Director/screenwriter Sofia Coppola's gauzily gutless remake of director Don Siegel's deliciously devilish "The Beguiled" betrays nearly every earthy element that made the 1971 version such a wickedly guilty pleasure. Where the Clint Eastwood-starring original was as trashy and vulgar as sweaty rock and roll, this colder and cleaned-up re-creation is like a lethargic Longines Symphonette rendition that somehow manages to be literally bloodier yet listlessly bloodless.
Both screenplays were adapted from the 1966 novel originally titled "A Painted Devil" by Thomas P. Cullinan. The trio of writers on the feverish first film—Albert Maltz (as John B. Sherry) and Irene Kamp (as Grimes Grice), with rewrites by an uncredited Claude Traverse—played like a softcore porn installment of Rod Serling's "Night Gallery." Not that there's anything wrong with that. Recuperating in a secluded southern all-girls school during the Civil War, wounded Union soldier John McBurney (Eastwood) was subject to so much forbidden temptation that his situation nearly threatened to become a tongue-in-cheek bedroom farce. Geraldine Page played the school's slightly neurotic and sexually frustrated headmistress Martha Farnsworth, who apparently hasn't gotten laid since a bygone incestuous relationship with her missing brother. Teacher Edwina Dabney (Elizabeth Hartman) was a skittishly jittery virgin, slutty 17-year-old student Carol (Jo Ann Harris) was a jealously vindictive vixen, and Disneyesquely precocious Amy (Pamelyn Ferdin) was a perky 12-year-old adjudged by McBurney to be "old enough for kisses" right before he planted a big one on her lips in the woods.
In the remake, however, there's no illicitly inappropriate brotherly love backstory for Nicole Kidman's Martha. Kirsten Dunst's placid Edwina is more resignedly melancholy than desperately repressed. Crudely carnal Carol has morphed into Elle Fanning's more aloof Alicia, and Oona Laurence's unkissed Amy is a little more wised-up instead of cheerfully childlike.
The most important difference between the two films is that Eastwood's original McBurney is a shamelessly dishonest and smirkingly deceitful manipulator from the get-go. His claims that he is actually a pacifist and someone who respects the land are revealed as outrageously untrue by quick flashbacks intercut with his lies, and there never is any doubt that he would have his wanton way with any female in the vicinity if given the opportunity.
Colin Farrell's McBurney, on the other hand, is so amiably and unthreateningly charming for so much of the staidly slow-moving remake that his third-act raging outburst feels as out of place as putting a pie fight at the end of "My Dinner With Andre."
Nearly every change that Coppola made to the original film's story is bafflingly misguided. The problem isn't that she tried to class up a genre film (David Cronenberg's "The Fly" and the Coen Brothers' "True Grit" come to mind as two such upgrades that worked). The problem is that she left out so many sinfully rich ingredients from the recipe of 1971's decadently sweet treat that her version becomes a blandly flavorless bore.
Deleting a tense scene in which even visiting Confederate soldiers express ungentlemanly interest in the student body removes the idea that the school faces threats from all sides. A skeptical black female slave character that McBurney tries to manipulate in the original has been eliminated, and so has a captive crow with a broken wing, taking away two allegories to McBurney's situation. There's no mention of Martha expecting Edwina to take over the school someday, setting the stage for a later sense of betrayal.
Also, forget about seeing Martha's erotically charged dream of a torrid three-way with McBurney and Edwina, or an equivalent of the "hussy" Carol very seductively inviting McBurney to her attic bedroom where she later is discovered very naked with him. The original's scene in which nightprowling McBurney has to decide between that attic or the closed-door bedrooms of Martha and Edwina is missing, which reduces the impact of his fateful choice. Worst of all, Coppola's version so mishandles a later scene in which McBurney is subjected to some rather drastic surgery that the procedure seems to be performed for his own legitimate medical good, instead of as a cruel punishment for his sins. Incredibly, McBurney's discovery of what has happened to him occurs offscreen.
Even the movie's title, which cleverly could refer to either the maleficent McBurney or his horny hostesses in the original film, isn't as good a fit on this watered-down version. Farrell's McBurney seems sincerely charming and more amused than aroused by his keepers until the script makes him otherwise, as opposed to the thoroughly devious Eastwood version. And the females in the remake aren't as emotionally needy or (in the case of the Alicia formerly known as Carol) as irresistibly siren-like. Even the movie's classic ending (which I won't spoil) is slightly botched, retaining the payoff but altering a crucial detail that softens its impact.
Even a change that technically makes Coppola's film more faithful to the novel, by revealing that her McBurney is a recent Irish immigrant who took $300 to assume another man's place in the Union army, ends up diluting the story, which works better when McBurney is a less exotic intruder.
Coppola—whose past works include the similarly female-centered "The Virgin Suicides," "Lost in Translation," "Marie Antoinette" and "The Bling Ring"—seems to have missed the whole point of going slumming: You're supposed to get a little more dirty in the process.
Back Row Reviews Grade: D
"I didn't think this was what they meant by 'flying united.'" © 2017 Universal
(Reviewed June 7, 2017, by James Dawson)
Although Universal's completely refurbished reboot of its 85-year-old "Mummy" franchise arrives under the studio's new "Dark Universe" banner, this enjoyably entertaining tongue-in-cheek adventure turns out to be more comedy than Karloff. Sure, there's a potentially catastrophic scenario that involves bringing the Egyptian god of death to our world, and quite a few people literally have the life sucked out of them. But this flick is such a fast-moving fun ride that it offers a promising start to what is planned to be a new shared-world series of updated classic creature features. Think Marvel, but with monsters as the main characters.
Tom Cruise is terrific as the thieving but good-natured Nick Morton, a present-day version of Indiana Jones whose interest in acquiring antiquities has nothing to do with academia. A stolen map that may point to hidden treasure, unless something has been lost in translation (hint!), leads him to an enemy-controlled Iraqi village. A run-and-gun firefight there is the first of many exciting action scenes that perfectly balance the tale's picturesque Pharaoh-era flashbacks, dead-of-night bad doings and secret-organization machinations.
Sofia Boutella ("Star Trek Beyond," "Kingsman: The Secret Service") is bad-girl irresistible as the Egyptian princess Ahmanet, whose devil's bargain to claim the throne she believed was rightfully hers was rudely interrupted way back when. Mummified alive for millennia before escaping her pilfered sarcophagus, she sets her sights on Nick as the new vessel for the death god Set.
Fortunately, Nick has hooked up with the ridiculously beautiful blond Egyptologist Jenny Halsey, played with sexy smarts by Annabelle Wallis ("King Arthur," TV's "Peaky Blinders"). She owes Nick one after he saves her from a plummeting plane in the movie's most thrilling scene, a wild free-for-all disaster that throws everyone weightlessly around a rapidly disintegrating cargo hold.
Russell Crowe is alternately amusing and alarming as Jenny's smilingly self-assured boss Henry, who has a fascinating secret that shouldn't be spoiled. Henry heads the clandestine organization Prodigium, whose mission is to recognize, contain, examine and destroy all manifestations of evil. The bad news for Nick is that being cursed and psychically connected to the exotic Ahmanet makes both of them targets for extermination.
The movie's weak link is Jake Johnson ("Let's Be Cops," TV's "New Girl"), who is bro-speak irritating as Nick's partner-in-crime Chris Vail. His hammy presence seems intended to tip the movie into an outright "Shaun of the Dead"-style parody, which is at odds with the rest of the movie's affectionate-takeoff tone. That may be a fine line, but Johnson definitely is on the wrong side of it. Vail's annoying presence may be due to a case of too many cooks almost spoiling the broth, considering how many writers are credited here: three for the screenplay, and three others for the story.
Other than that flaw, "The Mummy" is nimbly directed by producer and co-writer Alex Kurtzman ("People Like Us"), who also co-wrote two "Transformers" flicks, a pair of "Star Trek" installments and Cruise's "Mission: Impossible III." He proves he knows his way around a big-budget spectacular by serving up sensational special effects ranging from sandstorms to swimming zombies to scary swarms of spiders. A frantic churchyard battle against the disgustingly deteriorated undead that leads to a high-speed ambulance chase through the woods wonderfully defines the term "scared silly."
When Prodigium head Henry points out that Nick has entered "a new world of gods and monsters," the phrase's double meaning is akin to Nick Fury advising "Iron Man"'s Tony Stark that he has "become part of a bigger universe." If subsequent installments of Universal Studios' monster mash makeovers (which will include Frankenstein, Dracula, the Wolfman and the Invisible Man) are as light, limber and likable as this one, "The Mummy" could result in more than one revival.
Back Row Reviews Grade: B+
The main thing you'll wonder is why so many scenes in DC superhero movies always look this blue-gray bad.
© 2017 Warner Bros.
(Reviewed May 31, 2017, by James Dawson)
Way too much of "Wonder Woman" is as dull, ugly and tedious as most other Warner Bros. DC Comics movies, which proves that a female director can do just as bad a job as any man when it comes to botching the studio's consistently miserable superhero flicks.
This is the first big-budget costumed caper helmed by a woman (Patty Jenkins, directing her first theatrical feature since 2003's "Monster"), apparently thanks either to "only a female should get this assignment" sexism or, ironically, the studio's fear of being labeled sexist if the job of bringing such an iconic female hero to the screen had gone to a man. (Disney/Marvel is guilty of the same identity-politics hiring, tapping a woman to co-direct its upcoming female "Captain Marvel" and a black man for its "Black Panther.") The studios admittedly are in a can't-win situation on films like these, risking accusations of pandering on the one hand or insensitivity on the other, but that's the modern world for you.
The screenplay, however, is an all-male mess, scripted by Allan Heinberg from a story by Heinberg, Jason Fuchs and producer Zack Snyder, whose dismal blue-gray aesthetic dominates far too many scenes. As soon as the action shifts away from a colorful first-act fantasy island full of Amazon warriors, the rest of the film looks as gloomy and bleak as Snyder's thoroughly unpleasant WB directorial efforts "Man of Steel" and "Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice."
The movie retains many of the basics of the comic-book character, identified here only as Diana and never as Wonder Woman, although events have been time-shifted backward to occur during World War I instead of World War II. That change is unnecessary and a little insulting to the 76-year history of the character, even if it does allow references to things like women's suffrage and early-20th-century gender inequality. A stranger alteration from Wonder Woman creator William Moulton Marston's 1941 original: Instead of being given life by the Greek goddess Aphrodite after being sculpted from clay (just go with it), the movie's Diana was given life by Zeus. If the whole point of the character and this movie is female empowerment, why taint her with owing her existence to a dude?
Gal Gadot, who first appeared as the character in the aforementioned and awful "Batman v Superman," does a Schwarzenegger-bad acting job with a similarly awkward accent that's apparently supposed to sound exotic. Stripper skinny yet with an impressively large breastplate, she's as emotionally convincing as a catatonic Kardashian.
Robin Wright adopts a sort-of-similar accent as Diana's Amazon warrior aunt, who defies Diana's mother Queen Hippolyta (Connie Nielsen) by giving the young Diana martial-arts training in secret.
The scenes on the hidden and lushly beautiful island Themyscira are the most enjoyable parts of the movie, before pilot Steve Trevor (Chris Pine) crash lands offshore and brings the problems of the outside world along with him. After impersonating a young-bro version of William Shatner's Captain Kirk in three "Star Trek" movies, Pine seems to have adopted that amiably smirking boyish persona fulltime. That means his Trevor doesn't seem mature or, frankly, manly enough to serve as a good opposite-sex counterpart to Diana.
As a spy for the allies, he has stolen a German notebook with the formula for a deadly new gas. The best example of how the screenplay wanders off track: Instead of taking the notebook directly to his superiors (bearing in mind that he believes it is so important it could change the course of the war), Trevor first takes Diana to a London dress shop for a "Pretty Woman" style montage as she tries on various outfits. That kind of thing might work if this were an episode of the tongue-in-cheek 1970s Lynda Carter TV series, but it seems painfully dumb here. There's also an unwelcome final-act twist that somehow manages to seem both ridiculously random and yet completely predictable.
Other plot complaints: The Amazons are presumably immortal (Diana is the only child on the island, and she was sculpted from clay), but they can be killed by bullets. Also, a single minor wound Diana sustains on the island heals with near Wolverine speed (maybe clay's the trick), but she's never significantly wounded on the far more brutal battlefields of war later, when that ability not only would come in handy but make for a more striking visual. Imagine if German machine-gunners had the common sense to shoot at her legs when she was using her shield to fend off bullets aimed at her body, for example. Even the wearyingly endless hero-beatdown against the god of war himself at the end barely musses her hair.
The main problem, though, is that nobody in the movie expresses an adequate sense of shock or awe when they see Diana do the sort of supernatural feats that should make them wet themselves, fall to their knees or doubt their sanity. Trevor, his ludicrously multi-cultural compatriots (there's even a Native American!) and a village full of townspeople see Diana do things like make a five-story leap and completely demolish a bell tower where a sniper is hiding. From their pleased but nowhere near agog reaction, though, you would think they had witnessed nothing more astonishing than an impressive field-hockey goal. Even if nobody calls her "Wonder Woman," there still should be a sense of wonder.
Man, woman or child, the main thing most people are likely to wonder after seeing this wasted opportunity is whether Warner Bros. ever will figure out how to make a comic-book movie that works.
Back Row Reviews Grade: D