‘Gladiator II’ Is An Underwhelming Sequel Stuck in the Past

‘Gladiator II’ Is An Underwhelming Sequel Stuck in the Past

By Alex McPherson

Lacking the focus and heart of its predecessor, director Ridley Scott’s “Gladiator II” undercuts its splatter-filled action sequences and on-point performance from Denzel Washington with a jumbled narrative that’s content to live in the shadow of greatness.

Scott’s sequel takes place takes place 16 years after the events of “Gladiator,” which concluded with the deaths of Maximus (Russell Crowe — the Roman general-turned-revenge-fueled-gladiator-turned potential “savior” of Rome — and the beady-eyed Emperor Commodus (Joaquin Phoenix), a tyrant who assumed power after killing his father and former emperor, the wise Marcus Aurelius (Richard Harris). 

The “Dream of Rome” to establish a true republic, which motivated Maximus and his supporters, has seemingly been extinguished, and chaos reigns once again among the populace. Rome is controlled by two pasty, unhinged brothers — co-emperors Geta (Joseph Quinn) and Caracalla (Fred Hechinger), with a monkey on his shoulder — who seek wealth and violent conquest above all else.

They order the Roman army, led by the increasingly disillusioned General Marcus Acacius (Pedro Pascal), who is married to Marcus Aurelius’s daughter Lucilla (Connie Nielsen), to conquer as much new territory as possible, as violently as possible.

Pedro Pascal.

Lucius (Paul Mescal), Lucilla’s son, is living humbly as a farmer in the North African colony of Numidia with his wife, Arishat (Yuval Gonen). They were forced to flee Rome after Maximus’s death. But Lucius, all grown up and using the nickname “Hanno,” cannot escape his Roman past.

Acacius and his troops show up and ransack the city — killing Arishat and taking Lucius back to Rome as a prisoner. The stage is set, like Maximus before him, for a tale of revenge, and Lucius (fittingly angry) is bloodthirsty to avenge his wife.

Also like Maximus before him, Lucius is quite a capable fighter. He impresses the conniving, calculating slave trader Macrinus (Washington), who takes Lucius under his wing as a gladiator and promises to grant him an opportunity to kill Acacius if he wins enough fights. 

The ever-manipulative Macrinus, who was also once a gladiator himself, plots his own ascendancy through Roman royalty, as Lucius fights his way through the coliseum, and Acacius prepares to rebel against the parasitic rascals in command. The stage is set for plenty of drama and political intrigue, complete with hyperviolent set-pieces galore and numerous hunks in kilts. 

It’s a continuation of “Gladiator,” all right, and Scott delivers the basics of what fans of swords-and-sandals epics expect. What’s lacking this time around, though, is a clear emotional throughline — a focused narrative of one man’s quest for vengeance and eventual unity of a fractured society. 

Denzel Washington

By awkwardly stitching its subplots together, “Gladiator II” has neither the pacing nor strong characterization of Maximus’s story, sapping momentum while hitting familiar plot beats and offering only glimmers of greatness amid its nostalgia-laden framework.

Most of these involve Washington, who embodies Scott’s commentary on “playing the system” with a mixture of camp and fearsome excitement that’s sorely lacking elsewhere.

Lucius isn’t as compelling a hero as Maximus, and Mescal’s characteristic talent for subtlety is poorly realized here. David Scarpa’s uneven screenplay gives Mescal plenty of chances for impassioned speechifying and opportunities to look angry, but Mescal lacks Crowe’s charisma and gravitas, worsened by the all-too-familiar setup for Lucius’s story that “Gladiator” fans (or anyone familiar with the revenge genre) have seen done before, and done better. A questionable accent certainly doesn’t help. 

Still, Mescal certainly has a “Movie Star” look, if not the screen presence of Crowe, who conveyed an enduring compassion despite Maximus’s burning desire for revenge. Mescal is muted and bland by comparison, a talented actor playing against his strengths as a performer.

Mescal and Pascal fight

Pascal doesn’t leave much of an impression either, essentially filling in the aspects of Maximus’s character that Lucius lacks. He’s a victim of the film’s narrative structure that jarringly cuts between several subplots, seemingly unsure of what’s worth focusing on narratively and tonally. 

Acacius is relegated to sequences laden with exposition that carry little impact, weighing his love for Lucilla (Nielsen is typically radiant but saddled with much of the screenplay’s blunt dialogue) and the Dream of Rome with his official responsibilities.

These sequences feel workmanlike via Scott’s scattered direction that, more generally, abandons the classical feel of the first film and undercuts its typically excellent period detail (with strong production and costume design) with the goal of moving the plot along, rather than immersing viewers in the drama itself.

What “Gladiator II” does have, at least sporadically, are crowd-pleasing scenes of brutal violence and backstabbing politics, elevated by the always-excellent Washington.

Indeed, Macrinus — fiendish, verbose, and menacing (possessing viciousness beneath smiles and “playful” banter) — gives Scott’s film a much needed burst of energy. Washington is clearly enjoying himself, taking big swings in an ensemble that otherwise plays it safe.

Macrinus is always thinking three steps ahead — playing the system from the inside, casting aside any and all compassion for those caught in the crossfire. 

Connie Nielsen is Lucilla

It’s alternately funny and shocking to watch what he and Washington have up their sleeves — Washington brings a sense of volatility that commands his every scene, and Macrinus’s backstory is layered enough to shoulder the entire movie on his own (but that would have meant relinquishing the “nostalgia factor” that this sequel depends on).

The action set-pieces, too — with savage swordplay and CGI animals galore, including baboons, rhinos, and sharks (?!) — are always fun to watch: loud and chaotic in the best ways. There’s still something lost in the film’s visual effects, an immediacy that the scrappy battles from the first “Gladiator” had in spades. 

These sequences, and those of Macrinus’s machinations (with Quinn and Hechinger being suitably repugnant beside him), are where “Gladiator II” ascends beyond mediocrity — leaning into enjoyable craziness rather than humorless moralizing. 

Like Scott’s tonally erratic “House of Gucci” before it, “Gladiator II” can’t balance its more satirical flourishes (mostly involving Macrinus) with the earnest drama of Lucius’s quest for revenge and eventual redemption of Rome.

It comes across as confused and scattered, reliant on blatant callbacks and rehashed emotions, ultimately swapping its relevant political commentary with shrug-worthy simplifying.

There’s still enough pure spectacle in “Gladiator II” to engage on the surface level. Am I fully “entertained,” however? Not quite.

Fred Hechinger plays Emperor Caracalla in Gladiator II from Paramount Pictures.

“Gladiator II” is a 2024 action period drama directed by Ridley Scott and starring Paul Mescal, Denzel Washington, Pedro Pascal, Joseph Quinn, Fred Hechinger and Connie Nielsen. It is rated R for strong bloody violence and its runtime is 2 hours, 28 minutes. It opened in theaters Nov. 22. Alex’s Grade: C+

Hugh Grant Embraces Evil in Impressive Horror-Thriller ‘Heretic’

Hugh Grant Embraces Evil in Impressive Horror-Thriller ‘Heretic’

By Alex McPherson

In large part due to a deliciously sinister performance from Hugh Grant, co-directors Scott Beck and Bryan Woods’ “Heretic” is a taut, suspenseful slice of horror that strikes an unwieldy but entertaining balance between big ideas and blood-soaked chills.

We follow two young Mormon missionaries, Sister Paxton (Chloe East) and Sister Barnes (Sophie Thatcher), on a seemingly innocent quest to proselytize about the tenets of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints (LDS) in a small mountain town.

Sister Paxton has been a member all her life, her faith passed down to her by her parents. Sister Barnes is a more recent convert — trauma-hardened and steadfast, finding in Mormonism a way to cope with past family tragedy. 

Paxton and Barnes travel door-to-door and are used to being turned away, even publicly humiliated, but when they’re invited to the home of an older gentleman named Mr. Reed (Grant), they see a chance for a new convert — potentially Paxton’s first! When they show up at Mr. Reed’s deceivingly modest cottage, everything seems fine, initially.

A thunderstorm is raging, so Mr. Reed (donning a cozy cardigan) welcomes Paxton and Barnes inside, reassuring them that his wife is in the kitchen baking a blueberry pie.

But all is certainly not as it seems. Mr. Reed, radiating charisma (Grant’s specialty), begins to poke at Paxton and Barnes’ beliefs — questioning their personal histories in the Church as well as, in an awkward shift, how they square the Church’s doctrines with Joseph Smith’s practice of polygamy. The Sisters (especially Barnes) push back against his assertions.

Mr. Reed’s mansplaining leaves little room for counterargument, and the Sisters uncomfortably balance standing up for themselves with going along for the sake of getting to leave the house sooner. At least, that’s what they’re hoping. 

But remember that blueberry pie? Barnes notices that its smell is being simulated by a scented candle on the living room table. The front door is also locked, and, thus, they’re forced to venture further into Reed’s puzzle-box-esque abode. Reed is certainly not finished with his pop-culture-laden TED talks on the nature of faith as business. And the Sisters must play along, or else, as Reed ultimately seeks to sell them on what he views as the “Ultimate Religion.”

Beck and Woods’ film — for all its “high-minded” talk of faith and free will — prizes entertainment above much else. It’s a haunted-house-monster movie with a pompous mansplainer strutting his stuff, reasonable conversation be damned.

Although the well-crafted suspense and incisive dialogue of the first half devolves into rushed twists later on, “Heretic” ascends to new levels of enlightenment thanks to a wonderfully creepy performance from Grant, who uses his characteristic charm to fiendish ends.

In a just world, Grant would be in the awards consideration. Committing completely to the film’s over-the-top swings, he renders Mr. Reed a deceivingly plausible villain, disguising his rotten core beneath a veneer of interpersonal niceties. There’s an obvious glee in the way he manipulates the Sisters.

Mr. Reed is giddy at another chance to voice himself, luring the vulnerable into his lair and daring them to fight back, with no “correct” answers to the questions he poses. 

It’s impossible to take your eyes off Grant whenever he’s on screen. He’s definitely evil, but there’s a strange appeal in watching him walk Sister Paxton and Sister Barnes towards their fates, and “Heretic” doesn’t discount the incisive points he makes about modern religion. Rather, it acknowledges their validity while underlining the real horror at play — the insidious ways Mr. Reed imposes his views on others.

The film refuses to make a statement on the literal “truth” of religion itself, zeroing in on the psychological functions it can serve instead.

Mr. Reed is high off his own ego and his alleged understanding of human behavior, wrapping his takedown of religion around the idea of iteration, with every new belief system building upon the other in the name of the wealthy and privileged exerting power over the masses.

He throws in everything from Monopoly to Lana Del Rey to the “Star Wars” prequels to illustrate his point, complete with a blasphemous impression of Jar Jar Binks. It’s to the film’s, and Grant’s, credit that Mr. Reed never becomes too irritating.

The rest of the film, while not operating quite on the same level as Grant, impresses nevertheless. East and Thatcher are capable leads — likable from the first scene onwards, and never letting their characters slide into caricature. Thatcher’s world-weary turn conveys Sister Barnes’ hurt and perseverance. East, with a bubbly screen presence, conveys Sister Paxton’s relative innocence and surprising layers. 

Philip Messina’s production design is outstanding in how off-kilter it makes the Reed residence seem — a twisted puzzle-box of interlocking parts that Mr. Reed maintains like a master conductor. Chung Chung-hoon’s cinematography reflects this idea, confidently flowing throughout spaces as if pre-ordained to do so, smoothly on-rails and mechanical, also using close-ups to suspenseful effect.

Beck and Woods’ wry screenplay incorporates plenty of humor throughout its accessible discussions of faith and control, and it delights in misdirection. It’s disappointing that third-act twists (particularly Mr. Reed’s final intentions) are spelled out so bluntly, however, somewhat abandoning the slow-burn satisfaction of what came before.

Indeed, when “Heretic” opts for more standard horror movie set-pieces (bringing plenty of blood and gore to the table) and reveals that stray far from believable, it’s less easy to become swept up in. And the ending, while thought-provoking and up to interpretation, is still frustratingly abrupt.

This remains one of the year’s stronger horror films in a year that’s already been full of them. Watch it for Grant if nothing else. His acting chops are certainly not up for debate.

“Heretic” is a 2024 psychological thriller-horror film written and directed by Scott Beck and Bryan Woods, and starring Hugh Grant, Chloe East and Sophie Thatcher. It is rated R for some bloody violence and the runtime is 1 hour, 51 minutes. It opened in theaters Nov. 8. Alex’s Grade: B+.

Mikey Madison Stuns in Sean Baker’s ‘Anora,’ One of 2024’s Best Films

Mikey Madison Stuns in Sean Baker’s ‘Anora,’ One of 2024’s Best Films

By Alex McPherson

An intense, darkly funny, and, ultimately, heartbreaking tribute to those striving to achieve the American Dream, featuring a magnificent performance from Mikey Madison, director Sean Baker’s “Anora” is a film that feels gloriously alive.

The story centers around Anora “Ani” Mikheeva (Madison), who works as a dancer and occasional escort in a high-class Manhattan strip club. She’s disarming, fierce, charismatic, and highly skilled in her lines of work. When we first meet Ani, she is gliding near-effortlessly from client to client, flashing her smile, showing off her body, and luring her clientele (often of the rich, older, White man variety) back to the club’s private rooms, for a manufactured fantasy that’s repeated night after night, under her control. 

But no matter how much fun she seems to be having in the moment, it’s just a job for Ani, and a taxing one at that, complete with co-worker rivalries, a demanding boss, and hours that leave her shuffling to a cramped house in Brighton Beach every morning for a few hours of shut-eye before doing it all over again.

Ani has a vulnerable, damaged soul behind her confident persona at work, trapped in an exhausting cycle to make ends meet doing what she knows. Should an “out” arise, she’s willing to seize it. On one fateful night, an opportunity finally presents itself.

Ivan “Vanya” Zakharov (Mark Eidelshtein), the unruly, childish son of a wealthy Russian oligarch, visits Ani’s club one night. He’s allegedly on a trip to America from Russia to “study.” Having some Russian heritage herself and being able to understand the language (if not fluently speak it), Ani is instructed by her boss to treat Vanya with a good time.

Before long, they hit it off, and Ani — drawn to Vanya’s carefree youthfulness and goofy charm — is hired as a private escort in Vanya’s father’s lavish mansion in Brooklyn. As their bond blossoms, Vanya offers Ani $15,000 to be his “super horny girlfriend” for a week, partying and partaking in various shenanigans around New York City, before flying on a private jet for more revelry in Las Vegas. 

Ani is swept off her feet by her Prince Charming, who seemingly presents her with a new life, leaving those “beneath them” to clean up their mess. When Vanya proposes to Ani, she can’t help but say yes, giving herself fully into the fantasy.

The only problem is, well, Vanya, who hopes to get a green card to stay in America. Once his parents in Russia get wind of the marriage, they rush to get it annulled. Vanya’s godfather, Toros (Karren Karagulian), and his unlucky goons Garnick (Vache Tovmasyan) and the surprisingly sensitive, observant Igor (Yura Borisov) are tasked with apprehending Vanya and Ani to move the annulment process along and bring Vanya back to Russia.

Challenges arise when Vanya runs away, leaving the group on a frantic search through New York City to find him, and sending Ani’s hopes and dreams crashing back to injustice-laden reality.

Like Sean Baker’s previous films, “Anora” is an involving experience that’s wholly empathetic to those living on the margins of society. It’s a fairy tale turned on its head — one where the allure of wealth and the illusion of consequence-free living comes crashing down, where the dehumanizing pull of money is on full display, and where genuine, non-transactional human connection is fleeting. It’s also a cinematic wonder whose highs remain long after the end credits roll.

In a star-making, effervescent turn, Madison delivers one of the year’s finest performances. Her Ani is a complex, feisty, and lovable character with depth and a history that Madison conveys with a tangible sense of lived experience. Without resorting to overacting or blatant exposition, and relying as much on delivery as on Baker’s excellent screenplay, Madison takes us on an emotional roller coaster— displaying the gradual thawing of Ani’s initial skepticism, the whirlwind of young love, the subtle-but-crushing realization of the future she’s envisioned falling apart, and her clinging to the shred of hope that remains (and is worth fighting for) amid the literal and emotional wreckage that ensues. Madison’s performance is made all the more stirring thanks to Baker’s direction, which mirrors Ani’s changing sense of self.

Baker’s characteristic attention-to-detail is in full swing from the film’s opening moments. He throws us into Ani’s world — depicting her work in nonjudgmental, matter-of-fact fashion that doesn’t linger in the male gaze. Drew Daniels’ cinematography and Baker’s editing are busy but precise, reflecting Ani in her element, before becoming free-flowing and loose during Ani and Vanya’s time together, and descending into “Uncut Gems”-level chaos in the back half, both farcical and distressing as everything spirals further and further out of control.

Baker’s screenplay — naturalistic yet wry, poignant, and always in service of developing character — rarely resorts to caricatures. The central characters contain layers beneath their initial impressions, brought to life by a consistently strong ensemble.

Everyone is mostly believable here, from the impulsive, trouble-making Vanya, to the handlers beholden to the demands of his father, to the workers they run into (and disrespect) during their scrounging for the flaky Russian Timothée Chalamet gone rogue. The situations are sometimes over-the-top, but Baker refuses to sand down his characters, never letting us forget what’s at stake.

The film’s tone, veering from darkly comedic to laugh-out-loud funny to serious to somewhere in between, threads the needle between “entertainment” and serious drama, sometimes within the same scene. Baker finds moments of humor and sensitive connection surrounding the (largely inevitable) narrative beats.

He counters moments of levity and occasional warmth with emotional gut-punches that leave a lasting sting. The outstanding, quietly shattering final moments, for example, come as a stylistic rebuke to the chaotic highs and lows that have come before. We’re left with a character that’s re-discovering herself and what matters to her, with the weight of her experiences bubbling to the surface.

Baker recognizes the power of fantasy, but also the perils of it, underlining the societal divide between who gets to indulge in it and who is relegated to being used, as well as highlighting someone persevering and trying to retain her dignity when the world is against her.

“Anora” is unique in how Baker involves us in Ani’s story, where each revelation and realization hits with force despite us knowing where it’s likely headed. Indeed, the craftsmanship makes it easy to become swept up in Ani’s feelings — establishing the kind of bond that makes the most of the film medium.

Baker’s latest is one of the year’s best films, without a shadow of doubt, only growing more powerful with further reflection. And Madison deserves all the awards.

“Anora” is a 2024 drama, comedy, romance written and directed by Sean Baker starring Mikey Madison, Mark Eidelshtein, Karren Karagulian, Vache Tovmasyan, and Yura Borisov. It is rated: R for strong sexual content throughout, graphic nudity, pervasive language, and drug use, and the runtime is 2 hours, 19 minutes. It opened in theatres Nov. 1. Alex’s Grade: A+

‘Saturday Night’ Comedy a Half-Baked Trip Down Memory Lane

‘Saturday Night’ Comedy a Half-Baked Trip Down Memory Lane

By Alex McPherson

Frenetic, scattershot, and thoroughly self-absorbed, director Jason Reitman’s “Saturday Night” might satisfy those nostalgic for the early days of “SNL,” but fails to make a name for itself on its own merits.

Presenting itself as a fictionalized version of the stressful 90 minutes leading up to the original “Saturday Night Live” (originally called “Saturday Night”) broadcast in October 1975 at Studio 8H, Reitman’s film revolves around Lorne Michaels (Gabriel LaBelle), the show’s executive producer and ringleader. Michaels remains insistent on the show’s potential while having little idea as to what it actually is.

Co-creator Dick Ebersol (Cooper Hoffman) is increasingly worried about how things will pan out, trying to reason with the ever-resistant Michaels as the cramped, claustrophobic halls of Studio 8H buzz with both excitement and growing fears of potentially spectacular failure. There’s also a llama, for some reason.

All the while, a group of unruly, up-and-coming comedians — including the arrogant yet charismatic Chevy Chase (Cory Michael Smith), Dan Aykroyd (Dylan O’Brien), Garrett Morris (Lamorne Morris, no relation), John Belushi (Matt Wood), plus several talented women such as Gilda Radner (Ella Hunt), Laraine Newman (Emily Fairn), and Jane Curtin (Kim Matula) that the film mostly treats as afterthoughts — prepare to go on-air, confronting their own mini-crises and doubts as the clock ticks, ticks, ticks toward showtime, and the history books.

Tempers run hot (the pretentious Belushi and Chase butt heads, and Belushi hasn’t even signed his contract yet), people are stoned out of their minds, lights are falling on-stage, the sound system’s busted, head writer Michael O’Donoghue (Tommy Dewey) is spewing acerbic barbs at anyone and everyone questioning his scripts, and rival late-night host Milton Berle (J.K. Simmons, typically strong) is, quite literally, waving his dong around.

Gabrielle LaBelle, Kaia Gerber and Cory Michael Smith.

NBC executive Dave Tebet (Willem Dafoe) is observing the whole production from afar, egging on Lorne with smug anticipation of his passion project’s downfall, as the whole endeavor is a pawn in NBC’s contract dispute with Johnny Carson.

Suffice to say, the stakes are high, at least in the context of these characters, who don’t yet know that SNL will wildly succeed and become a cultural institution. Watching as a casual fan of the iconic program, though, “Saturday Night” is curiously devoid of surprise, or insight, or, even, laughs. There’s way too much smugness in Reitman’s retelling of this “revolution in comedy.” The film appeals to mainstream cinema’s obsession with callbacks at the expense of telling a story worth investing in.

Still, despite its emptiness, “Saturday Night” features dynamic performances from an ensemble doing an at-times-scarily convincing job at portraying their real-life counterparts. LaBelle brings a nervous, stubborn energy that’s simultaneously inspiring and pathetic, barely tamping down Michaels’ anxiety over his passion project’s success (or downfall, but we already know it’s going to be a success).

Hoffman is typically excellent as Ebersol, channeling his father’s capacity for emotional release during a pivotal scene in the latter half of the film.

Cory Michael Smith is an obvious standout as Chase, conveying the man’s arrogance and insecurity (and hilarity) in a way that demands attention, whether we like it or not. O’Brien makes a mark with his brief screen time as Aykroyd. Morris brings some much-needed pathos as his character questions his purpose and reason for being there as the only Black cast member. Wood does what he can with Belushi, with Reitman and co writer Gil Kenan highlighting his drug use and fickleness (mostly as a punchline) — making Belushi’s will-he-won’t-he arc both semi-poignant and weirdly uncomfortable, given Belushi’s later tragedy.

Gabriel LaBelle as Lorne Michaels.

The rest of the cast — including the ever-reliable Rachel Sennott as Michaels’ then-wife, Rosie Shuster, Jon Batiste in a small-yet-memorable appearance as Billy Preston, and seemingly a million other recognizable faces playing various recognizable faces, with Nicholas Braun doing double duty as punchline-ready interpretations of Andy Kaufman and Jim Henson — are perfectly adequate, but not exactly given much to sink their teeth into narratively with their limited screen time.

Indeed, “Saturday Night” ultimately reveals itself to be little more than a carnival ride of memories and irritating dialogue that — when it’s not replicating famous jokes and sketches — takes advantage of 20/20 hindsight to constantly pat itself on the back.

Reitman and co-writer Gil Kenan’s script takes an Aaron-Sorkin-esque approach in its witticisms, fast pace, and at-times blatant sentimentality as it literally clicks down the moments until showtime, incorporating as many famous gags as possible that loyal viewers are expected to get excited about. Some barbs and vignettes amid the chaos are amusing, and “Saturday Night” is never less than watchable, if usually superficial.

Cory Michael Smith as Chevy Chase.

Eric Steelberg’s textured, 16mm cinematography weaves throughout the studio’s sweaty interiors, faithfully recreated with attention to period detail in sets and costuming, making plentiful use of long takes and whip-pans.

The film careens from one easter egg to another — complete with its own pseudo laugh track of characters cracking up; the film desperately begs us to laugh along with them. Batiste’s percussion-laden score, combined with Nathan Orloff and Shane Reid’s editing, helps create a fittingly frantic, albeit artificial, sense of paranoia that highlights the film’s construction as an allegedly off-the-rails roller coaster that’s never truly allowed to chart its own path.

It’s fine: There’s just not much there beyond the film playing to viewers’ nostalgia. And maybe that’s acceptable for those who’d like to coast on the associated dopamine rush. Myself, however, not so much. “Saturday Night” is never bad (far from it), but it never ascends beyond average — a self-congratulatory tribute to the groundbreaking show in a puzzlingly vanilla framework.

“Saturday Night” is a 2024 comedy based on a true story, directed by Jason Reitman, and starring Gabriel LaBelle, Cooper Hoffman, Willem Dafoe, Corey Michael Smith, Lamorne Morris, Rachel Sennott, Matt Wood, Dylan O’Brien, Ella Hunt, Kim Matula, Emily Fairn, Nicholas Braun, Jon Batiste, Tommy Dewey and JK Simmons. It is rated R for language throughout, sexual references, some drug use and brief graphic nudity and the run time is 1 hour, 49 minutes. It opened in theaters Oct. 11. Alex’s Grade: C

“The Wild Robot” Is a Dazzling, Affecting Adventure

“The Wild Robot” Is a Dazzling, Affecting Adventure

A visual feast with a soulful narrative to back it up, director Chris Sanders’ “The Wild Robot” is a rousing, if not completely unmitigated, success for mainstream animation.

Based on the book by Peter Brown, Sanders’ film takes place in a perhaps-not-so-distant future affected by environmental catastrophe, where artificial intelligence robots (created by a company called “Universal Dynamics”) assist humans with day-to-day tasks within the sleek cityscapes that remain. During a typhoon, one of Universal Dynamics’ cargo ships crashes on a remote island, dumping out its robotic occupant, ROZZUM-7134 (voiced by Lupita Nyong’o) in a strange land. “Roz,” as she’s later called, is a robot with a sleek, long-armed, vaguely ominous design who is immediately viewed as a “monster” by the island’s exclusively non-human inhabitants. After translating the local animals’ languages, she clumsily advertises her services to any and every critter she lays eyes on, who don’t take kindly to her outreach. Chaos ensues.

After a harrowing encounter with a bear (voiced by Mark Hamill) in which Roz tumbles from a cliffside, she ends up destroying a goose nest, killing the parent and cracking the unhatched eggs, except for one — bearing the wide-eyed, cute-as-a-button gosling who is later named Brightbill (first voiced by Boone Storm, then by Kit Connor). Brightbill imprints on her, seeing Roz as his mother. Brightbill also, conveniently, destroys Roz’s emergency transponder, which is the only ticket back home to the safety of sterilized automation.

Unsure what to do with this unfamiliar being following her around, Roz eventually bumps into a family of hilariously morbid possums, whose mother (Catherine O’Hara) “tasks” Roz with parenting Brightbill. Thus, Roz takes on her most challenging objective yet — helped along by a mischievous yet sympathetic fox named Fink (Pedro Pascal) — of teaching Brightbill to learn to feed himself, swim, and fly, in preparation for southbound migration come Winter. As time passes, Roz also develops a love for Brightbill that grows beyond her programming. She turns into an increasingly sentient being, powered by her previously-repressed heart, and ultimately brings her newfound family together to fight for their survival in a (sometimes) unforgiving world.

Indeed, “The Wild Robot” — reportedly the last in-house animated production from Dreamworks Studios — maintains an emotional purity that’s a breath of fresh air in our current times. Starting small and adding layer upon layer, Sanders’ film weaves numerous themes — the joys and travails of parenting, the search for purpose in an unfamiliar world, the rewards of breaking from tradition to follow one’s own path, and cooperation as an essential tool for survival — into a (mostly) cohesive whole, complemented by breathtaking animation and a stellar voice cast.

It’s difficult to do justice to the painterly, vibrantly alive animation on display here — eschewing naturalism for a more impressionistic, storybook quality that resembles hand-crafted concept art brought to life. Crisp sunsets blanket tree-covered skylines in warm hues, fog drenches imposing cliffsides kissed by turbulent (immaculately well-animated) waters, and multicolored butterflies wrap around tree trunks, unleashing vibrant splashes of fluttering wings upon takeoff. The visuals pair beautifully with Kris Bowers’ score, which lends a fitting sense of grandiosity to the well-choreographed set-pieces.

Character designs, rough around the edges in the best way possible, eschew photorealism for emotion and narrative symbolism: Roz’s appearance evolves as she evolves, becoming scratched and stained as a new life opens before her, gradually operating by her own designs rather than what’s been preordained for her. The various critters that surround her, both big and small, are bursting with personality, voiced by an exceptional cast that doesn’t throw in big names just for the sake of it. Each of these characters inhabits the same environment, side-by-side but in their own little worlds, not yet realizing that working together determines their survival.

As Roz raises the young Brightbill in her own unconventional ways — her robotic behaviors and inputs are mirrored by Brightbill, which “other” him from his peers — “The Wild Robot” overcomes its predictability with heart and charm to spare. Sanders and Brown’s screenplay buffets its occasionally heavy-handed messaging and slapstick humor with a sense of melancholy, and finally, of hope in the power of kindness, understanding, and community.

Nyong’o poignantly conveys Roz’s changing thoughts and mounting existential panic, lending emotional heft to Roz’s internal and external changes. “The Wild Robot” is ultimately Roz’s story, not Brightbill’s, zeroing in on the sacrifices of raising a child, the anxiety of releasing that child into the world, and embracing a new “home” far separated from her corporate, dystopian beginnings. It’s frustrating that the film’s uneven pacing doesn’t quite do justice to Roz’s arc, not fully allowing pivotal scenes in the latter half space to breathe and becoming schematic as a result.

Connor tugs heart-strings as the unconventional yet resilient Brightbill struggles to fit in and, over time, recognizes the deep love that his surrogate mother has for him. Pascal is nearly unrecognizable as the rascally, surprisingly complex Fink who’s looking for his own sense of belonging. Matt Berry is wryly funny as Paddler the beaver, while Bill Nighy as an elder goose named Longbill, is typically dignified but saddled with the screenplay’s more explanatory (a.k.a. eye-rolling) dialogue.

The finale — chaotic, action-packed, and delivering emotional moments that are easy to see coming — is too tidy and beholden to modern sensibilities, neglecting the film’s otherwise graceful attention to world-building and character development. It also requires a distracting suspension of disbelief in the denouement. 

Still, the otherwise exceptional storytelling on display overshadows most hiccups down the road. There’s real merit to Sanders’ direct call for unity going into an uncertain future. It’s the kind of soulful, all-ages experience we need more of right now, one that pairs spectacular visuals with a heartfelt story to match.

“The Wild Robot” is a 2024 animated family comedy-drama-science fiction film directed by Chris Sanders and stars Lupita Nyong’o, Pedro Pascal, Kit Connor, Boone Storm, Matt Berry, Bill Nighy, and Mark Hamill. It is rated PG for action/peril and thematic elements, and its runtime is 1 hour, 42 minutes. It opened in theaters September 27. Alex’s Grade: B+.

‘Speak No Evil’ Is a Shallow Remake That Waters Down Greatness

‘Speak No Evil’ Is a Shallow Remake That Waters Down Greatness

By Alex McPherson

Crowd-pleasing but toothless, director James Watkins’ “Speak No Evil” mixes potent themes into a sanitized experience that, when it’s not doing a shabby copy-and-paste job of Christian Tafdrup’s 2022 original, turns its powerful setup into easily-digestible fodder for the masses.

For its first moments, Watkins’ film replicates Tafdrup’s shot-for-shot and line-for-line, albeit changing the nationalities of its central players. We follow Ben and Louise Dalton (Scoot McNairy and Mackenzie Davis), an American couple living in London who are vacationing in Italy with their middle-school-aged daughter, Agnes (Alix West Lefler), and Agnes’ stuffed animal rabbit, Hoppy.

Amidst their wealth and privilege, Ben and Louise have a troubled marriage as they deal with the fallout from Ben’s recent unemployment and a marital betrayal bubbling to the surface. 

While relaxing at a pool, Ben and Louise are approached by the English Paddy (James McAvoy) and his wife Ciara (Aisling Franciosi) and they strike up a near-immediate friendship. Paddy is confident, charismatic, rowdy, and unafraid to make himself the center of attention.

The Daltons (especially Ben) are pulled into his orbit, both by their own accord as well as by Paddy’s not-so-subtle pushiness that they just can’t say no to. Paddy and Ciara are accompanied by their son Ant (Dan Hough), who is around Agnes’ age and has difficulty speaking. This is explained away as “congenital aglossia” by Paddy, who claims to be a doctor.

Shortly after the trip ends and the Daltons are back in gloomy, rain-soaked London, where their upper-middle-class contentment frays at the seams, they get a letter from Paddy and Ciara inviting them to their remote farmhouse in the English countryside. Although Louise is skeptical, she begrudgingly agrees with Ben — who sees a form of “alpha male” masculinity in Paddy that he craves in his own life — that a change of scenery would be good for them as well as for Agnes. 

Thus, against their better judgment and moviegoers yelling “No!” at the screen, the Daltons drive their Tesla to the in-your-face creepy house in the countryside. Everything is off from the get-go and proceeds to get worse: from Paddy and Ciara’s increasingly overstepping of boundaries (often of a sexual nature), to the concerning ways they treat Ant and Agnes, to the calm-and-collected explaining-away of any worries that the Daltons have about their vacation destination.

It’s just weird. And Ben and Louise — too uncomfortable and cowardly to stand up for themselves and what they believe in — are soon trapped in a hell of their own making. 

Indeed, in its interrogation of social niceties, malaise, toxic masculinity, and inaction in the face of evil, Watkins’ “Speak No Evil” speaks to our current political climate.

The Daltons’ predicament is not completely implausible; they’re led away from their normal lives by the allure of the unfamiliar, not unlike the followers of a cult leader, falling victim to impulses that they’re unwilling or unable to counter with rational thought.

Unlike Tafdrup before him, though — who fully gives in to the nihilistic, misanthropic leanings of the premise— Watkins definitely pulls his punches this time around.

Not even an unhinged performance from McAvoy can save a film that’s seemingly scared of what its characters are capable, or incapable, of doing.

That’s not to say 2024’s “Speak No Evil” doesn’t have its merits. McAvoy slides comfortably into making viewers uncomfortable every step of the way. It’s not exactly a “novel” performance for McAvoy, who’s played similar characters in the past, but he’s chilling and (more so than his 2022 equivalent played by Fedja van Huêt) darkly funny — pushing the Daltons’ buttons with mischievous pleasure.

Paddy’s smile and frat boy-esque behavior belies a propensity to lash out if his authority and “control” is questioned. Franciosi is suitably creepy and off-kilter, although Watkins’ screenplay gives her a new backstory that robs Ciara of her chilling ambiguity.

McNairy definitely embodies Ben’s insecure, “beta male” attitude, but it’s occasionally difficult to discern between what is an intentionally awkward delivery and what is just plain awkward. He doesn’t get enough chances to show the fire burning beneath Ben’s eyes, making it difficult to buy Ben’s attraction to Paddy. 

Davis fares marginally better, but, like the other characters, Watkins’ script doesn’t grant her much subtlety or ambiguity. Louise knows something’s very wrong from the outset, yet she remains hesitant to act on her beliefs out of guilt for her husband and a desire to keep the peace.

Hough shines brighter than McNairy and Davis as the damaged Ant. It’s too bad he’s forced into scenarios that, when they’re not outright copying what’s been done better before, turn Ant’s arc into a seen-it-before spectacle.

And this is emblematic of where 2024’s “Speak No Evil” falters more broadly. There’s a general lack of tension — the film’s editing is clunky and imprecise, only sometimes slowing down to let us get immersed in the at-times agonizing situations the characters find themselves in.

Gone from the new film is the memorably jarring score by Danny Bensi and Saunder Jurriaans, the no-holds-barred commitment to the bit, and the heartbreaking sensation of watching an inevitable catastrophe. 

Instead, by the time the third act rolls around, 2024’s “Speak No Evil” slides into derivative territory that leaves us cheering instead of disturbed, swapping poignancy for “fun” that is just that: disposable and disappointingly safe. 

It is, admittedly, amusing to experience in a crowded theater, where everyone can have a ball watching the film turn into a haunted house of cathartic set-pieces and slapstick violence. Watkins gives these characters far more agency than Tafdrup does.

Still, by altering the trajectory of their story so drastically, Watkins tones down the ballsiness that made Tafdrup’s telling memorable, almost rendering it a parody of what’s come before.

“Speak No Evil” ultimately doesn’t have much faith in viewers’ attention or ability to embrace the unexpected. It’s a frustrating, if campily enjoyable, remake that never quite proves its worth.

“Speak No Evil” is a 2024 horror-comedy written and directed by James Watkins and starring James McAvoy, Aisling Franciosi, Scoot McNairy, Mackenzie Davis, Alix West Lefler and Dan Hough. It is rated R for some strong violence, language, some sexual content and brief drug use, and its runtime is 1 hour, 50 minutes. It opens in theatres Sept. 13. Alex’s Grade: C.


‘Beetlejuice Beetlejuice’ Is a Wild Nostalgic Trip Back to the Afterlife

‘Beetlejuice Beetlejuice’ Is a Wild Nostalgic Trip Back to the Afterlife

By Alex McPherson

Messy and overstuffed, but bursting with personality, director Tim Burton’s “Beetlejuice Beetlejuice” is a worthy follow-up to the 1988 original that provides another excellent showcase for Michael Keaton’s comedic talents.

“Beetlejuice Beetlejuice” takes place 36 years after the events of the first film. It continues the story of Lydia Deetz (Winona Ryder), last seen dancing to Harry Belafonte with a ghostly football team. She has become a successful television host and essentially cashed in on her supernatural abilities to see ghosts, making a living off others’ trauma.

But she’s haunted by visions of “Beetle Breakfast” himself (Keaton), popping pills to keep them at bay. She’s accompanied by her TV show producer and romantic partner Rory (Justin Theroux), who barely conceals his toxicity behind platitudes and emotional manipulation, valuing money and external validation above all else.

Lydia is abruptly summoned to New York City by her stepmother, Delia (Catherine O’Hara), a vain yet lovable diva having now become a performance artist in the Big Apple. She informs Lydia that her father, Charles (Jeffrey Jones), has unceremoniously died en route to a bird-watching trip.

Lydia, Delia, and Rory decide to have Charles buried at the Maitland family house in Winter River, Connecticut (the Maitlands are abruptly written out of this story), picking up Lydia’s estranged daughter Astrid (Jenna Ortega) from boarding school along the way. Astrid is highly resentful of her mother, who cannot see the ghost of her deceased father, and immerses herself in climate activism to rebel against her family’s opportunistic ways.

In the Afterlife, the titular Beetlejuice, as unhinged as ever, has opened a call center for his “bio-exorcism” gig. He’s staffed his office with ghouls with shrunken heads and uses one poor lad, Bob, as his personal assistant. Beetlejuice seems pretty content with all that power, but his past has other plans.

An unlucky janitor (played by Danny DeVito) ends up accidentally unleashing Beetlejuice’s ex lover, Delores (Monica Belluci), upon the world — a literal soul-sucking badass who physically staples herself back together — and she’s out for revenge. Beetlejuice needs to find a way out of the Afterlife. 

Young love, a marriage proposal, betrayal, rebellion, alternative waiting room visits, and wacky, charmingly grotesque antics ensue as Beetlejuice enters the Deetz’s lives once again. 

Let’s just say, there is a lot going on in “Beetlejuice Beetlejuice,” too much for any single plot strand to get the attention it really deserves. But Burton’s sequel is more than the sum of its parts. Without sanding down the caustic wit of the original or sacrificing its visual pizazz, “Beetlejuice Beetlejuice” is an immensely fun watch, albeit an experience that works best if viewed purely as an excuse to get the gang back together to riff on old times.

“Beetlejuice Beetlejuice” largely captures the feel of Burton’s classic, from the gothic-inspired, lived-in set design (given a slightly too crisp digital sheen this time around), to Danny Elfman’s score, to its blunt satire of bureaucracy and greed, to the zany performances and a proud refusal to adapt to “modern” sensibilities. It’s just a fun time at the movies–-scattershot in its storytelling but knowingly so, retaining a distinctive style that only Burton’s mind can conjure. 

The entire ensemble of returning players and new faces seems to be having a ball on screen. Keaton is the obvious standout, slipping back into the iconic role with ease. Beetlejuice’s signature gross-out, form-breaking, shape-shifting antics are rendered as vividly as ever without relying on CGI. 

He’s alternately funny, likable, and squirm-inducing as the flamboyant trickster with surprises up his sleeve and havoc on his mind — manipulating anyone and everyone to his advantage. Keaton’s commitment to the bit makes one wish that he had even more screen time; however; the film has too much ground to cover to make him center-stage consistently.

Keaton steals his scenes all the same, delivering some genuinely shocking moments with sincerity, and taking part in some memorable set-pieces in the finale that really go for it. On his performance alone, the film soars.

Ryder excels yet again as Lydia, uptight and deflated but willing to fight for her family and what’s right. O’Hara, as before, is hilarious, particularly regarding the creation of artwork where she “deals with grief” in outlandish fashion. Ortega fits the role of the moody Astrid well, but stays within the bounds of her previous efforts in shows like “Wednesday.”

Arthur Conti as Jeremy, a neighborhood boy who sparks a romance with Astrid, is charming though mysterious. Theroux is enjoyably annoying, while Bellucci is threatening but disappointingly underused. (Delores is one of the most egregious sacrifices to the film’s narrative restlessness.)

Willem Dafoe, as movie-star-turned-Afterlife-detective Wolf Jackson tracking Delores’s reign of terror, is amusing, with some excellent makeup, but the screenplay ultimately doesn’t do much with him.

Indeed, much of “Beetlejuice Beetlejuice” doesn’t dig beneath the surface. And, to be fair, it didn’t need to. It’s as if Burton wants us to relinquish deeper thought and go along for the ride — playing into nostalgia while introducing new characters and environments into the “Beetlejuice” universe. 

The closer one looks at any particular thread of “Beetlejuice Beetlejuice,” the less it holds up, and the few instances where Burton aims for poignancy don’t quite land effectively, as do early set-up scenes in the real world that take a while to kick into gear. Fortunately, much of “Beetlejuice Beetlejuice” operates at too fast a clip to dwell on these shortcomings.

Many of the characters struggle with being authentic, both to themselves and others, and this truthfulness (or lack thereof) often determines their fates. “Beetlejuice Beetlejuice,” on the other hand, knows exactly what it is and largely embraces its instincts, remaining a wholly satisfying way to kick off the spooky season. It’s the rare legacy sequel that really delivers.

“Beetlejuice Beetlejuice” is a 2024 horror-comedy directed by Tim Burton and starring Michael Keaton, Winona Ryder, Jenna Ortega, Catherine O’Hara, Monica Bellucci, Justin Theroux and Willem Dafoe. It is rated PG-13 for violent content, macabre and bloody images, strong language, some suggestive material and brief drug use and the run time is 1 hour, 45 minutes. It started in theatres Sept. 6. Alex’s Grade: B+.

Aaron Pierre Excels in Socially Conscious Action Thriller “Rebel Ridge”

Aaron Pierre Excels in Socially Conscious Action Thriller “Rebel Ridge”

Featuring a captivating performance from Aaron Pierre, director Jeremy Saulnier’s suspenseful-but-restrained “Rebel Ridge” mixes throwback thrills with earnest social commentary in its story of injustice, heroism, and deep-seated corruption of institutions claiming to serve the greater good.

The film, taking place in the small town of Shelby Springs, Louisiana, centers around Terry Richmond (Pierre), who we first meet cycling en-route to the local courthouse to post bail for his cousin, Mike (C.J. LeBlanc), who is in jail for a drug-related crime. Terry is violently knocked off his bicycle by some Shelby Springs cops who take Terry’s money ($36,000 in cash) using the loophole of a “civil asset forfeiture.” This allows them to seize Terry’s bail funds, with no due process, under the pretense that he’s involved in criminal activity. They dare Terry to contest the “legal” theft in court before leaving him, scraped up from the fall, by the side of the road.

Furious, and recognizing that Mike doesn’t have much time remaining (he’ll likely be killed behind bars), Terry confronts the local police chief, Sandy Burnne (Don Johnson). Good ‘ol boy Sandy reveals that the police department has absolutely no intention of returning Terry’s life’s savings.

Although only a couple people are available and willing to help Terry scrounge up the money to post Mike’s bail (including the owners of a Chinese restaurant where Terry previously worked), he allies himself with a troubled court clerk named Summer McBride (AnnaSophia Robb). Knowing the risks involved but understanding Terry’s pain, Summer agrees to help him uncover a conspiracy that’s gripped the soul of Shelby Springs, finding that the lies and deceit go much further than even she thought possible. 

It doesn’t hurt that Terry is also an ex-Marine who ran the Marine Corps Martial Arts Program. He’s smart, determined, and violence-averse, willing to negotiate with his enemies before throwing hands (usually non-lethally). But, as Terry’s deals with Chief Burnne are struck and promptly broken, the game plan shifts. Terry is prepared to use his abilities to fight for Mike, Summer, himself, and the community of Shelby Springs overall.

“Rebel Ridge” is a departure from Saulnier’s previous down-and-dirty efforts “Blue Ruin” and “Green Room,” but no less potent. With a variety of genre influences, from action films like “First Blood” to Westerns to film noir, Saulnier mixes the cartoonish with the grounded amidst crackling dialogue, grim plot twists, and well-choreographed bursts of carnage, enriched by scenes of razor-sharp tension.

Indeed, contrary to other “one-man army” films of its ilk, “Rebel Ridge” is a thinking person’s thriller, rewarding our attention and being about something beyond its familiar framework. Saulnier targets actual legal procedures that protect those in power and take advantage of marginalized communities, trapping his characters in an environment where the only remaining solution is taking matters into their own hands – that is, if they’re willing to risk losing it all in the process. 

“Rebel Ridge” lingers on those consequences, and the fear that the authorities instill within the community; the police department itself grows increasingly desperate to maintain its stranglehold on the public through physical and psychological warfare. “Rebel Ridge,” then, for all its one-liners, wry humor, and expertly-calibrated suspense, isn’t a fantasy. Saulnier underlines the stakes while building towards that ever-important climactic showdown – we root for Terry and his allies each grueling, painful, tragic step of the way.

“Rebel Ridge” wouldn’t be anywhere near as engaging as it is without Pierre, who delivers one of the year’s strongest performances, and stepped in to fill the role after John Boyega’s controversial departure. His Terry is a quiet wrecking ball, coiled-up but patient – with a sense of Right vs. Wrong that he’s compelled to act on, no matter the costs. Pierre’s performance evolves as the film progresses, giving Terry a quiet yet commanding gravitas that doesn’t rely on dialogue. Terry’s anger, sadness, and ever-mounting rage is palpable, and when he’s finally operating at his full combative capabilities, it’s a sight to behold — almost machinelike in the deployment of his “particular set of skills.”

The supporting cast is capable without getting anywhere near as many moments to shine as Pierre. Robb has great chemistry with Pierre, giving Summer unexpected depth. Johnson chews scenery as the detestable Chief – putting on a show of “masculinity” and “strength” while being wholly unprepared for the chaos that Terry brings into the picture. Zsane Jhe is sympathetic yet mysterious as Officer Jessica Sims, who is undergoing her own internal moral battle, and David Denman is almost too effective as a racist cop out for blood.

Saulnier’s direction is lean, muscular, and precise, without relying on stylistic flourishes. David Gallego’s crisp cinematography helps suspense simmer, making the most of mirrors, and frames the action with an unflinching eye (albeit nowhere near as graphically as Saulnier’s previous efforts). Saulnier’s screenplay crackles with wit, mixing in the occasional moment of comedic relief, lending each hushed conversation and high-intensity standoff satisfying spice a la Quentin Tarantino and S. Craig Zahler, enriched by Bill and Will Blair’s pulsing score.

Saulnier doesn’t have a complete grip on pacing, however, and “Rebel Ridge” becomes a bit long-winded in its second half, relying heavily on exposition dumps to keep the story moving. The conclusion, too, powerfully ambiguous and subverting expectations, won’t deliver for those expecting a more traditional experience. But Saulnier operates on a different, far more interesting level. “Rebel Ridge” is his strongest effort yet, also cementing Pierre as a real talent to watch.

“Rebel Ridge” is a 2024 action thriller directed by Jeremy Saulnier and starring Aaron Pierre, Don Johnson, AnnaSophia Robb, David Denman, and Zsane Jhe. It is rated R for language, smoking, and violence, and is 2 hours, 11 minutes. It released on Netflix on September 6. Alex’s Grade: A-.

‘Sing Sing’ Is A Powerful, Empathetic Drama

‘Sing Sing’ Is A Powerful, Empathetic Drama

By Alex McPherson

With an impressive ensemble cast and an emotionally satisfying narrative, director Greg Kwedar’s “Sing Sing” is an earnest, occasionally programmatic tribute to the power of art, community, and resilience that foregrounds the humanity of the incarcerated and spotlights a program that deserves center-stage.

Kwedar’s film, shot across multiple decommissioned correctional facilities, takes place at the titular Sing Sing prison in New York, and revolves around the prison’s Rehabilitation Through the Arts program (RTA). The RTA gives inmates opportunities to express themselves artistically and grow personally, most often by performing theater (ranging from the classics to their own creations) to an audience of their peers and family, directed by the shaggy-haired Brent Buell (Paul Raci).

As the group reflects, practices, and performs together, the program offers a chance to get a brief respite from the claustrophobia of their confinement.

We primarily follow John “Divine G” Whitfield (Colman Domingo), a wise, patient, and determined “leader” of the RTA with a history as an actor who, imprisoned for a crime he’s trying to prove he didn’t commit, splits his time writing novels and plays with preparing for an upcoming clemency hearing.

Divine G radiates warmth and generosity but battles his own demons. He finds an essential element of escapism and fulfillment in the group, whose members are largely portrayed by actual alums of the RTA, playing themselves to powerful effect.

While scouting for talent and thinking of ideas for their new production — which ends up being a time-traveling epic featuring mummies, Hamlet, and Freddy Krueger — Divine G and his close friend Mike Mike (Sean San Jose) convince a live-wire inmate named Divine Eye (Clarence “Divine Eye” Maclin) to join the program.

Divine Eye, who has a concerning need to assert dominance and also casually quotes “King Lear,” adds a potentially dangerous element to the group, grappling with his deep-seated insecurities and butting heads with Divine G, who’s miffed when Divine Eye is cast as Hamlet in the new play. As the tight-knit group continues their preparations, Divine G and Divine Eye develop a friendship, teaching each other lessons about life and the power of art to persevere amidst grim circumstances.

Indeed, “Sing Sing” is a gripping experience — depicting a real-life program that changes lives, brought to life by performances that bring raw vulnerability to the table. Kwedar’s film emphasizes the ways that creative outlets can move, transport, and give meaning, without reducing its subjects to simplistic archetypes.

Perhaps most importantly of all, “Sing Sing” empathetically depicts those that society all-too-often defines by their worst instincts. It recognizes its subjects as flawed, but real individuals not seeking to be absolved for their crimes, but to reclaim their humanity within a dehumanizing system.

Based on John H. Richardson’s Esquire article “The Sing Sing Follies” as well as the real-life Divine G and Divine Eye’s experiences in the program, “Sing Sing” is poignant without becoming maudlin, and hopeful without sugarcoating the realities of prison life. Kwedar’s direction radiates authenticity, both emotional and literal, adopting a documentary-esque approach that (for the most part) helps scenes flow organically and with a sense of spontaneity.

Kwedar and cinematographer Pat Scola give ample time for scenes to breathe, observing RTA members as they reflect on their lives and hone their craft together in a manner that’s cinematic without being showy, aided by a moody score from Bryce Dessner. Given that many of the people we see on-screen are actual alums with the program, each performance in “Sing Sing” is memorable, no matter how little time we spend with anyone besides Divine G and Divine Eye. Their pain, yearning, and catharsis is vividly conveyed. 

Through Kwedar’s direction, we feel the claustrophobia, the pressure of always being watched, the sensation of time lost, and the potential for unexpected violence. In most cases, though, “Sing Sing” refuses to simplify, rendering its ideas through exceptional performances and a naturalistic screenplay by Kwedar and co-writer Clint Bentley that’s filled with drama, melancholy, and unexpected humor. It only sometimes sacrifices nuance to hammer home its main points.

Domingo is typically strong here, far more understated than his Oscar-nominated turn in last year’s “Rustin.” Divine G has an assured confidence that belies inner fear and rage at the system. He finds the RTA a sanctuary from the mounting pressure of his clemency hearing and the perils of prison life.

Domingo poignantly conveys Divine G’s psychological layers, often without voicing them outright, as Divine G’s façade gradually cracks and reforms; the RTA community helps him feel whole again even as reality seeks to hold him down. 

But the real star of “Sing Sing” is Maclin, whose performance as Divine Eye is downright masterful, alternating between uneasy and compassionate. Divine Eye’s gradual shift from fatalism is a familiar arc, for sure, but Maclin’s performance really sells the emotions on display, giving even the character’s formulaic moments necessary weight. 

Divine Eye’s burgeoning friendship with Divine G provides much of the film’s throughline. It never becomes sappy, and it evolves convincingly over the runtime. Divine G sees part of himself reflected in Divine Eye, and vice versa, as they grapple with that elusive feeling that is hope. Maclin stands tall alongside Domingo, worthy of serious awards consideration by year’s end.

“Sing Sing” is not immune from cliché in some respects, especially regarding some “climactic” moments that, while crowd-pleasing, come off as conventional in retrospect. A heavy-handed line of dialogue will occasionally rear its head, too, which feels out of place with the otherwise tight screenplay.

These quibbles do not detract much from the film’s impact overall, however, and “Sing Sing” is unquestionably worth watching, a timely reminder of the unifying power of art and community, and the strength of the human spirit.

“Sing Sing” is a 2024 drama directed by Greg Kwedar and starring Colman Domingo, Paul Raci, Sean San Jose and Clarence “Divine Eye” Maclin. It is rated R for language throughout, and is 1 hour, 47 minutes. It opened in limited theatres on Aug. 16, and is currently expanding into others, including Chase Park Plaza Cinema and AMC Creve Coeur Cine Aug. 23 and HI-Pointe Cinema Sept. 6. Alex’s Grade: A-.

‘Handling the Undead’ Is A Haunting, Emotionally Resonant Zombie Film

‘Handling the Undead’ Is A Haunting, Emotionally Resonant Zombie Film

Playing as part of the Webster Film Series

By Alex McPherson

A meditative reflection on death and grief, director Thea Hvistendahl’s “Handling the Undead” is a somber and richly atmospheric experience that eschews traditional thrills to make pertinent statements about the need for love, connection, and perseverance in a broken world.

Based on John Ajvide Lindqvist’s 2005 novel of the same name, the film centers follows three families in modern-day Oslo, as their recently-deceased loved ones rise from the dead suddenly and without explanation. 

There’s Anna (Renate Reinsve), a single mother grieving the loss of her young son, Elias (Dennis Østry Ruud). Anna goes about her days in a robotic, depressed haze and is prone to suicidal ideation. She has a strained relationship with her father, Mahler (Bjørn Sundquist), who wants to help Anna but doesn’t know how. When visiting the graveyard where Elias is buried, Mahler hears knocking coming from Elias’ casket underground, and he brings Elias’ reanimated body back home.

There’s David (Anders Danielsen Lie), an aspiring stand-up comedian living happily with his wife, Eva (Bahar Pars), and their children Kian (Kian Hansen) and Flora (Inesa Dauksta). Eva dies suddenly in a car accident on the eve of Kian’s birthday, and she returns to life in the hospital shortly thereafter; back, but not quite the same.

Finally, there’s the elderly Tora (Bente Børsum), who is rejoined by her late wife (Olga Damani) after returning home from her funeral. Her confusion shifts to happiness then to a different sort of grief, as she reckons with the reality that her wife, as she knew her, is gone.

Indeed, in its patient, quietly heartbreaking rhythms, “Handling the Undead” is a decidedly different kind of zombie film, inviting viewers into the throes of characters’ anguish and desperation with an unflinching eye that offers no easy answers. Without resorting to melodrama, Hvistendahl’s film pulses with a existential dread, a heaviness that blankets nearly every frame, as we watch these vulnerable people navigate the unthinkable in an empty metropolis, reduced to primal instincts for love that supersede logic. 

With its mostly non-sensationalized approach, “Handling the Undead” is less about the zombies themselves than what they mean to those  they impact. Driven by love, loyalty, and protectiveness, we see each group of characters struggling to hold onto what’s been lost, unwilling/unable to let go of what’s no longer their reality in an isolating, compartmentalized world.

Editors Thomas Grotmol and Trude Lirhus let scenes breathe, lingering on sensitive yet shattering performances that reflect the weight of grief that each character bears. Hvistendahl doesn’t spend much time giving backstory, trusting viewers to pay attention and connect with them as ordinary people grappling with tragedy and, eventually, working towards some semblance of inner peace. 

Hvistendahl’s understated approach works well here, emphasizing silence and unspoken pain in a manner that’s far more authentic and believable than other films of its ilk. Thanks to exceptional turns from the whole ensemble (Reinsve, especially, as a mother sacrificing much to protect the child she couldn’t protect before), “Handling the Undead” conveys its somber story efficiently, stripped down to its raw, emotional essence. 

The zombies themselves, too, are treated empathetically. Sure, they’re definitely capable of violence (they are zombies, after all), but the truly chilling aspect of them here is their warped emptiness: the people they once were are unable to communicate in their new vessels. 

The characters’ sense of isolation and emotional turmoil is reflected in Pål Ulvik Rokseth’s cinematography, which positions each family within a concrete desert. Everything is connected but, simultaneously, nothing is at all, which calls to mind still-fresh memories of 2020 lockdown. The Oslo that surrounds these characters further emphasizes just how important these characters’ bonds are to each other, making it almost impossible for them to accept the cruel hand of fate.

Suffice to say, “Handling the Undead” is quite a heavy watch, lacking much in the way of levity or “fun” moments of suspense that comprise most other zombie films. In place of that, however, Hvistendahl targets truths that hit home on a deep level. 

While “Handling the Undead” is a raw look into the depths of grief, it’s just as much a testament to the beautiful-yet-conflicted human spirit, and about the importance of accepting the past, no matter how painful it is, and finding our own way in a world that feels overwhelmingly bleak but still has the capacity for hope. For adventurous viewers, it’s not to be missed.

Rating: A-