Harrison Ford Delivers in Uneven ‘Indiana Jones 5’ Finale

Harrison Ford Delivers in Uneven ‘Indiana Jones 5’ Finale

By Alex McPherson

With Harrison Ford lending emotional grandeur to an otherwise middling adventure, director James Mangold’s “Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny” provides an acceptable finale for the iconic character.

Indy’s latest outing begins in the mid-1940s, with the end of World War II in sight, as a heavily de-aged Indy (always looking “off”) and his trusty academic pal Basil Shaw (Toby Jones) attempt to recover stolen artifacts from Nazis. After Indy escapes capture due a conveniently deployed airplane bomb and KOs plenty of the monstrous chaps, he races onto a train (after a dimly lit, CGI-reliant car/motorcycle chase) containing the Lance of Longinus — a blade supposedly containing traces of the blood of Christ — and an also-captured Basil. 

Among the evildoers is Nazi physicist Jürgen Voller (Mads Mikkelson), a nefarious soul aboard the train who’s in possession of one half of the Antikythera — a dial created by Archimedes that supposedly allows for time travel should both halves be combined. Bloodlessly bombastic violence ensues, concluding with a battle atop the train that results in Voller thwacking his head on a pole and Indy and Basil jumping into a lake below, Antikythera in hand.

Flash forward to 1969, and our titular hero is in dire straits. Grumbling around his messy New York City apartment after having recently separated from his wife, Marion (Karen Allen), and with his son, Mutt (Shia LaBeouf) out of the picture, Jones is a shell of his former self, lacking purpose and direction as he prepares to retire from teaching archaeology at Hunter College. The Apollo 11 astronauts have just returned home, and society is looking to the future, rather than the past that Jones has devoted his life to. He’s become a curmudgeon, lacking the adventurous spirit he once had, both due to his age and regrets that torment his psyche.

Fortunately, or unfortunately, he soon runs into Basil’s daughter, Helena (Phoebe Waller-Bridge), who’s after the Antikythera and wants to continue Basil’s life’s work of finding the missing half (or so she initially claims: she’s a hardcore capitalist eager to make a buck). After tricking Indy, she runs off with the artifact, while also being pursued by the returning Voller and his cronies, including Shaunette Renée Wilson as a crooked CIA agent and Boyd Holbrook as a take-no-prisoners killer. 

Thus begins a globe-trotting romp from New York to Tangiers to Athens to Sicily, as Indy, Helena, and Helena’s youthful sidekick Teddy (Ethann Isidore) attempt to find the remaining half of the Antikythera before the Nazis get their hands on it and change the war’s outcome. Indy’s back for another go around, just like old times, with plenty of returning faces and fantastical shenanigans at play.

Indeed, “Dial of Destiny,” the franchise’s first installment without Steven Spielberg at the helm, leans hard into nostalgia at the expense of dramatic punch — although copious literal punches are thrown. Mangold’s film (at nearly 2.5 hours) is a strange beast: at once comforting in its embrace of old-fashioned thrills, but averse to taking any real risks with Indy himself. Ford’s soulful performance is still able to overcome the screenplay’s frustrating lack of focus, buoying what is otherwise a slightly-above-average experience featuring lackluster set-pieces and formulaic plotting.

A de-aged Harrison Ford as Indiana Jones.

With his iconic whip, fedora, and witty remarks, Ford continues to excel in the role — conveying a wide range of emotions with lived-in gravitas. His portrayal deserves a stronger film to support it; we can see his sadness, guilt, and mournful reflection in pivotal scenes, along with his mischievous, daring old self bubbling back to the surface. Most everything between Indy’s scenes of introspection is fairly by-the-numbers — with little that stands out beyond a ludicrous conclusion, which, without spoiling anything, goes down a zany rabbit hole. It remains great to see Ford back in the saddle nevertheless.

While “Dial of Destiny” attempts to recapture the old-school thrill and “feel” of the series’ previous installments (complete with cameos, visual motifs, and eels taking the place of snakes), Mangold’s approach robs time from developing Indy as a character. Mangold’s reliance on nostalgia may well be the point, but reminding viewers (and Indy himself) of the series’ former glory shifts focus from the here-and-now: the antics in search of the dial (which could, theoretically, permit Indy to rectify wrongs in his own sad life) resort to familiar tropes and payoffs, neglecting to innovate on tradition to tell a consequential story about Indy’s place in the world today.

The film seemingly emphasizes the importance of not living in the past, but using remembrance as a means of personal growth. This might be meaningful to Indy, but the plot stemming from that idea is a workmanlike imitation on what’s come before — far from bad, but not making a lasting impact. 

Waller-Bridge, at least, shines as a brash, sarcastic, independent woman whose allegiances are often in question. She’s after the dial not only in the hopes of one day selling it for a boatload of cash, but also by a sense of wanting to continue her father’s lifelong work; the need to explore passed down from one generation to the next. By the end, her arc is a bit muddled, given her internal tug-of-war between cynicism and earnestness, but she’s still a worthy companion, and holds her own in the copious CGI-laden action sequences. Mikkelson’s Voller doesn’t stand out as particularly interesting, at no fault of the performance: he’s just a standard, franchise-typical baddie, accompanied by likewise generically sadistic goons.   

Speaking of action, the 80-year-old Ford obviously can’t do much stunt work nowadays, requiring computer wizardry to do the heavy lifting. It’s too bad the majority of sequences are so cartoonishly over-the-top and confusingly framed. Despite all the carnage on display (including during the intro, a horse chase through an NYC parade, and a frantic tuk-tuk pursuit through a Tangiers market), they’re often weightless, chaotic, and lacking the rhythm that Spielberg’s direction lent them, barring some amusing visual gags that remain a series staple. Yet again, “Dial of Destiny” tries to live in the past, altering reality to present scenarios that would likely have worked better in the animation medium altogether.

It’s a testament to Mangold’s competency and Indy’s sheer likability that “Dial of Destiny” is still an enjoyable watch regardless of issues. John Williams’ score delivers the goods (as always), and Mangold’s stylistic tributes to Spielberg give the film energy even when the story comes up short. Combined with Ford’s exceptional performance and fan service callbacks, “Dial of Destiny” is worth watching, if not something that significantly adds to the adventurer’s legacy.

“”Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny” is a 2023 action-adventure directed by James Mangold and starring Harrison Ford, Phoebe Waller-Bridge, Mads Mikkelson, Karen Allen, Antonio Banderas and Boyd Holbrook. It is Rated PG-13 for sequences of violence and action, language and smoking and runs 2 hours, 34 minutes. It opens in theaters June 30. Alex’s Grade: B-.

  

‘Past Lives’ Is a Beautifully Moving Love Story

‘Past Lives’ Is a Beautifully Moving Love Story

By Alex McPherson

A dramatically rich, sensitively told love story with an astounding trio of central performances, director Celine Song’s “Past Lives” is a near-flawless achievement — a small-scale film that packs an emotional wallop in its exploration of universal themes.

Song’s film begins with a slow zoom on three characters sitting at a bar, Nora (Greta Lee), Hae Sung (Teo Yoo), and Arthur (John Magaro), as a person from across the room speculates on their connections to each other. We jump back in time to when Nora (Moon Seung-ah), then going by Na Young, and Hae Sung (Leem Seung-min) were 12-year-old best friends living in Seoul, South Korea. They’re competitive, affectionate, and seemingly inseparable, until Na Young’s parents decide to immigrate to Canada, rendering Hae Sung confused and heartbroken as his companion leaves him behind.

Flash forward 12 years later, and Na Young (Lee), having changed her name to Nora, now lives in Toronto as an aspiring playwright, brimming with kindness and joie de vivre that lights up any room she’s in. Hae Sung (Yoo) — who finished his mandatory military service and is in engineering school — never forgot about her, and does some Facebook sleuthing to get in contact. Once he and Nora start chatting on Skype, their bond is rekindled, if only briefly, as Nora eventually decides they should stop talking because of the literal and figurative distance between them.

Twelve years down the road from that, Nora lives in New York City with her non-Korean husband Arthur (John Magaro), a fellow writer she met on a writer’s retreat. Hae Sung, having experienced personal and professional disappointments and still thinking about Nora, decides to visit her in NYC, setting the stage for a heartfelt reunion with plenty of discomfort for the concerned-yet-level-headed Arthur to contend with.

Nora and Hae Sung spend time together, having deceptively low-key conversations as they visit famous landmarks, each reflecting on past what-ifs and how their bond continues today, grappling with the sacrifices they’ve made personally and culturally along life’s winding path.

With a delicate, understated approach that never talks down to viewers nor mines the material to over-the-top ends, “Past Lives” transcends this familiar love-triangle setup to speak to truths both personal and all-inclusive. Song, in her feature film debut, takes a tenderly elegiac approach to this semi-autobiographical narrative that allows the ensemble — Lee, especially — to stretch their wings, and treats its relatably flawed characters with respect as they navigate situations with no easy answers.

John Magaro, Greta Lee

The film’s finely calibrated elegance is largely the result of Lee, Yoo, and Magaro working at the absolute peak of their craft. Lee, in particular, lends a subtly raw emotional power to Nora’s inner conflicts; content in her new life and unmoored by the arrival of her childhood sweetheart, who represents not only a possible romantic interest but one of her primary connections to her former life in Korea.

Lee communicates multitudes through glances, pauses, and body language, sometimes veering from happiness to sober realization in the span of a few seconds — conveying Nora’s tangled emotions in a manner far more engaging than traditional dialogue ever could. We see her confidence, warmth, and friendliness, along with her aching for a relationship and cultural identity she’s had to sideline to pursue her ambitions.

Thanks to Lee’s talent as a performer, we can follow Nora’s emotions based primarily on her mannerisms and facial expressions — Lee gives one of the single best performances of the year so far. It’s easy to understand why so many characters in the film gravitate towards her; Lee exudes an authenticity that’s a perfect fit, as we gradually see Nora becoming more vulnerable and honest with herself and those close to her, releasing her turbulent emotions in an organic way without resorting to melodrama. 

Yoo is incredible, lending real pathos to Hae Sung’s heartache and yearning, especially in scenes of him interacting with Nora face-to-face, exchanging brief smiles and pangs of regret that illuminate the push-pull between his heart and reality. Magaro, as always, plays Arthur with a gentleness and sly humor that makes him easy to empathize with; there are no villains in “Past Lives,” and Arthur’s just another human being caught in an odd circumstance.

The screenplay, by Song, finds humor and earnestness without launching into schmaltz or over-explanation. Much of the drama is based in the Buddhist-derived concept of inyun, which involves the idea of interactions signaling relationships in past lives and of destiny, which Hae Sung follows, perhaps misguidedly, in his continued longing for Nora.

While it’s true that Nora and Hae Sung spell out this concept more than once, “Past Lives” doesn’t overdo it, using it as a way for the characters to discuss the past, present, and future while coming to grips with the decisions they’ve made. Indeed, “Past Lives” is ultimately a poetic meditation on Nora and Hae Sung’s bittersweet acceptance of the present, something we can all relate to as we look back at choices made and opportunities missed in our own lives.

From a directing standpoint, “Past Lives” also excels. Song displays an incredible attention to detail — weaving together a tapestry of yearning, uncertainty, joy, and sorrow that spans decades without becoming unwieldy. The film’s slower pacing lets scenes breathe and provides ample time to establish the emotional backbone of Nora and Hae Sung’s bond, from playing in the park, to battling unstable Skype connections, to meeting in-person at last in adulthood, with all the awkwardness that ensues.

Song finds visual parallels and motifs across the story’s decades-long scope, including one particularly powerful image of Nora and Hae Sung as children on separate ends of a staircase breaking off in two directions. Song knows when to quietly pull the rug out from under us, flashing those memories back, both for viewers and the characters in pivotal sequences. Shabier Kirchner’s lived-in cinematography helps ground the story even more, as well as finding occasional wry comedy, like one particularly uncomfortable albeit meaningful restaurant visit with Nora, Hae Sung, and Arthur all together.

Through Song’s direction and Kirchner’s lens, highlighting the minutiae of the characters’ expressions just as much as their surroundings, we see the joy, beauty, loneliness, and melancholia at play for Nora, Hae Sung, and Arthur. The last shot, too, a long-take that’s deeply poignant and cathartic, continues to linger in my mind.

By the end, there’s not a single issue in “Past Lives” that stands out. Song’s debut is astounding, making the most of the film medium to tell a story that everyone can connect to and maybe fall in love with.

“Past Lives” is a 2023 romantic drama written and directed by Celine Song, in both English and Korean, starring Greta Lee, Teo Yoo and John Magaro. It is rated PG-13 for some strong language and runtime is 1 hour, 45 minutes. It opened in theaters June 23. Alex’s Grade: A+

Visually Rich Pixar Story ‘Elemental’ Is Far From Lukewarm

Visually Rich Pixar Story ‘Elemental’ Is Far From Lukewarm

By Alex McPherson

Strikingly well-animated and loaded with ever-topical themes, director Peter Sohn’s “Elemental,” Pixar’s latest, lacks storytelling flair but remains a worthwhile experience for all ages.

Sohn’s film unfolds in Element City — a metaphorical New York City composed of humanoid incarnations of the fire, water, air, and earth elements — and follows Ember (Leah Lewis), a spunky, hot-headed fire woman being trained to take over her family’s bodega, the Fireplace. Her parents, the aging Bernie (an excellent Ronnie Del Carmen) and Cinder (Shila Ommi), a fortune teller with the ability to “smell love,” emigrated from Fire Land fleeing a natural disaster and were two of the first fire people to ever wind up in Element City: a land full of opportunity and also discrimination. Water (the most privileged), air, and earth people treat fire people as outsiders, creating a cycle of prejudice and segregation at both social and infrastructural levels.

Ember is expected to run the Fireplace once the ailing Bernie retires, even though she doesn’t truly want to. She puts on a brave face through her barely suppressed anger; feeling an obligation to live up to the sacrifices her parents made to create a new life in Element City and remaining held back from pursuing her own ambitions.

She’s also been told from a young age that “elements don’t mix,” arising both from handed-down prejudice and the admittedly reasonable fact that water could extinguish her. After one particularly harrowing day running the Fireplace by herself, Ember loses her temper and causes some pipes to burst, spitting out goofy city inspector Wade (Mamadou Athie) into her life. 

Wade, a bubbly (literally and personality-wise) water man, pictured like a translucent water balloon with a dad bod, along with a propensity to cry and be vulnerable, has to write-up the joint’s building code violations, risking the permanent closure of the Fireplace. Ember panics, but Wade — being the ever-kind, compassionate soul he is — wants to help her out.

He secures a deal from his cloud boss Gale (Wendi McLendon-Covey), a feisty soul with a cotton candy texture and an obsession with “Air Ball” (a mixture of basketball and Quidditch?) to spare the Fireplace if he and Ember find the source of recurrent floods plaguing Fire Town. Along the way, Ember and Wade fall in love, but can their bond survive the weight of societal norms and cultural expectations, plus a constant barrage of eye-rolling puns?

Although most viewers will know exactly how this story concludes from the get-go, “Elemental” remains a gorgeously rendered, fittingly emotional story about tolerance, independence, love, and the immigrant experience. Ember and Wade’s adventure has enough heart to make up for an occasionally clunky narrative that sacrifices nuance for accessibility.

From a visual standpoint alone, “Elemental” is magnificent. Character designs are distinctive, adaptive, and clever, especially in their malleability and expressiveness. This is sometimes used for comedic effect (like an earth-being couple pruning each other’s fruit), but more often than not to emphasize characters’ personalities, like Ember’s explosive outbursts and Wade’s seemingly never-ending supply of tears.

The densely packed, Chinatown-esque corners of Fire Town contrast with the sharp, open-air skyscrapers of the city center, reflecting an economic and class disparity that informs the enmity between the various groups — presented with an obvious yet eye-popping touch. Thomas Newman’s dynamic score masterfully accompanies the imagery, taking cues from a number of global music traditions to complement this tale of cross-cultural romance and acceptance. 

Lewis gives a deeply-felt performance as Ember — a flawed heroine facing a real dilemma about the life she should lead while living up to her parents’ expectations — giving her more subtlety through her delivery than the oftentimes blunt screenplay affords.

Athie is even better; Wade is an instantly lovable goofball who displays an open-heartedness that’s infectious and sometimes hilarious without becoming irritating. Wade’s not especially complex compared to Ember, and comes from a much more privileged background, but he remains committed to her and their burgeoning relationship even when Ember claims it’s impossible.

It’s a commendable move that Sohn and company don’t give “Elemental” a traditional villain character; rather, the film’s primary antagonist is the idea of intolerance itself. Wade ultimately proves a vessel for Ember to unlock a part of herself she’s previously repressed, and a way to bridge cultural and societal boundaries, no matter how small-scale and unlikely it might be.

Indeed, these themes are familiar but profound, ever-relevant in our increasingly divided times. While the screenplay — by Sohn, John Hoberg, Kat Likkel, and Brenda Hsueh — can occasionally veer too far into heavy-handedness and exposition dumping (especially regarding Bernie and Cinder’s backstory and entrenched beliefs), there’s enough earnest truth here that “Elemental” still packs a punch.

Scattered within the obvious metaphors are poignant observations about assimilation, some of which are highlighted during a welcoming-though-awkward dinner party with Wade’s family that’s both cringey and true, along with moments in the second half that eschew dialogue in favor of pure visual storytelling.

“Elemental” remains a film targeted towards families, and in this sense, much of these narrative quibbles are excusable. Ambitious, relevant ideas are illustrated in a clichéd yet meaningful love story in a richly imaginative environment — a palatable way for younger audiences to consider these themes and apply them in their own lives, no matter how broadly “Elemental” paints them. 

It’s true that Pixar has conveyed equally layered stories in far more graceful fashion before (just look at the first 10 minutes of “Up” for reference) without having to spoon-feed us meaning, but “Elemental” still leaves an impact. It’s a (literally) solid recommendation. Don’t miss the amazing short “Carl’s Date” beforehand either.

“Elemental” is a 2023 animated romantic comedy feature directed by Peter Sohn and voice work by Leah Lewis, Mamadou Athie, Ronnie Del Carmen, Wendi McLendon-Covey, Shila Ommi and Catherine O’Hara. It is rated PG for some peril, thematic elements and brief language and run time is 1 hour, 49 minutes. It opened in theaters June 16. Alex’s grade: B+.

‘You Hurt My Feelings’ Is a Drama That’s a Bit Too Mild-Mannered

‘You Hurt My Feelings’ Is a Drama That’s a Bit Too Mild-Mannered

By Alex McPherson

Breezy, funny, and insubstantial, director Nicole Holofcener’s “You Hurt My Feelings” provides its ensemble ample room to flex their comedic chops, but remains emotionally limited by a low-stakes narrative aiming for profundity and arriving at something less than revelatory. 

Set within our dying planet in the bustling metropolis hellscape of New York City, “You Hurt My Feelings” revolves around Beth (Julia Louis-Dreyfus), a middle-aged author and teacher at The New School, who, all things considered, lives a pretty-damn-privileged existence. She has a new novel coming out — two years in the making — that she’s having trouble getting off the ground due to an unenthusiastic agent. It’s the follow-up to her moderately successful memoir that spotlighted her father’s verbal abuse, which instilled a huge layer of insecurity. 

She’s sarcastic and judgy, but enjoys a happy marriage with her husband, Don (Tobias Menzies), a somewhat burnt-out therapist whose clients — played by real-life spouses Amber Tamblyn and David Cross, plus Zach Cherry in peak straight-faced hilarity — are becoming increasingly fed up with his lack of engagement and “results.”

Their 20-something son Eliot (Owen Teague) is an aspiring playwright working at a weed dispensary, frequently annoyed that he feels like a third wheel around his parents. Beth’s sister, Sarah (Michaela Watkins), is a jaded interior designer with a sardonic wit. Her brother-in-law, Mark (Arian Moayed), is an actor with dreams of fame and fortune struggling to secure roles beyond a small part in a “pumpkin movie.”

Arian Moayed and Michaela Watkins

Suffice to say, everyone in this little circle is self-doubting, seeking validation and reassurance from those close to them. Our heroine, Beth, is particularly vulnerable. When she and Sarah overhear Don disclosing to Mark that he doesn’t like her newest novel and can’t stand reading draft after draft of it, Beth spirals — putting her marriage at risk as she grapples with this bombshell revelation.

Over the course of a 93-minute runtime, Beth gains greater understanding of how the “little white lies” we tell each other aren’t always that bad, along with how (shocker) we shouldn’t let our work or other’s reactions to our work define us and our well-being.

With Louis-Dreyfus inhabiting her character with an anxious, believable energy, “You Hurt My Feelings” remains an appealing watch, as Beth and company navigate rocky waters of communication and come to realizations that gently inform their existences going forward. This reflects life, in a sense, as some people change and some don’t, but the film still lacks heft. By the end, it takes a surprisingly light touch to its flawed characters, saying little of significance in the process.

That’s not to say the experience of watching “You Hurt My Feelings” isn’t enjoyable, though. Holofcener’s dialogue crackles with snarky wit, as Beth bumbles her way around NYC – casually critiquing plenty of people along the way, sometimes in offensive fashion. Beth herself, whether she realizes it or not, strategically deploys truths and little white lies in her day-to-day life — whether it’s half-heartedly volunteering at a church clothing giveaway to feel like a “good person,” to feigning interest in her students’ off-putting story ideas. 

Louis-Dreyfus sells Beth’s outwardly bubbly nature and conceitedness, friendliness belying a lack of self love and belief in her own abilities as a creative. Her mother, Georgia (the always excellent Jeannie Berlin), perpetuates Beth’s anxieties through humorous passive-aggressiveness.

Beth trusts Don more than anyone else, however, so his seeming “betrayal” hits her like a wrecking ball, which Louis Dreyfus neither undersells nor overplays; if anything, the film would have benefited from a more cartoonish expression of her panic. As it stands, it’s difficult to connect with her concerns: they’re monumental to her, but as outside observers, they seem trivial, and Holofcener never dives deeply into her background or creative drive to establish real pathos for her plight. 

She loves Don and Don loves her. Of course Don wants to be a supportive husband, of course he wouldn’t tell her his true feelings about her writing (which we’re never led as viewers to believe is actually praiseworthy), as he recognizes that his opinions are ultimately irrelevant: he’ll support her no matter what. This is evident from the outset, and, with some late-movie platitudes lacking nuance delivered by Teague (doing the most with a clichéd character), renders the core conflict of “You Hurt My Feelings” fairly shallow and predictable.

Aside from Beth’s unwarranted stressors, “You Hurt My Feelings” explores other facets of this idea, as people in her social bubble navigate similar waters of honesty and dishonesty, truth and lies, in their personal and professional bonds. Don, stressed about aging and exhausted from a string of demanding clients while putting on a brave face (which Menzies embodies with subtly-calibrated mannerisms), avoids admitting to his cataclysmic falsehood. This doesn’t pan out well, but guess what? Communication is key, as usual.

Sarah encounters her own challenges — her whole job involves appeasing finicky clients with artwork to adorn their homes, smiling and gritting her teeth, with plenty of unused insults at the ready under her breath. Mark struggles to find meaning and work as an actor, while Sarah stands behind him through thick and thin, notwithstanding she doesn’t think he’s all that good all the time.

Boosted by Holofcener’s zinger-filled screenplay and patient editing that zeroes in on expressions and awkward pauses, “You Hurt My Feelings” depicts these situations with a crowd-pleasing touch, but that doesn’t excuse that they aren’t all that compelling to watch in the first place. Indeed, the film’s muted style and inherent softness misses opportunities to critique its characters on a more foundational level, not fully selling their problems nor Beth’s gradual gaining of self-awareness. It’s not all that dramatic, or relatable, as we (im)patiently wait for the characters to catch up with reality.

Perhaps I’m the wrong demographic for this story, and perhaps the film’s lack of spectacle is the point, but it remains slight, less a meaningful story than a batch of gently amusing scenarios in service of relatable yet obvious messaging.

Julia Louis-Dreyfus

“You Hurt My Feelings” is a 2023 comedy-drama written and directed by Nicole Holofcener and starring Julia Louis-Dreyfus, Tobias Menzies, Owen Teague, Michaela Watkins, Arian Moayed, David Cross, Amber Tamblyn, Zach Cherry and Jeannie Berlin. It is rated R for language and runtime is 1 hour and 33 minutes. It opened in theaters May 26. Alex’s Grade: B-.

‘The Little Mermaid’ Is An Above Average Remake That’s Not All Smooth Sailing

‘The Little Mermaid’ Is An Above Average Remake That’s Not All Smooth Sailing

By Alex McPherson

Elevated by a magnetic performance from Halle Bailey, director Rob Marshall’s “The Little Mermaid” neither wows nor underwhelms — a film that’s far from essential, but one that provides light, comforting entertainment. 

Retelling the story from the 1989 animated version, this live-action iteration follows Ariel (Bailey), a courageous, rebellious mermaid and youngest of several sisters, who’s deeply curious about the surface world and dissatisfied with her life underwater. With her fish pal Flounder (Jacob Tremblay) in tow, Ariel collects human artifacts to store in her grotto among the coral — her collection is a reminder of a world she’s eager to explore and held back from reaching. Ariel’s father, King Triton (Javier Bardem), refuses to let her have any contact with humans. He instructs his right-hand-crab, the wry-yet-soft-hearted Sebastian (Daveed Diggs) to keep her out of trouble (spoiler alert: he soon takes Ariel’s side). 

Ariel, with an adventurous spirit and desire for freedom, stumbles upon Prince Eric (Jonah Hauer-King), the new leader of an island nation somewhere in the Caribbean who wishes to expand the kingdom and is discouraged by his mother (Noma Dumezweni). Ariel falls in love with him at first sight. After a violent storm ruins his raucous birthday celebrations, Ariel saves him, dragging him to safety on his island’s beach, singing her siren song to keep him alive.

“Kiss the Girl”

 Back underwater, Ariel can’t stop thinking about him (and vice versa), which attracts the attention of “the sea witch” Ursula (Melissa McCarthy), Triton’s sister who was previously exiled from the kingdom. Conniving and fueled by resentment, Ursula makes a deal with Ariel to transform her into a human for three days in exchange for Ariel’s siren voice. If she can share a “true love’s kiss” with Eric within those three days, she can remain a human permanently. If not, she’s under Ursula’s control, and will be used as ransom for Triton’s all-powerful trident. More complications arise, putting the pressure on Sebastian, Scuttle the seagull (Awkwafina), and, to a lesser extent, Flounder, to ensure the kiss comes to fruition, and help Ariel achieve her dreams.

Songs, romance, drama, and more songs ensue. Yes, this is certainly “The Little Mermaid,” so viewers expecting a massive departure from the previous film will be let down. Marshall’s film is another example of studios pandering to nostalgia rather than offering a meaningful reimagining of what’s come before. Taken on its own terms, though, the new “Little Mermaid” is still an amiably enjoyable watch — a story of love, independence, cultural understanding, and growing up that’s kept afloat by confident performances and directorial flashiness.

Bailey absolutely nails the role of Ariel — bringing to life her daring spirit and lovable stubbornness with an enchanting mixture of bravery and deep yearning for new horizons. Ariel is a (slightly) more layered protagonist this time around. She sees Eric as not only a good-looking hunk, but as a kindred spirit in search of freedom from tradition, which Marshall emphasizes through their nerdy, cute interactions with each other — they’re each fascinated with each other’s knowledge of the world beyond their homelands. 

Melissa McCarthy as Ursula

Bailey conveys Ariel’s longing and naivete in a fairly grounded fashion: the songs function as an extension of her inner thoughts, allowing for some impressively emotional moments, particularly during her renditions of “Part of Your World” and “For the First Time” (one of the several new tunes scattered throughout). It’s clear from the outset, however, that Bailey has the acting chops for a more dramatically rich take on Ariel’s story than Marshall’s film provides. She breathes exciting new life to the heroine nevertheless.

McCarthy is campily over-the-top as the fiendish squid Ursula, with her undulating tentacles and booming delivery, giving a no-holds-barred performance that’s both funny and menacing. Diggs is amusing as Sebastian (nailing his new-ish take on “Under the Sea”), sassy and witty. Awkwafina is serviceable as a seagull willing to rap if need be (Lin Manuel-Miranda’s writing hand is keenly felt), and Bardem’s talents are underused as King Triton — an oddly subdued performance conveying Triton’s anxiety and fear for Ariel’s well-being, albeit lacking gravitas.

Hauer-King is perfectly fine as Prince Eric, notwithstanding one ho-hum musical number, but “The Little Mermaid” doesn’t give him enough depth or personality to stand out among the others. The film makes an effort to more clearly paint parallels with his goals and aspirations with Ariel’s, yet the gesture comes across as more manufactured than organic — attempting to sand down the less-polished aspects of their bond from the 1989 film, as opposed to a true expansion.

Javier Bardem as King Triton

In terms of visuals, “The Little Mermaid” is hit-or-miss. Dion Beebe’s cinematography shines when gliding through environments in time to the music — bringing all manner of aquatic creatures to the stage during “Under the Sea” in a dazzling display of CGI-heavy showmanship — and during some impressively smooth scene transitions, such as one in which the camera travels through the eye of a moray eel into Ursula’s cavernous lair. What isn’t as successful is the look of the non-human characters themselves. Heads awkwardly sit on bodies and hair undulates distractingly; far easier to represent through animation than live-action. Regarding Flounder, Sebastian, and Scuttle, there’s an awkward tug-of-war between realism and fantasy, to middling effect.

Indeed, this reflects the film’s greatest flaw. “The Little Mermaid” is solid, family-friendly entertainment, but with a talent as strong as Bailey, it deserves to break free from its sanitized formula to become something fresher. Minor alterations aside, this is still the same story, where stakes are neutered and songs fly freely.

Yes, it’s great that Bailey’s casting speaks to a new generation of moviegoers, but they (and her) deserve a story less beholden to the past, as does the live-action medium itself, which pushes against the film’s fantastical elements. What’s left is a better-than-average Disney remake that has little more to say and boatloads of money to rake in.

Scuttle, Dingelhopper, Flounder and Ariel

“The Little Mermaid” is a 2023 live-action, animated musical remake of Disney’s 1989 classic directed by Rob Marshall and starring Halle Bailey, Javier Bardem, Jonah Hauer-King, Awkwafina, Daveed Diggs, Jacob Tremblay and Noma Dumezweni. It is rated PG for action/peril and some scary images and the runtime is 2 hours, 15 minutes. It opens in theaters on May 26. Alex’s Grade: B-.

Jonah Hauer-King as Prince Eric and Halle Bailey as Ariel roam the castle grounds.

‘BlackBerry’ Cast Stuns in Surprisingly Moving Smartphone Story

‘BlackBerry’ Cast Stuns in Surprisingly Moving Smartphone Story

By Alex McPherson 

A darkly comedic story of game-changing technology and capitalism’s fateful hand, director Matt Johnson’s “BlackBerry” is a sublimely well-acted, bittersweet film that’s both laugh-out-loud funny and emotionally raw.

Based on the book Losing the Signal: The Untold Story Behind the Extraordinary Rise and Fall of BlackBerry by Jacquie McNish and Sean Silcoff, the film begins in 1996 in Waterloo, Ontario, at a small company called Research in Motion (RIM) — founded by two pioneering tech/pop culture geeks, the soft-spoken Mike Lazaridis (Jay Baruchel) and his boisterous, morale-boosting BFF, Doug Fregin (Johnson). They’ve made a breakthrough: a product combining a cellphone, email device, and pager all-in-one.

Mike, Doug, and their team are passionate and exude a sense of innocence, separated from the gloom of corporate bureaucracy. Their cluttered office, full of nerds whose technical skills are matched only by their knowledge of all things movies and video games, is lively and laid-back, but they lack the “marketing expertise” (and maybe the maturity) necessary to make a name for themselves. They remain millions of dollars in debt due to a terminated contract for a modem they constructed.

Fortunately, or unfortunately, they attract the attention of corporate shark Jim Balsillie (Glenn Howerton, of “It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia” fame), freshly fired from a company that Mike and Doug clumsily pitched to. Jim sells himself as someone who could make their product (originally called the “Pocketlink”) a best seller, if he gets 50% of the company, he’s made co-CEO, and they change its name.

Mike hires him (much to Doug’s disapproval), and Jim helps launch their company into the stratosphere, leaving scruples firmly in the dust. With a vicious ego, penchant for manipulation, and aggressive marketing instincts, Jim’s “help” proves to be a blessing and a curse, as BlackBerry emerges as the world’s first smartphone and essentially changes the lives of everyone on the planet.

This image released by IFC Films shows actor and director Matt Johnson on the set of “BlackBerry.” (IFC Films via AP)

With strong performances, kinetic direction, and a screenplay that masterfully balances hilarity and wistful sorrow, “BlackBerry” is a timely story of dreams, greed, repercussions, and fractured relationships. Johnson’s film isn’t merely a eulogy for a company slain by progress, but a harsh reminder of the risks intermingled with success, and what can be lost in the pursuit of greatness.

“BlackBerry” begins as a droll comedy, as Mike and Doug — two instantly likable dudes — bumble around trying to get their initial product off the ground. Mike is non-assertive and mild-mannered, a perfectionist who’s more focused on the minutiae of the products themselves than handling business dealings with investors. Similarly, the headband-wearing Doug is a lovable goofball, just as concerned with weekly office movie nights as meeting deadlines.

Johnson mines Mike and Doug’s “ineptitude” (which could also be viewed as happy-go-lucky purity) to deliciously comedic effect. Cinematographer Jared Raab’s camera captures the action with jittery, fly-on-the-wall framing that zeroes in on awkward pauses and cringe comedy, particularly in juxtaposing their amiability with Jim, who slings a never-ending supply of expletives that Howerton delivers with scenery-chewing delight. Jay McCarrol’s pulsating electronic score accentuates moments of panic among the team, at one point mirroring Mike’s increasing heart rates to memorable effect. 

Jim has a lot at stake, gambling his mortgage to pay RIM’s employees, and “BlackBerry” emphasizes the ways his dogged, aggressive approach benefits the company and zaps the humanity, camaraderie, and playfulness that was critical to the team’s dynamic. Jim’s more concerned with his own “status” than that of BlackBerry itself, willing to browbeat employees and yell nonstop to get what he wants (including, for example, owning part of the NHL — he is Canadian, after all). The vast collection of masks in his office reflect the elaborate performance he’s putting on to ensure his credibility.

Without dumbing down the technical side of things, the screenplay (by Johnson and Matthew Miller) mines comedic gold out of juxtaposing Jim’s monstrousness with Mike and Doug’s far different approaches to life and work, while also focusing on the small-scale connections (forged and broken) that form the backbone of BlackBerry’s tragic story. Indeed, it’s interesting to learn about Mike’s innovations and Jim’s promotional expertise, resulting in BlackBerry at one point owning 45% of the cellphone market. Johnson’s film, however, makes a lasting impact through its focus on the people at its center, and the personal fallout that can result from sky-high success.

Baruchel expertly embodies Mike’s innocence and gradual de-evolution: a person who’s instantly endearing, yet swept up in his own hubris and competitiveness as the company grows and is eventually derailed by the release of the iPhone. Mike’s timidity is replaced by sternness, leading to saddening moments of conflict with Doug, to whom Johnson brings a warmth that’s extinguished by others’ greed and lack of integrity.

Howerton is the standout by far, though, bringing to life a real piece of work that’s never less than entertaining to watch, even when wincing at his wildly over-the-top outbursts and financial dealings that (hopefully, at least) will come back to bite him in the ass. Michael Ironside, Saul Rubinek, Cary Elwes, Rich Sommer, and SungWon Cho make the most of small-yet-notable supporting roles. 

“BlackBerry” unfolds at a brisk pace, presenting a ground-level view of the team’s growth and decline that doesn’t paint its central players in black-and-white absolutes. If there’s a true villain in “BlackBerry,” it’s the capitalistic system that drives people like Mike over-the-edge, rewards cutthroat competitiveness above attention to detail, and saps compassion from even the most good-natured souls. 

This isn’t necessarily a “new” message, mind you, but Johnson’s film (far more so than the other crop of brand-focused films “Air” and “Tetris”) is a slyly powerful meditation on creativity and teamwork by its disheartening conclusion. Knowing what happens from the outset lessens suspense to a certain degree, but there’s still a dark thrill in seeing personal values ebb and flow as proceedings get increasingly out of control, and whether or not consequences are wrought upon the appropriate parties. This renders the rushed dénoument somewhat anticlimactic, revealing information through text that would have been compelling to watch through Johnson’s lens instead.

“BlackBerry” remains a gripping watch all the same, an empathetic view into the thorny weeds of business, and a cautionary tale about the human condition.

Jay Baruchel as Mike Lazaridis in “BlackBerry”

“BlackBerry” is a 2023 comedy-drama-biopic directed by Matt Johnson and starring Johnson, Jay Baruchel, Glenn Howerton, Rich Sommer, Cary Elwes, Saul Rubinek, SungWon Cho, and Michael Ironside. It is rated R for language throughout and run time is 2 hours. It opened in theatres May 12. Alex’s Grade: A-.

‘Showing Up’ Is a Beautiful Tribute to Art and Life

‘Showing Up’ Is a Beautiful Tribute to Art and Life

By Alex McPherson

A gentle, tender exploration of art, creativity, and life’s winding, surprising journey, director Kelly Reichardt’s “Showing Up” reveals poignant truths through its small-scale yet meaningful narrative.

Reichardt’s film centers on the anxious, non-assertive, and perpetually fatigued Lizzy (Michelle Williams), an artist struggling to make a name for herself in Portland and preparing for an upcoming show. She would much rather immerse herself in her (somewhat tortured-looking) clay sculptures than deal with the messy distractions of other human beings, much less endure the dull grind of making enough money to pay rent.

She works as an administrative assistant at the Oregon College of Art and Craft — facilitating promotion of other, more successful artists — where her mother, Jean (Maryann Plunkett), is the artistic director. This furthers Lizzy’s low self-esteem and makes asking for a vacation day quite uncomfortable. With her slumped shoulders and exhausted, stand-offish demeanor, Lizzy stands apart from students who exuberantly indulge in their creative callings on campus, especially those doing interpretive dance in full, glorious view.

Her neighbor/friend/landlord, Jo (Hong Chau) — a comparatively outgoing, popular, successful artist herself, with two upcoming art shows— hasn’t resolved Lizzy’s non-working hot water heater, adding yet another layer of annoyance for the quietly resentful Lizzy to contend with. Plus, a few nights before her big show, Lizzy is woken up in the middle of the night by a pigeon who’s wandered into her apartment and been attacked by her cat. After Lizzy leaves the pigeon outside post cat-attack, Jo, of course, bandages it up, and entrusts it in Lizzy’s care. 

Along with that, there’s her father, Bill (Judd Hirsch), a retired artist himself who lets two ne’er do well drifters crash at his place, and her brother Sean (a scene-stealing John Magaro), who Jean describes as the artistic “genius” of the family, and whose turbulent mental health weighs heavily on Lizzy’s mind. 

It’s all a lot for Lizzy to juggle as she prepares to present her work, but Reichardt doesn’t indulge in heightened melodrama. “Showing Up,” with its breezy yet thoughtful rhythms, reflects the power of art as self-expression, as an all-consuming force, and as a means of bringing people together; of how small acts of compassion yield surprising returns, and how life itself, like Lizzy’s malleable sculptures, remains beautiful through its imperfections. Moments of connection show up in the most unexpected places.

With all these themes, “Showing Up” would seem at first glance to be a very busy movie. Under Reichardt’s patient direction, though, the film effectively brings us into Lizzy’s world and illuminates the complex connections that both create distance and bring us together. Similar to her previous masterpiece, “First Cow,” Reichardt gives scenes plenty of time to breathe, letting us sit with Lizzy’s discontent, appreciate art of all forms, and watch a story unfold that doesn’t force-feed viewers answers or wrap everything up neatly in a bow. 

Reichardt and screenwriter Jonathan Raymond thrive within the nuances of characters’ interactions — the minimalism reveals multitudes about the characters, trusting viewers to put the pieces together themselves and recognize evolution in characters’ arcs that doesn’t feel over-the-top and sensationalized, but beautifully human.

Complemented by an excellent ensemble that’s perfectly in-tune with the film’s low-key vibes and an efficient style that encourages looking beneath the surface (enhanced by Ethan Rose’s serene, flute-based score), the film has a power that percolates upon further reflection — so long as viewers are willing to adapt to its measured pacing and lack of traditionally “dramatic” moments. 

Indeed, “Showing Up” takes ample time observing Lizzy slowly but surely unlocking her compassion towards others and the world in general, while providing a grounded look at artists-at-work. One sequence, for example, sees Lizzy rearranging the arms on one of her sculptures, which were originally made by artist Cynthia Lahti; cinematographer Christopher Blauvelt’s camera sits over her shoulder for an extended long-take, with only the intermittent “coo-coo” from the pigeon to accompany her. It’s both a quiet, drawn-out scene, and one where so much happens internally, if we’re game to put ourselves in Lizzy’s shoes.

Creating art is Lizzy’s preferred way of communicating with the world, and “Showing Up” illustrates how her lifestyle is both rewarding and barely sustainable. Her passion and persistence are often at odds with the rigid expectations of adulthood and personal challenges by those who, at least initially, let her down at critical moments. The aforementioned pigeon, which Lizzy first cares for out of a sense of guilt, is partly responsible for the erosion of her cynicism and reservedness; she finds some solace and relatability to this often-ignored animal in need.

Although the pigeon’s symbolism could be heavy-handed under a less-skilled storyteller, Reichardt’s approach remains neither overplayed nor maudlin. Lizzy’s bond with the bird, as well as her troubled, paranoid brother Sean; her stubborn yet caring parents; and Jo, a close friend whom she also harbors jealousy towards, point to an overarching message: the small acts of kindness and thoughtfulness Lizzy takes towards them (showing up, in other words), and vice-versa, ultimately make all the difference, inspiring hope for a new day of possibilities.

Williams is outstanding here — bringing to life Lizzy’s malaise and emotional growth in a manner that never feels overstated, rather embracing intricacies and minutiae of body language, not unlike the sculptures Lizzy so meticulously puts together. Chau is similarly exceptional as Jo, radiating enthusiasm for her craft and frustration through her flakiness and laissez-faire mindset regarding her responsibilities as a landlord.

Hirsch is charming as Lizzy’s father (with old man jokes to spare), and Magaro stands out as Sean, bringing true pathos and melancholy to his amusingly deadpan comments. André Benjamin is excellent as a laid-back kiln operator, possessing a warmth and nonjudgmental attitude contrasting Lizzy’s high-strung demeanor and the obsessive attention she puts toward her sculptures.

“Showing Up,” alas, will likely alienate viewers refusing to dig into the small-scale yet potent canvas that Reichardt lays before us. The film’s style occasionally lets scenes drag on just a beat too long, and the film requires some leg-work to untangle the threads of its deceptively straightforward narrative. For me, however, “Showing Up” is one of 2023’s strongest efforts yet — a life-affirming film that’ll only grow stronger with time.

“Showing Up” is a 2023 comedy-drama directed by Kelly Reichardt and starring Michelle Williams, Hong Chau, Judd Hirsch, John Magaro, Andre Benjamin and Maryann Plunkett. It is rated R for brief graphic nudity and runtime is 1 hour, 47 minutes. It opened in select theatres April 28. Alex’s Grade: A.

‘Beau Is Afraid’ Is Challenging, Vicious Swing for the Fences

‘Beau Is Afraid’ Is Challenging, Vicious Swing for the Fences

By Alex McPherson

An imaginatively sadistic plunge into a tortured psyche, Ari Aster’s “Beau Is Afraid” is a grueling watch, but one that’ll wind up impossible to forget, for better and worse.

The film unfolds through the eyes of Beau Wassermann (Joaquin Phoenix), a middle-aged man-child with near-paralyzing guilt and anxiety stemming from Mommy Issues. He lives in a run-down apartment within a city overrun with crime and squalor. Onlookers livestream a suicide attempt; a dead body is left in the street for days on end; a psycho known as “Birthday Boy Stab Man” lives up to his namesake; lewd graffiti adorns any available wall; Beau’s elevator practically catches fire anytime it’s used; a Brown Recluse spider roams inside Beau’s apartment building (the list goes on and on… and on, reveling in bad taste and reactionary fears). It’s an urban hellscape straight out of a conservative’s nightmares. And oh, that naked man gouging someone’s eyes out across the street? He’ll come for you next, especially if you’re unlucky enough to be Beau.

Portrayed with sadness and numbed passivity by Phoenix, who looks beaten down by the “reality” that surrounds him, Beau is supposed to visit his business-titan mother, Mona (played in the present-day by Patti LuPone and by Zoe Lister-Jones in flashbacks), on the anniversary of his father’s death. It’s clear, however, that there’s tension between them, driven home by Mona’s palpable passive-aggressiveness to Beau’s timidity on the phone. After posing the question of whether Beau ever feels the urge to kill his mother, Beau’s therapist (Stephen McKinley Henderson), prescribes Beau a “cool new drug” to calm his nerves — stating that it must be taken with water, or else.

Through a Rube-Goldbergian chain of events involving sudden tragedy, lost house keys, and plenty of bloodshed, a butt-naked Beau is hit by a car driven by suburban couple Grace (Amy Ryan) and Roger (a hilarious Nathan Lane), who care a bit too much and nurse him back to health in their daughter’s bedroom, much to the daughter’s chagrin. Nothing’s ever easy for poor Beau, and proceedings only get crazier from there. Pressure mounts for Beau to return to Mona as soon as possible, or, at least, for him to “grow up” in a world that aggressively resents his existence, all while we viewers watch him suffer for our entertainment.

Indeed, Aster’s latest passion project is a nerve-wracking, visually inventive, and strangely repetitive piece of work. It’s full of his usual flair for the grotesque presented in vivid detail, but self-indulgent to a fault, as seeing the world through the eyes of a person so profoundly unstable for three hours becomes an endurance test. 

“Beau Is Afraid” isn’t a “horror” film likes Aster’s previous efforts (including “Hereditary” and the masterful “Midsommar”), but there’s plenty of nightmare fuel on display, dressing up its shocking sights and sounds as pitch-black comedy where the ultimate punchline is the loss of hope. We’re all just passive observers, watching Beau undergo numerous trials as an inverted hero’s journey where his trauma is an all-encompassing prison that informs his every waking moment. 

And whew boy, does “Beau Is Afraid” lean into trippiness. Like his other films, Aster takes full advantage of the medium’s stylistic possibilities to make “Beau Is Afraid” a disorienting experience. Scenes progress with a twisted dream logic. A turn of the head can launch Beau into a different time and place, and heinous acts of callousness take place in the background, treated with the absolute driest of deadpan humor. An encounter with a wandering theater troupe seemingly predicts Beau’s possible future, transitioning the film into an extended animated segment straight out of a messed-up storybook, and specific childhood memories come crashing into the present at random intervals — intrusive thoughts that Beau’s mind is trying to make sense of, to no avail.

Pawel Pogorzelski’s cinematography frames the absurdity with unflinching precision, using long takes that let the craziness simmer, if not be processed in a timely manner. The film’s sound design is also outstanding, amplifying sources of Beau’s fear and occasionally rendering voices like hissing daggers piercing sides of the screen.

Whether or not the film’s satirical, phantasmagorical imagery is taking place in the “real world” or not isn’t the point — “Beau Is Afraid” is uncompromisingly framed through Beau’s eyes, as we witness his every fear and anxious thought manifested in his moment-to-moment experiences; informed by a narcissistic parent whose overprotectiveness and blatant manipulation has left him being a vulnerable punching-bag in a world rife with cruelty, both at micro and macro scales.

So, yes, “Beau Is Afraid” is worth watching in a theater if possible. Story-wise, though, it’s a more complicated beast, largely boiling down to Beau’s lack of agency and Aster’s refusal to provide catharsis. Phoenix is typically great in the role, but Beau isn’t the sort of individual who undergoes much of a traditional arc during the runtime, which makes his terror-stricken reactions and fever-pitched paranoia redundant after a while. We want him to change, to stand up for himself, but “Beau Is Afraid” doesn’t care, and as much as the film engages stylistically, it ends up bloated and unwieldy. This is especially true of the third act, which piles on reveals and even more ghoulishness that, by that point, doesn’t hit with much force thanks to the relentless, numbing happenings preceding them. 

Perhaps Aster’s making the point that Beau’s trauma is inescapable — turning the camera back at us to point out how we’re indulging in his travails; the screen on which we view the film itself reflects Beau’s lack of freedom from his mother. There’s no solace or comfort in Beau’s reality, and, in a sense, within Aster’s film overall. 

“Beau Is Afraid” is a difficult film to grade as a result — the tedium is intentional, driving its points home with oppressive force and leaving plenty of doors open to additional interpretation (such as the power corporations have over daily life). It’s just that in the process of conveying these themes, Aster tells a bitterly cynical yarn that leans into mercilessness and fatalism over telling a satisfying, compelling narrative in itself. Three hours is too long for such an ordeal, and “Beau Is Afraid” forgets to put as much care into its characters as the funhouse of chaos it puts them in.

All of this combines to make “Beau is Afraid” Aster’s weakest film to date. Regardless, you’ve never seen anything truly like it before: a gargantuan swing for the fences that should be commended for its confidence and bravado alone.

“Beau Is Afraid” is a 2023 horror comedy directed by Ari Aster and starring Joaquin Phoenix, Patti LuPone, Zoe Lister-Jones, Amy Ryan, Nathan Lane, and Stephen McKinley Henderson. It is rated R for strong violent content, sexual content, graphic nudity, drug use, and language, and the runtime is 179 minutes. It opened in theaters April 21. Alex’s Grade: B.

‘Renfield’ Is Intriguing Concept Needing Sharper Fangs

‘Renfield’ Is Intriguing Concept Needing Sharper Fangs

By Alex McPherson

Despite an entertainingly unhinged performance from Nicolas Cage and some impressive kills, director Chris McKay’s “Renfield” is a horror-action-comedy hybrid full of unexplored potential.

Positioned as a quasi-sequel to Tod Browning’s 1931 “Dracula,” “Renfield” begins with a black-and-white prologue introducing us to the story’s characters, creatively inserting Cage and Nicholas Hoult into footage from the original film.

In the present day, R. M. Renfield (Hoult) is caring for his decaying master, Dracula (Cage), in a creepy New Orleans hotel after skilled vampire hunters nearly kill him 90 years prior. Renfield, given powers through consuming insects instead of blood, is Dracula’s “familiar.”

This involves him looking after the Count and retrieving victims. Renfield’s not a monster, though — he targets “bad” folks to bring back — and attends a support group for people in codependent relationships to track down their tormentors for fresh blood. But Renfield’s quite unhappy, guilted and threatened into continued servitude by his narcissistic manipulator, who seeks world domination.

On one of his errands, Renfield has a run-in with Teddy Lobo (Ben Schwartz), a chatterbox enforcer and member of the Lobo crime family, led by his mother Bella-Francesca (Shohreh Aghdashloo), which has ties all over New Orleans and immunity from local police.

Well, everyone except Rebecca Quincy (Awkwafina), an exasperated traffic cop whose father, also a policeman, was gunned down by the Lobos. She seeks justice and revenge, as coworkers and her FBI-agent sister, Kate (Camille Chen), do little to support her. Before long, Renfield and Rebecca cross paths, teaming up to take down the Lobos and Dracula — developing a will-they-won’t-they relationship as each gathers courage to confront their demons.

Fumbling opportunities to be a clever look at codependency and overcoming (literal and figurative) demons, “Renfield” ultimately needs more meat on its bones. The cast is game, the gore is flowing, but pacing is erratic, editing is imprecise, and the script (by Ryan Ridley, from an idea by Robert Kirkman) doesn’t have the guts to go all-in on the concept, leaving a more promising story tantalizingly out of reach.

That’s not to say there’s not fun to be had, particularly regarding Cage and Hoult’s performances. Cage was practically born to play Dracula, and he delivers, providing a satisfying mixture of his characteristic craziness with deadpan wit and, crucially, menace when proceedings call for it.

“Renfield” provides another vehicle for him to flex his chops — aided by masterfully gross makeup effects that at one point see him bully the titular lad while resembling a mangled sack of meat not unlike the Nazis at the end of “Raiders of the Lost Ark.” 

Hoult as Renfield is similarly well-cast, bringing an anxious, sad-sack energy to the film that’s simultaneously quite funny and, in some scenes, poignant, as we witness his (exceedingly rushed) arc towards empowerment. When he’s not engaging in splatterific brawls (one featuring newly removed arms being used as weapons), Hoult brings real pathos to scenes where Dracula berates and mistreats him.

In one memorable sequence, Renfield fruitlessly tries to stand up for himself while reciting lines from a self-help book. The Count laughs and dismisses his arguments with a mocking mean-spiritedness that feels oddly grounded in reality, posturing that “Renfield” aims to be higher-brow than it actually is.

Indeed, the film’s 93-minute runtime and tacked-on subplots limit the development of this central dynamic, which begins as the film’s main focus, but abandons any and all complexity by the finale.

Additionally, “Renfield” clearly tries to paint parallels between Renfield and Rebecca overcoming adversity, but neither are given enough time to leave an impact. Awkwafina is perfectly fine, having serviceable chemistry with Hoult, but she and the rest of the ensemble can only do so much with obvious, reference-heavy humor that lacks wit or surprise — with the exception of the support group, who provide most of the film’s twisted laughs.

The Rebecca/Lobo subplot does, at least, provide opportunities for over-the-top action sequences, which deliver amusing slapstick comedy. “Renfield” won’t disappoint gore-hounds with its abundance of decapitations, impalings, and other fateful excesses, accompanied by fountains of (fake-looking) blood.

If only the film’s cinematography and editing gave more clarity to the carnage; quick cuts and overuse of slow-motion distract from the choreography. More broadly, this imprecision extends to dialogue-heavy scenes, too. The rushed pacing leads to oddly cut sequences sans rhythm or flair — a disappointment, given the detailed production design and capable cast.

We’re left with a fun-enough, though unfortunately generic, experience that plays like an R-rated Saturday morning cartoon. Perhaps that’s acceptable, but “Renfield” dulls its promising conceit into something with considerably less bite.

“Renfield” is a 2023 horror comedy directed by Chris McKay and starring Nicolas Cage, Nicholas Hoult, Ben Schwartz, Awkwafina, Shohreh Aghdashloo, and Camille Chen. It is Rated R for bloody violence, some gore, language throughout and some drug use, and the runtime is 93 minutes. It opened in theatres April 14. Alex’s Grade: B-.   

‘How to Blow Up a Pipeline’ A Gripping Yet Frustrating Climate Thriller

‘How to Blow Up a Pipeline’ A Gripping Yet Frustrating Climate Thriller

“How to Blow Up a Pipeline” Movie Review — A Gripping Yet Frustrating Climate Change Thriller

An urgent call to action, director Daniel Goldhaber’s “How to Blow Up a Pipeline” is riveting, nail-biting, and heavily streamlined — impossible to look away from but not taking full advantage of its narrative potential.

Inspired by the 2021 nonfiction book of the same name by Andreas Malm — an eco-manifesto arguing for sabotage as a form of climate activism and critiquing pacifist protest — Goldhaber’s film presents a fictionalized dramatization of Malm’s thesis. In the film, a group of rebellious, righteous, mostly Gen-Z characters from across the U.S. attempt to blow up an oil pipeline in West Texas. 

Each of them is personally affected by climate change and the oil industry. Xochitl (Ariela Barer), the de facto leader of the group, is mourning her mother who died during a heat wave. Theo (Sasha Lane) suffers from a rare form of leukemia caused by environmental pollution. She’s joined by her girlfriend, Alisha (Jayme Lawson), who’s committed to the cause and supportive of Theo’s ideals, yet fearful of the repercussions.

There’s Shawn (Marcus Scribner), a filmmaker’s assistant wanting to make a tangible impact on the world; the severe Michael (Forrest Goodluck), an amateur bomb maker enraged that his home in North Dakota has been taken over by oil workers; and Dwayne (Jake Weary), a Texas local whose land has been encroached on by the pipeline. They’re joined by the grungy couple Rowan (Kristine Froseth) and Logan (Lukas Gage), unruly souls wanting to fight the system and take plenty of drugs along the way.

With a tight, 99-minute runtime, Goldhaber and co. never let the film’s stranglehold grip subside, keeping suspense dialed up to 11 throughout. Complemented by lived-in performances, immersive cinematography, a no-frills structure, and Gavin Brivik’s panic-inducing score, “Pipeline” raises important questions about a real threat against humanity and what can be done to combat it. Goldhaber’s film, however, functions better as a set of ideas (vividly brought to life) than a traditional narrative. Simplified characterizations and a rushed dénoument hold it back from digging into its topics on a deeper level. 

Despite its limitations, “Pipeline” is marvelously watchable: presented with fly-on-the-wall immediacy that consistently presents new hurdles for the team to overcome. Cinematographer Tehillah De Castro uses swirling long takes, ‘70’s-esque zooms, and intense close-ups, captured in 16 mm, to convey ratcheting stress amid stinging sand and dripping sweat. Shots positioning characters against backdrops of oil refineries (reminiscent of fire-spewing beasts) are particularly evocative.

Combined with Brivik’s whirring, electronic-infused score, stellar sound design amplifying elements including each “click” of Michael’s bomb-making materials, the hair-raising thud of an improvised explosive being lugged into position, or a rope beginning to fray, “Pipeline” is rarely less than intense. Each sequence is presented with a grounded, lower-budget style that doesn’t feel overly sensationalized or polished, in keeping with the characters’ guerilla tactics. 

The film’s structure is similarly stripped-down, with both benefits and drawbacks. Goldhaber and co. break up the action — often right before or after moments of peril — to provide one-or-two-scene backgrounds to each person, occasionally revealing (somewhat contrived) plot twists. Although this approach maintains momentum, it sets up cliff-hanger scenarios frustratingly interrupted by backstory, prompting a manipulative cycle of anticipation and release as we’re abruptly zapped back-and-forth in time at pivotal junctions. 

This structural “efficiency” also creates emotional distance. Indeed, “Pipeline” tries to check a wide swath of motivational boxes with its characters — they are symbols rather than three-dimensional human beings. They’re painted in broad strokes, packaged with heavy-handed dialogue lacking textured insight. 

Unlike other “heist” films, there are no experts to be found here, only passionate, somewhat impulsive people eager to take direct action against an issue that threatens their future, regardless of consequences. It’s a shame, then, that “Pipeline” doesn’t treat them with the depth they deserve, especially Shawn, who isn’t as overtly impacted by the oil industry, but feels a need to act anyway. His perspective and arc, given less obvious motivation than Xochitl or Theo, is comparably surface level.

The ensemble is ever-watchable as they nonverbally manifest inner drives and mounting nervousness — Goodluck and Weary stand out with their reserved roles; Michael and Dwayne simmer with pent-up rage — but in attempting to remain a piece of propulsive entertainment, the film isn’t really focused on who they are as people, or what the aftermath of their decisions entails. “Pipeline” centers the titular act itself over the people involved — sparking a conversation about what tactics are “ethical” to confront existential issues when people in power refuse to act, but simultaneously shrouding its actors behind an ideological curtain.

It’s saying a lot that, despite all these issues, “Pipeline” remains an absorbing watch. Goldhaber is a talented director with a clear point of view and formal skill, albeit one grasping, and falling short, of achieving a more radical, involving story for our times.

“How to Blow Up a Pipeline” is a 2022 drama-crime-thriller directed by Daniel Goldhaber and starring Forrest Goodluck, Jake Weary, Ariela Barer, Jayme Lawson and Sasha Lane. It is rated R for language throughout and some drug use and the runtime is 1 hour and 43 minutes. The movie opens in theaters April 14. Alex’s Rating: B.