‘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.

‘Super Mario Bros. Movie’ Is a Fun, High Scoring Love Letter to Franchise

‘Super Mario Bros. Movie’ Is a Fun, High Scoring Love Letter to Franchise

By Alex McPherson

A heart-warming and speedily paced adventure that respects its source material, “The Super Mario Bros. Movie” succeeds as enjoyable, family-friendly entertainment, elevated by a committed ensemble and the directors’ understanding of the franchise’s expansive possibilities.

Quirky, inseparable brothers Mario (Chris Pratt) and Luigi (Charlie Day) operate a newly opened plumbing business in Brooklyn, trying to make a name for themselves and live up to the expectations of their judgmental father (Charles Martinet). After a hilariously unfortunate incident on their first job involving a pissed-off pooch and explosive collateral damage, the brothers decide to prove themselves by attempting to fix a sewer issue that is wreaking havoc on the populace above. 

Alas, this doesn’t go according to plan. Mario and Luigi are sucked via a “warp pipe” into the vibrant, fittingly nonsensical Mushroom Kingdom. Luigi is separated en route and sent tumbling towards the malevolent domain of King Bowser (Jack Black), who has just acquired the all-powerful “Super Star,” seeking to rule the world with his army of Koopas, Goombas, Bullet Bills, and Boos (am I getting all that right?). Bowser also wants to marry Princess Peach (Anya Taylor-Joy), a fearless leader commanding a legion of cutesy Mushroom people.

Thrown into this colorful universe of floating boxes, edible powerups, and traversable pipes out the wazoo, Mario is determined to rescue his dear brother. He eventually teams up with Peach, Toad (Keegan Michael-Key), Donkey Kong (Seth Rogen), and others to save the Kingdom and, as always, leave the door open for future sequel films. To combat Bowser, Mario must be brave, cooperative, and persistent. He can’t let other’s negative perceptions of his capabilities affect him because, by golly, this lovable plumber has to find his brother. 

Indeed, “The Super Mario Bros. Movie” isn’t trying to be high art or tell a dramatically impactful story. This is a whimsical, action-packed, fast-moving, easter egg-filled watch. It falls victim to generic clichés from time to time, but maintains a lively sense of fun from start to finish. Directors Aaron Horvath and Michael Jelenic don’t overdose on nostalgia or low-brow humor — crafting a film that isn’t groundbreaking by any stretch, yet one that put a bounce in my step leaving the theater.

First, let’s address the elephant in the room. Much has been debated about Pratt taking on the role, but it turns out the toxicity was unwarranted. As the lead, Pratt is perfectly fine and inoffensive, using a slightly naturalistic tinge to Mario’s traditional accent that allows for range and doesn’t distract from the experience itself. His generally more grounded delivery (apart from moments of terror where he yells “Mamma Mia!” in extravagant fashion) works well with the fish-out-of-water narrative, letting the wacky supporting characters stretch their wings and lean into the absurdity. 

Day is excellent as Luigi, albeit sidelined for a good portion of the runtime. He and Pratt have satisfying chemistry, and the screenplay (by Matthew Fogel) foregrounds their sense of brotherly love, giving “The Super Mario Bros Movie” an emotional throughline. This element could have been strengthened by a few additional scenes showing their background together, but there’s enough there to latch onto, and a handful of genuinely poignant moments sprinkled throughout to supplement the zanier ones.

Taylor-Joy brings characteristic dignity to Peach, despite some eye-rolling dialogue regarding her budding romance with Mario and heavy-handed, though welcome, pivot towards empowerment. Peach certainly doesn’t need “saving” this time around. Michael-Key showcases his usual great comedic timing, and Rogen (with his instantly recognizable laugh) is a hoot, selling Kong’s impulsiveness, goofiness, and insecurity. The real star of the film, though, is Black, who imbues Bowser with a deranged, unpredictable, entitled rage — especially apparent in a couple of over-the-top musical numbers, with Black belting out ridiculous lyrics with his whole heart. It’s both amusing and somewhat off-putting — perfect for a nefarious villain.

The film’s visuals, as expected from Illumination, are dazzling: bright, crisp, and filled with minute details that fans of the games will eat up — not aiming for realism in any sense and all the better for it. From far-reaching vistas of giant, candy-colored mushrooms, to a floating castle scorched by fire, and a road/race track on a rainbow, “The Super Mario Bros. Movie” quickly ferries viewers through various locales, never stopping long to smell the roses. Directors Horvath and Jelenic pack in as much as they can during the 92-minute runtime, which remains a blessing and a curse; the film moves too fast for its own good, shepherding viewers at a clip that proves draining by the finale.

The film’s cinematography creatively emulates the games’ style, too, recreating iconic left-to-right platforming, brawls, and surprisingly violent vehicular carnage with camerawork that glides through the craziness, crisply presenting the action from characters’ perspectives. Similarly, Brian Tyler’s score effectively reworks familiar Mario tracks to accentuate pivotal moments. 

While still a bit top-heavy on slapstick comedy, the film’s self-aware humor mostly lands, maintaining a sense of good-naturedness (with one enjoyably nihilistic exception that I won’t spoil) that should please youngsters and prompt occasional giggles from older folks. Gamers who grew up with the characters are sure to get a kick out of certain sequences, such as a power-up-filled face-off between Mario and Donkey Kong. 

“The Super Mario Bros. Movie” falls prey to sensory overload in the last act — becoming numbing and predictable amid the destruction — and the film’s pervasive ‘80s needle drops are a strange, tired choice, but the film wholeheartedly succeeds where it counts. Initial skepticism aside, it’s surprisingly engaging, and, after HBO’s “The Last of Us,” another example of a video game adaptation done right.

“The Super Mario Bros. Movie” is a 2023 animated comedy-fantasy directed by Aaron Horvath and Michael Jelenic and starring Chris Pratt, Charlie Day, Seth Rogen, Jack Black, Charles Martinet, Anya Taylor-Joy and Keegan-Michael Key. The run time is 92 minutes and it is Rated PG for action and mild violence. It opened in theaters April 5. Alex’s Grade: B

‘John Wick: Chapter 4’ Is A Stunning, Emotional Spectacle

‘John Wick: Chapter 4’ Is A Stunning, Emotional Spectacle

An action extravaganza delivering unforgettable set pieces while adding more layers to its damaged protagonist, director Chad Stahelski’s “John Wick: Chapter 4” is a masterclass in balletic bloodletting that rivals the likes of “The Raid: Redemption.”

Continuing the story from 2018’s “Parabellum,” “Chapter 4” sees our titular gun-fu master recovering after being “rescued” by the charismatic and street-smart Winston (Ian McShane), one of his comrades and manager of the iconic New York Continental hotel (a safe harbor for assassins, so long as they stay in line): that is, being shot in his bullet-proof suit by Winston, falling off a building, and tumbling to the ground with only an awning to lessen the impact. That’s life in the Wick universe, and believe me, there’s plenty more falls to be taken this go around. 

With the help of The Bowery King (Laurence Fishburne, relishing his over-the-top dialogue), an underground crime boss and ally, John sets his sights on the all-powerful “High Table” — an international network of contract killers and pompous overlords dressing up savagery in finely tailored suits. They’re governed by strict rules based around golden coins, blood oaths, and age-old traditions — ignored by traditional authorities and the general populace, possessing connections so deep that anyone could be a contract killer. Indeed, this “impossible task” is John’s most challenging yet.

Keanu Reeves as John Wick, a.k.a The Baba Yaga. Courtesy of Lionsgate.

After John executes a key figure of the High Table, they enlist the help of the Marquis Vincent de Gramont (Bill Skarsgård) — a ruthless, egotistical yet insecure enforcer with a questionable French accent. He brings Caine (Donnie Yen), a blind assassin and former friend of John, reluctantly out of retirement to kill the titular ass-kicker once and for all, or else risk his daughter’s death. A haughty tracker named Mr. Nobody (Shamier Anderson), accompanied by a trusty German Shepherd, is also on the prowl, waiting until the bounty on John’s head is high enough, creating further wrinkles for John and the Marquis to iron out. Osaka Continental manager and master swordsman Shimazu Koji (Hiroyuki Sanada), his equally capable daughter Akira (Rina Sawayama), and the aptly named Killa (Scott Adkins), a darkly funny crime boss with golden front teeth, join the party in limited but memorable appearances — as does Lance Reddick as the concierge Charon, whose presence is felt deeply throughout. Reddick passed away earlier this month.

“Chapter 4” zeroes in on the fact that John leaves a path of destruction in his wake wherever he goes, as he begins to question whether the killing will ever cease, and if he’s doomed to forever exist in its shadow. His last-ditch push for liberation has progressed beyond mere revenge for a slain canine, becoming an all-out fight against his seemingly inescapable past — a battle that, in spite of his perseverance, stubborn unwillingness to give in, and sheer force of will, destroys more than it saves. 

Notwithstanding this decidedly darker tone than previous installments, however, it’s also just a hell of a lot of fun — nearly three hours of practically unbelievable stunt work, heavily stylized worldbuilding, and cinematic bliss. Some story quibbles aside, every element comes together to solidify “Chapter 4” as not only the best of the series, but one of the genre’s greatest in recent memory.

And oh, what marvelous carnage it is. Even more so than previous “Wick” films, Stahelski consistently ups the ante from sequence to sequence — expertly pacing the mayhem so as to not overwhelm viewers and presenting new variables for John to navigate. As John shoots, stabs, kicks, punches, slices, runs over, and nun-chucks his geared-up opponents, Dan Lausten’s smooth, energetic cinematography follows the performers with precision, unafraid to creatively shake things up to jaw-dropping effect. Traveling to such locales as Osaka, Berlin, and Paris (the setting for a three-act, against-the-clock extravaganza of top-shelf badassery and mythic symbolism), “Chapter 4” never overstays its welcome. 

John prepares to pummel a poor, unsuspecting goon. Courtesy of Lionsgate.

Scenes are bathed in vivid, neon hues: enhancing the lavish backdrops with evocative lighting that dances throughout each frame to complement combat so thrilling, and often laugh-out-loud funny (Caine has some hilarious tricks up his sleeve), that it’s an art form itself. Add to that a head-banging soundtrack from Tyler Bates and Joel J. Richard blending familiar themes with violently rhythmic bass, along with pitch-perfect needle drops, and “Chapter 4” is a stylistic treat.

Despite the extended runtime, “Chapter 4” gives viewers space to breathe, occasionally pumping the brakes to establish more pathos than other films in the series. The first hour or so, for example, largely turns the camera away from John himself — focusing on how the fallout from his vengeful actions have consequences for his friends and those unfortunate enough to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Caine, too, is facing a moral crossroads — brought back into the fold to protect the person he cares about most, mirroring the struggle John faced with his deceased wife, Helen, brought authentically to life by Yen’s multifaceted performance. All of this combines to make “Chapter 4” a much more melancholic watch than expected — packing all the cheer-worthy mayhem viewers want and expect, while giving everything more weight, and, crucially, tangible stakes. 

Reeves continues to dominate the role, though speaking less than in previous entries (which says a lot). It’s clear the acrobatics aren’t so easy for the aging actor to pull off anymore, but in a sense, this lends each punch thrown and received additional impact. Previous films have shown John getting beat up and persisting to come out on top, and “Chapter 4” is no exception — we see his increasing frustration and self-destructiveness as he determinedly demolishes his adversaries, perpetually gearing up for the next onslaught. There’s still plenty of cheesiness in his interactions, thankfully, which brings levity to even the plot’s grimmest stretches.

Alas, “Chapter 4” has some drawbacks. Shay Hatten and Michael Finch’s screenplay crackles with dark humor and is tastefully self-referential, not overloading on quips like a Marvel production. But a bit more subtlety could have benefited “Chapter 4,” particularly in how a certain big twist is telegraphed early on, and is repetitively force-fed to us until the end. An after-credits scene is similarly unnecessary, lessening the impact of narrative decisions made earlier.

This is still an incredible watch — essential for admirers of masterful filmmaking. Amid all the bone-crushing ultraviolence, “Chapter 4” has heart and soul, giving this iconic character another action spectacular for the ages.

Courtesy of Lionsgate.

John Wick: Chapter 4 is a 2023 action film directed by Chad Stahelski and starring Keanu Reeves, Donnie Yen, Bill Skarsgård, Laurence Fishburne, Ian McShane, Lance Reddick, Shamier Anderson, Hiroyuki Sanada, Rina Sawayama, and Scott Adkins. It is rated R for pervasive strong violence and some language. The runtime is 2 hours, 49 minutes. It opened in theaters March 24. Alex’s Grade: A-

‘Creed III’ Is Back for Another (Passable) Round

‘Creed III’ Is Back for Another (Passable) Round

By Alex McPherson

Ambitious but held back by genre conventions, Michael B. Jordan’s directorial debut “Creed III” features great performances and viscerally engaging boxing sequences, while sidelining its more thoughtful ideas to a fault.

Continuing the story of Adonis “Donnie” Creed (Jordan), the son of Rocky Balboa’s rival-turned-friend Apollo, “Creed III” sees our hero encountering ghosts from his past entering the literal and figurative arena. We begin with a flashback to 15-year-old Adonis (Thaddeus J. Mixson) sneaking out of his mother’s house to watch his best pal Damian Anderson (Spence Moore II) compete in a local Golden Gloves competition.

Damian, a boxing prodigy, dreams of one day becoming the world heavyweight champion. His hopes come to a screeching halt as Adonis starts an altercation with someone outside a liquor store. Damian is arrested in the ensuing scuffle, spending 20 grueling years behind bars, and Adonis gets away.

Seven years after the events of “Creed II,” Adonis announces his retirement from boxing to spend time with his wife, Bianca (Tessa Thompson), who’s now a music producer; his deaf daughter Amara (Mila Davis-Kent); and his adoptive mother, Mary-Anne (Phylicia Rashad).

A few years later, Adonis runs a boxing academy, training his new protégé, Felix Chavez (Jose Benavidez), for a title shot against Viktor Drago (Florian Munteanu), with the help of the gruff, wise Tony “Little Duke” Burton (Wood Harris). Sylvester Stallone’s Rocky, such a pivotal presence in the previous “Creed” films, is nowhere to be found.

Everything seems to be working out quite nicely for Adonis. He’s rich, with a happy family, and has secured his place among the boxing legends. What he isn’t ready for, regardless, is a reckoning with his past. Damian (a scene-stealing Jonathan Majors) shows up outside his gym unexpectedly, looking to make up for lost time. Adonis and Damian’s interactions are awkward, mixing flashes of their former camaraderie with creeping unease and resentment. Damian, as it turns out, isn’t so thrilled about Adonis’ success, and wants to finally realize his goals through whatever means necessary.

Adonis — bottling up feelings of guilt, trauma, and diminishing self-worth — must confront this symbol of his past and make peace with it for good. This involves an eventual heart-to-heart (or, rather, fist-to-face) in the place most conducive to resolving conflict: the boxing ring, in front of boatloads of rabid fans.

Indeed, for all of Jordan’s high-minded aspirations, “Creed III” ultimately plays it safe, pitting Adonis against a frustratingly limited antagonist reverting back to a predictable formula, and using its layered themes as window-dressing for seen-it-before spectacle. It’s still entertaining, though — delivering the bruising set-pieces, extravagant training montages, and reliably solid performances we expect, albeit not breaking free of tradition to deliver a KO.

As a directorial debut, “Creed III” is impressive, with Jordan competently helming the action and giving actors plenty of room to flex their chops. The boxing scenes themselves remain the highlight; cinematographer Kramer Morgenthau puts viewers right in the thick of it, giving each punch a tactile sting. Jordan also uses slow-motion to emphasize their raw impact and the considerations behind each jab, while being unafraid to take a more “artistic” approach in visualizing the boxers’ inner thoughts during climactic showdowns. The film gets quite brutal at times, leaving viewers with both feelings of cathartic excitement and, perhaps, a bit of exhaustion. 

Outside the ring, “Creed III” is far less stylish, with muted color grading and conventional framing of dialogue-heavy scenes, interspersing flashbacks to that fateful day in Adonis and Damian’s history. Joe Shirley’s score is chock-full of memorable tunes and recurring motifs, which help propel the proceedings along and lend even the less successful moments a distinct identity.

Jordan continues to shine as Adonis — depicting his range as a loving father, devoted husband, yet someone whose ego and sense of “masculinity” affects his willingness to be vulnerable. Despite his lavish home and outward appearance of strength and happiness, Adonis is battling self-doubt regarding his accomplishments, exacerbated by Damian’s re-emergence and subsequent manipulation.

Having already watched Adonis ascend through the boxing ranks and manage his father’s legacy (a central theme of the previous films), it’s interesting, in theory, to watch him grapple with his fame, and recognize just how easily it could have gone the other way — although this introspection leads (unsurprisingly) back to the blunt boxing ring, the ultimate mediator. Majors proves a worthy foil in Damian, bringing a jumpy, volatile energy ensuring him and Jordan are always engaging to watch interact onscreen, ignoring the script’s clunkiness.

Thompson gives characteristic gravitas to Bianca, who plays an ancillary role to Adonis’ arc but faces her own challenges; having progressive hearing loss, she’s had to stop her singing career. Davis-Kent (who’s deaf in real life) holds her own alongside Jordan, Thompson, and Majors — making the most out of a role that’s ultimately setting the stage for a “Creed” spinoff down the road.

The bulk of the film’s issues stem from the framing of Damian as an over-the-top adversary. Damian’s a damaged man, looking for retribution against his childhood friend: they grew up together, but he took a vastly different life path, largely due to chance. With this backstory, Damian should be easy to sympathize with, but “Creed III” too often sways to extremes — depicting Damian as a taunting and merciless individual who, at times, seems less like a flesh-and-blood human being than a “big bad” for our (flawed) lead to vanquish.

By the end, “Creed III” largely eschews the moral ambiguity that was initially so interesting to deliver the usual thrills and avoid deeper insight into both Damian and Adonis’ psyches; in the end, it lacks the emotion that might take it to another level. This isn’t necessarily a bad thing, but considering the talent involved and a premise begging for more depth, the cast deserves better — especially Majors, whose versatility as a performer isn’t fully capitalized on.

For most viewers, however, “Creed III” will suffice, if not exceed expectations. The fundamentals are all there, but this story could have used another bout of training.

“Creed III” is a 2023 sports action-drama directed by Michael B. Jordan and starring Jordan, Jonathan Majors, Tessa Thompson, Mila Kent-Davis and Wood Harris. It is Rated PG-13 for intense sports action, violence and some strong language and runtime 1 hour, 54 minutes. It opened in theaters March 3. Alex’s Grade: B-.


Michael B. Jordan as Adonis Creed

‘Cocaine Bear’ Messy and Thrilling As Chaotic B-Movie

‘Cocaine Bear’ Messy and Thrilling As Chaotic B-Movie

By Alex McPherson
A gnarly B-movie that’s both messy and thrilling, director Elizabeth Banks’ “Cocaine Bear” delivers on the chaotic fun promised by its title.

Set in 1985, the film — inspired from true, albeit far less “entertaining” events — begins with a crazed drug smuggler named Andrew C. Thornton II (Matthew Rhys) dumping a large shipment of blow over the Chattahoochee-Oconee National Forest to be retrieved later. The drugs are soon ingested by an American black bear, who, hyped up on the substance, embarks on a path of destruction, not letting anything get between her and the good-good.

When trying to parachute out of his plane, Andrew knocks himself unconscious on the doorframe and falls to his death in Knoxville, Tennessee. He’s then identified by a local policeman named Bob (Isaiah Whitlock Jr.), who links the drugs to a ruthless St. Louis kingpin named Syd White (Ray Liotta). Syd enlists his depressed son, Eddie (Alden Ehrenreich), who is mourning the loss of his wife, and his tough guy fixer, Daveed (O’Shea Jackson Jr.), to find the cocaine. They’re unaware that Bob’s on the trail, but, more importantly, unprepared for the cuddly carnivore that awaits them.

Meanwhile, the 12 year-old Dee Dee (Brooklyn Prince) and her best friend Henry (Christian Convery) skip school to paint a picture of a waterfall in the forest without telling her mother, Sari (Keri Russell). Before long, they find some bricks of cocaine, eat some of it (as one does), and wander into the vicinity of our titular bear. Sari, who happens to be a nurse, panics and goes out searching for them, accompanied by the raunchy, nonchalant Ranger Liz (Margo Martindale) and her tree-hugging crush, Peter (Jesse Tyler Ferguson), whose love of nature isn’t exactly reciprocated.

As these disparate groups converge, mama bear joins the party, not caring one iota about their petty human affairs — they are prime meat for the slaughter. Indeed, when the bear is unleashed to wreak gratuitously bloody havoc, Banks’ film shines: creature-feature-slasher as tar-black slapstick comedy. The human drama doesn’t hold up in comparison, but “Cocaine Bear” remains briskly paced and wholeheartedly committed to the bit during its 95-minute runtime, while maintaining an earnest streak through the bloodshed that, for all its awkwardness, fits the proceedings like a glove.

As expected, “Cocaine Bear” doesn’t aim for high-minded social commentary (no pun intended), and never takes itself too seriously. Numerous criticisms can be lobbed its way in terms of structure and consistency, but, perhaps, that’s part of the point — the bear triumphs over all. Nearly every other element, no matter how lackluster, sets up scenarios for her to engage in gory goodness. Even though the film can be a scattershot affair, the payoff is always worth it.

By not anthropomorphizing the bear itself, Banks respects it as an animal hooked on a mysterious substance, instantly addicted and empowered with newfound boldness — unpredictable and dangerous, merciless in its pursuits and not to be trifled with by anyone idiotic enough to believe they stand a chance against it. Performed with impressive motion capture by Allan Henry, the bear is a source of both terror and hilarity, with Banks delivering some genuinely suspenseful set-pieces of it creeping up on and misdirecting its prey; priming viewers for some wholly effective jump-scares and viscera-laden carnage amid rustling foliage and sunswept fields.

One scene involving an ambulance is a masterpiece of dark comedy — fear and tension turning into shocked laughter that’s best viewed with a large crowd of like-minded souls. These sequences, thanks to Banks’ unflinching direction, John Guleserian’s dynamic cinematography, and Mark Mothersbaugh’s synth-heavy score, are memorable, and worth the price of admission alone.

What about the humans, though? “Cocaine Bear” doesn’t prioritize “raw emotion” in their respective arcs, but the ensemble capably shoulders the absurdity. Whitlock Jr. brings his characteristic deadpan dignity to policeman Bob, remaining cool and collected through his exasperation and increasing peril. With a small dog waiting for him at home, we’re rooting for him to make it out alive. Martindale and Ferguson are exceptional — essentially cartoon characters who, for what they lack in groundedness, make up for in charm. Russell convincingly brings out her own “mama bear” side to rescue Dee Dee, while Prince and Convery are hilarious as two rebellious youngsters in way over their heads who aren’t quite as brain-dead as viewers might initially expect. Ehrenreich and Jackson Jr. do what they can, but aren’t nearly as successful with standard archetypes bonding through their trauma bond and finally learning some self-respect. Liotta amusingly hams it up  as the real villain of the piece, rather one-note but enjoyable to watch nevertheless.

Even though “Cocaine Bear” is, well, “Cocaine Bear,” there’s some environmentalist themes that rear their heads, principally the importance of respecting the natural world. Like the shipment of cocaine that’s carelessly dropped into the wilderness, this batch of characters with wildly different life experiences are gathered within a space they don’t belong— encountering a drug-fueled apex predator ready to punish them for their intrusion. Whether or not they deserve their fates, the bear (as it mauls, stalks, and does lines of cocaine off severed limbs) is an equalizing force that removes preconceptions and shifts the humans’ focus to pure survival and self-preservation, at least if they’re smart enough to recognize it. The animal also illuminates their true values. But none of this really matters — it’s just appealing to watch a coked-up bear causing complete and utter chaos. 

Admittedly, there is too much going on plot-wise for “Cocaine Bear” to be as focused and satisfying as it should be. The film’s editing is occasionally clunky, with intermittently awkward transitions that break immersion. Similarly, the film’s jokes are hit-or-miss, with the general vibe representative of “there’s a bear on cocaine, oh no!” and punchlines via over-the-top violence. Cheesiness abounds, which fits with the film’s goofy, 80s-throwback style, but lacks emotional heft. The script’s brand of broad, gross-out humor won’t work for those who don’t find the concept giggle-worthy, or who are easily perturbed by excess gut spillage. 

Fortunately, for this viewer, “Cocaine Bear” is properly filling, meeting expectations and having (slightly) more to unpack than being merely a slasher flick. This is Cocaine Bear’s domain, and we’re just existing in it.

“Cocaine Bear” is a 2023 comedy-thriller directed by Elizabeth Banks and starring Keri Russell, Matthew Rhys, O’Shea Jackson Jr., Alden Ehrenreich, Ray Liotta, Brooklynn Prince, Christian Convery, Isiah Whitlock Jr., Jesse Tyler Ferguson and Margo Martindale. It is Rated R for bloody violence and gore, drug content and language throughout and the run time is 1 hour, 35 minutes. I opened in theaters Feb. 24. Alex’s Grade: B