By Alex McPherson

Efficient, well-acted, and sleek as hell, director Steven Soderbergh’s “Black Bag” is pure escapist fun, weaving a tale of messy interpersonal drama into a spy yarn whose dense plotting yields ample rewards.

British intelligence officer George Woodhouse (Michael Fassbender) is a cold, calculating, and loyal specialist who can’t stand liars but takes a certain amount of pleasure in rooting them out. He’s told by his superior, Philip Meacham (Gustaf Skarsgard), that a top-secret software program called Severus has been leaked, and  he’s got to “find the rat” in a week’s time or millions of people will die.

Seems like an easy enough task for George who, when he was 37 years old, investigated his own father (once working at the same institution himself) for having an affair.

The only catch is that Meacham reveals that George’s beautiful and enigmatic wife who also works at the agency, Kathryn St. Jean (Cate Blanchett), is one of the five suspects. This troubles George; he and Kathryn share a deep, intimate bond, based on unwavering trust and loyalty to each other.  Why would she betray him and his country?

George invites the other four individuals — who also happen to be couples — over for dinner and drinks (which include truth serum) hoping to shake loose who leaked Severus. There’s the satellite imagery specialist Clarissa Dubose (Marisa Abela) and her trouble-making boyfriend and managing agent Freddie Smalls (Tom Burke); and wry agency shrink Dr. Zoe Vaughan (Naomie Harris) and her vain partner, the recently-promoted Col. James Stokes (Regé-Jean Page).

This group of horny, mentally troubled spies becomes quickly undone thanks to George’s truth serum: a betrayal is revealed, and a hand is promptly stabbed with a knife. But George’s mission isn’t accomplished, and as the plot thickens — especially when the agency’s haughty and slick-haired boss Arthur Stieglitz (Pierce Brosnan, chewing copious scenery) comes onto the scene — a story of double-crosses, insecurities, and life-or-death stakes reveals itself. Most importantly, though, can George and Kathryn’s marriage survive in a job where the code-word “black bag” conceals all secrets?

Indeed, “Black Bag” uses familiar trappings of the spy genre to tell a story about human connections, both frayed and resilient, delivered with smooth style and an ensemble flaunting their star power in entertainingly self-aware fashion. Soderbergh’s film (his second this year after the thrillingly experimental “Presence”)  is a no-frills endeavor, moving at a fast clip as the twists stack up and remain so damn fun to watch. 

Fassbender shines particularly brightly within the star-studded cast, adding another notch to his “malfunctioning robot” characters, which was most recently personified in David Fincher’s “The Killer.” George is charismatic yet socially stunted, moving with a smooth, often darkly funny determination toward conclusions that might terrify him. His stone-cold façade erodes as he evaluates how much Kathryn ultimately means to him, and the lengths he’s willing to go to protect her.

Blanchett exudes effortless coolness as Kathryn, remaining mysterious yet right at home with George. David Koepp’s script portrays their connection with just enough mystery and ambiguity to keep us on our toes as to Kathryn’s ultimate intentions, testing whether we believe in their enduring bond as surrounding characters’ personal and professional lives fall apart, sometimes spectacularly.

The entire ensemble is excellent, with Abela and Brosnan the clear standouts. Abela makes a meal of Koepp’s crackly, quip-filled script; her Clarissa, unsure how to navigate romance within the spy world along with her own insecurities, is feisty and impulsive. She remains compelled to act for what she considers the greater good. Brosnan, in a seemingly anti-James-Bond role, makes a strong impression despite limited screen time, oscillating between confident and increasingly uncomfortable as the plot spirals further out of control.

The ensemble’s talent carries “Black Bag” a long way, but, even with a lesser cast, there’s still much to appreciate from a stylistic perspective. David Holmes’s electronic score pulses in sync with each new revelation; percussive beats amid jazzy themes symbolically tie into the characters’ eroding disguises.

Scenes are lit with a warm, hazy glow, and Soderbergh — who also handled cinematography and editing — opts for finely-tuned precision, not wasting any time as the labyrinthine plot progresses. The aforementioned dinner scene and a polygraph test later in the film are particular standouts, with Koepp’s script and Soderbergh’s editing working in perfect, tension-filled harmony.

It’s refreshing to see a film like “Black Bag” that trusts viewers to follow along with the characters’ lingo and technology without talking down. The (disquietingly current) geopolitics take a backseat to the characters’ interpersonal happenings.

In its own heightened, somewhat soapy way, “Black Bag” has much to say about romantic relationships and the trust necessary to keep them afloat, even in the treacherous terrain of spy craft. Admittedly, “poignancy” is somewhat sidelined in service of keeping the film’s infectiously enjoyable momentum.    

Clocking in at 93 minutes, “Black Bag” flies by and remains prime for future rewatches — a confident, intelligent, sexy spy story that signals one of the year’s first great films.

“Black Bag” is a spy thriller directed by Steven Soderbergh and starring Michael Fassbender, Cate Blanchett, Rege-Jean Page, Pierce Brosnan, Naomie Harris, Tom Burke, Marisa Abela and Gustaf Skarsgard. It is rated R for language including some sexual references, and some violence, and the runtime is 1 hour, 33 minutes. It opened in theaters March 14. Alex’s Grade: A

By Lynn Venhaus

Think a second tier “Ted Lasso” meets a “Cool Runnings” vibe in this rough-around-the-edges underdog sports comedy-drama that is based on a true story.

The now infamous American Samoa soccer team, known for a historically brutal 2001 FIFA match they lost 31-0 to Australia, seeks redemption — and a goal — in 2014 or they’ll be booted out of the football federation.

Aimed at the heart with emphasis on quirky, director and co-writer Taika Waititi focuses on the likability of the Pacific Islanders involved with the soccer team, and the colorful inhabitants of American Samoa, a U.S. territory in the South Pacific Ocean.

It’s a mixed result. Waititi and co-screenwriter Aian Morris follow the template of the 2014 documentary of the same name, but naturally embellished for a narrative. 

Set in 2014, many people still have not gotten over the 2001 humiliation and are doubtful about the next World Cup qualifying match as the team hasn’t scored a goal since. Football Federation President Tavita, wonderfully played by charmer Oscar Kightley, is determined to get the team across that hurdle, so he hires a hothead Dutch-born coach Thomas Rongen (Michael Fassbender), who has been fired for egregious behavior, four weeks away from the game.

Naturally, he’s a fish out of water – faced with the ultimatum to leave or take the American Samoan job. His surly demeanor is at odds with the happy-go-lucky islanders, and does he even like soccer? He drinks too much, yells too much, and cares far too little. 

Following the familiar beats of goodness triumphing over meanness, like every true-story sports movie, “Next Goal Wins” is a crowd-pleaser but average paint-by-numbers movie.

New Zealander Waititi is known for his offbeat work in “What We Do in the Shadows” and “Hunt for the Wilderpeople” won an Oscar for “JoJo Rabbit,” and has directed a couple mega budget “Thor” movies.

Michael Fassbender and Jaiyah

Most surprising is seeing the intense Michael Fassbender cast as the down-on-his-luck maverick coach Thomas Rongen, who is tasked with turning the world’s worst soccer team around as World Cup Qualifiers approach. American Samoa is ranked last, and if they do not win, will be booted.

Fassbender, two-time Oscar nominee for “Steve Jobs” and “12 Years a Slave,” is known for serious roles. He is an odd choice, but this rage-aholic coach is a high-strung guy, so playing cantankerous, screaming so much his veins stand out, is within his specific set of skills. 

The character is designed to be redeemed, of course, and he gets his big speech, although throws a couple curves in, to explain some of his behavior. Fassbender is never going to be warm and fuzzy, or funny, for that matter, but you do root for him to get out of his own way.

In the spirit of “The Mighty Ducks” and “Bad News Bears,” the team players espouse the ‘old college try’ philosophy, and fit the kooky mold Waititi was going for, along with providing a strong sense of community. 

The likable Jaiyah, a transgender player, portrayed by a winsome Kaimana, is horribly disrespected by Rongen, and that relationship development is a focus of the plot, but the others aren’t given much to work with – Beulah Koale as Tavita’s son, Semu Filipo as police officer Rambo, and Uli Latukefu as the former goalie Nicky Salapu stand out.

Armani, the kid helping Rongen, is another source of comic relief, and Waititi uses the young actor Armani Makaiwa wisely. 

In supporting roles are Elisabeth Moss as Rongen’s divorce-headed wife, Will Arnett, who replaced Armie Hammer, as football federation board’s Alex Magnussen, and Rachel House as Tavita’s wife Ruth.

Showcasing the natural beauty of the island makes for a pleasant backdrop, with beaches, reefs and stunning cliff outlooks. And the characters’ relaxed way of life adds to the authentic depiction.

If you’re looking for heartwarming, you can find it here. However, if you are seeking a rousing underdog sports film that’s a cut above the usual, seek out the Oscar-winning documentary “Undefeated.”

“Next Goal Wins” is a 2023 Sports Comedy directed by Taika Waititi and starring Michael Fassbender, Elisabeth Moss, Will Arnett, Oscar Kightley, Kaimana, and David Fane. It’s rated: PG-13 for some strong language and crude material and runs 1 hour, 43 minutes. It opens in theatres Nov. 17. Lynn’s Grade: C.

By Alex McPherson

Stylish, cerebral, and laced with pitch black humor, director David Fincher’s “The Killer” uses its deceptively simple narrative to uncover a thoughtful, albeit nihilistic, character study with a top-notch performance from Michael Fassbender.

Fincher’s film, based on a graphic novel by Alexis “Matz” Nolent, opens with a montage of various killing tools and settles on the titular nameless hitman (Fassbender), who is waiting for the right time to kill a wealthy target in Paris. He’s a cold, calculating, pretentious sociopath, who bides his time doing yoga, grabbing McDonalds, listening to the Smiths, reflecting on his craft, and waxing philosophical about the meaninglessness of existence, all while dressed (intentionally) like a German tourist.

His methodical elimination of targets is nothing personal; they’re little more than a speck in the pot of overcrowded humankind. He’s also devilishly resourceful, possessing seemingly limitless amounts of  I.D.s with the names of ‘70s and ‘80s sitcom characters, and making use of all the modern conveniences and technology of our time (Amazon delivery stands out) to seamlessly weave throughout our world sans detection. If you see him, it’s already too late. 

He’s set up in a WeWork space across the street from the target’s hotel room, since apparently (as his internal monologue explains) Airbnbs tend to have too many cameras. “Stick to the plan,”  “Anticipate, don’t improvise,” “Empathy is weakness” are common phrases The Killer repeats to himself, closely monitoring his heart rate via FitBit to ensure maximum efficiency. He’s a well-oiled killing machine, a true master in the art of assassination. Until, well, he misses his shot, and takes out a sex worker instead.

Tilda Swinton in “The Killer”

 The Killer makes a quick escape (thinking to himself “WWJWBD: What Would John Wilkes Booth Do?”), and the target gets to live another day. Goons are promptly dispatched to The Killer’s beachside house in the Dominican Republic — leaving his girlfriend, Magdala (Sophie Charlotte), within an inch of her life. Driven as much by revenge as by his own ego, our allegedly apathetic protagonist embarks on a globe-trotting mission to find out who’s responsible and murder them, plus any unlucky bystanders who get involved. But no matter what he tells himself, and his effectiveness at navigating our always-online reality, he’s still fallible: a monster thriving on delusion, insisting he’s above humanity while never being able to fully outrun his own. 

Oscillating between suspenseful, shocking, and (dare I say it) laugh-out-loud funny, “The Killer” thrills and provokes from start to finish. This isn’t a particularly new story, but Fincher’s approach mines poignancy from a familiar template, immersing viewers into the mind of a villain and cutting him down to size — a character that’s easy to root against, but impossible to look away from, brought to life with Fincher’s characteristic panache.

Anyone who’s seen a Fincher joint before (“Fight Club,” “The Social Network,” or the regrettable “Mank,” for example) knows his films overflow with style, and “The Killer” is no different. Erik Messerschmidt’s crisp cinematography frames The Killer’s routine with distant, precise remove, sometimes blending him into shadows, to reflect his “professional” demeanor. The largely static camerawork changes to handheld as The Killer’s improvisational instincts kick in and panic rears its head. 

Additionally, Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross’s score pulses like a heartbeat as The Killer weaves through his surroundings like a parasite, evading detection at every turn, buzzing with discordant rhythms at moments of peril, such as during a cartoonishly destructive brawl later on that rivals the brutality of skirmishes in “John Wick: Chapter 4.”

Ren Klyce’s sound design is absolutely impeccable, with diegetic sounds (like the ring of an employee check-in kiosk or the bang of a ferry’s ramp locking into place) turned up to the max: nuisances that momentarily distract our titular assassin from his quest for vengeance. Suffice to say, the film is a sensory treat.

Fassbender’s performance is brilliantly tuned into the character’s cynicism and deliberate procedures. His stoic facial expressions belie a seemingly soulless husk — someone who’s devoted his whole life to his career without any interest or care for humanity, at least as far as he tells himself, but Fassbender subtly conveys his cracking facade as the story progresses.

His narration (from a strong screenplay by Andrew Kevin Walker) is sardonic, cruel, pop-culture-savvy, and at times very funny, but also reflective of his internal torment. His mantras are pushed to their limits, especially when interacting with unlucky bystanders in the wrong place at the wrong time. He has the skills to make it out of any deadly encounter, but at what cost? 

Indeed, much of the unpredictability of “The Killer,” despite its familiar setup, comes down to contrast and dissonance. There’s something darkly comedic, and compelling, about being immersed into the mind of such a straight-laced character, observing his pain-staking preparations for the next hit, and seeing reality coming back to bite him, daring and/or forcing him to break from routine. Fincher plays around with this idea, too: moments of levity and endearment traditionally found in these types of stories aren’t present here; opportunities for redemption are tangled tantalizingly close and unceremoniously (often graphically) dashed. 

Fincher barely spends any time with Magdala either — a non-issue because vengeance for her isn’t The Killer’s primary motivation. What really matters is maintaining his carefully cultivated lifestyle and self-image, scarred by his humiliating mistake in Paris that set this whole fight-for-life into motion. He knows the drill as well as anyone, but (through pride and desire to remain on the planet he has such apathy for) refuses to accept it.

This idiosyncratic approach ensures that even if we think we know where “The Killer” is headed, we really don’t, not unlike the protagonist’s own predicament. Memorable appearances from Charles Parnell, Kerry O’Malley, and Tilda Swinton underscore this, unfolding in ways running the gamut of emotions. 

Ultimately, “The Killer” is thrilling, amusing, and even moving to some degree, especially considering Fincher’s own reputation as a perfectionist. The Killer may have the tools to escape any situation, and maintain his own status, but can one really live without embracing life’s uncertainties? 

This is one of 2023’s finest films thus far, much deeper than it initially seems, and deserving of the big screen treatment. Stick to the plan. Anticipate, don’t improvise. And don’t wait for Netflix, if at all possible.

“The Killer” is a 2023 action crime thriller directed by David Fincher and starring Michael Fassbender, Tilda Swinton, Charles Parnell and Kerry O’Malley. It is rated R for strong violence, language and brief sexuality, and runs 1 hour, 58 minutes. It opened in selected theaters on Oct. 27 and will stream on Netflix starring Nov. 10. Alex’s Grade: A+