NEW THIS WEEK SEPTEMBER 6, 2024 (IN THEATERS AND ON HOME VIDEO)
BEETLEJUICE, BEETLEJUICE--Like another recent 36-years-later sequel ("Top Gun: Maverick"), Tim Burton's belated follow-up to his 1988 sleeper hit proves to have been well worth the wait. Winona Ryder reprises her role of Goth teen princess Lydia, now a widowed cable TV host with an angsty teenage daughter (Jenna Ortega's Astrid) of her own. Returning to Winter River, Connecticut for her dad's funeral, Lydia decides to shoot an episode of her "Ghost House" series at--where else?--her spook-laden family home. It isn't long before Michael Keaton's irrepressible Beetlejuice hones in on the action, even serving as a couples therapist for Lydia and her obnoxious producer-fiancee Rory (Justin Theroux). Despite being haunted by fearsome ex Delores (Monica Bellucci) who spends a good chunk of the movie reassembling her dead body piece by piece (they're conveniently stored in separate boxes), Beetlejuice sets his marital sights on Lydia. The climactic "wedding," scored to Richard Harris' "MacArthur Park," ranks among the most demented and hilarious setpieces of Burton's gloriously bonkers career. Also back for the ghoulish festivities are Catherine O'Hara as Lydia's self-absorbed artist mom Delia and the iconic "Shrunken Head Bob." Playing former "B" actor Wolf Jackson who now heads the afterlife police, Willem Dafoe steals every scene he's in. While Burton has had more misses than hits this century, "Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice" proves he's still got the right stuff. And major props to Burton for making a 2024 franchise tentpole that runs a mere 108 minutes; the original was 92 (!) minutes. (A MINUS.)
https://youtu.be/As-vKW4ZboU?si=6xWEDrA3zY1IynOd
THE FRONT ROOM--It shouldn't be terribly surprising that the first film written and directed by fanboy favorite Robert ("The Witch," "The Northmen") Eggers' brothers, Max and Sam, would also be deeply strange and, yes, visually striking. (Max cowrote Robert's "The Lighthouse.) The movie's real ace in the hole is character actor extraordinaire Kathryn Hunter--best known for her shape-shifting, ambidextrous performance as the witches in Joel Coen's "The Tragedy of Macbeth"--who turns what could have been a cliched mother-in-law-from-hell role into something that's otherworldly sinister. When Hunter's Solange pays a surprise visit to estranged son Norman (Andrew Burnap) and pregnant daughter in law Belinda (pop chanteuse Brandy Norwood) and promptly moves in with them, it's pretty clear she has a hidden agenda. The Eggers neatly set up a mood of enveloping terror and dread as a battle of wills commences between Solange, Norman and an increasingly paranoid Belinda. It's pretty clear there's a malignant presence in the house, and what exactly is in that creepy front room? Like some of their big brother's movies, the journey is more rewarding than the actual destination (or climax,) but it's a spooky good time nonetheless. (B MINUS.) https://youtu.be/eMQt_V2eCRY?si=Y77LDgj-x3mjtzPL
HOW TO COME ALIVE: NORMAN MAILER--Jeff Zimbalist's warts-and-all bio-doc about one of the most celebrated (and frequently reviled) American novelists of the 20th century somehow manages to compress Mailer's entire incident-packed lifetime into 102 svelte minutes. A pop culture icon, filmmaker as well as two-time Pulitzer-winning author, Mailer is admittedly a tough nut for any documentarian to crack, but Zimbalist somehow manages to find the right groove. Chronologically divided into seven chapters or "rules" (including "Don't Be a Nice Jewish Boy" and "Be Willing to Die for an Idea"), the film artfully balances affection and criticism of the late literary giant. Helping Zimbalist's cause is a treasure trove of archival footage, much of it with Mailer himself, that helps seal the deal. Any man who had six wives and nine children is bound to stir up contentious (and frequently unreliable) accounts of his life and times--the fact that he famously stabbed one of his exes only became further grist for the Mailer legend--but Zimbalist has made a non-fiction film with the narrative heft and forward thrust momentum of great works of cinematic fiction. Whether trading barbs with Gore Vidal on the Dick Cavett Show, running for mayor of New York City or single-handedly taking on feminist rabble-rousers in 1971 (an event memorably captured in D.A. Pennebaker's "Town Bloody Hall"), Mailer remains a thoroughly riveting, larger-than-life screen presence. Listening to one of his most rabid Town Hall antagonists, Germaine Greer, speak affectionately of him in contemporary interviews pretty much summarizes Mailer's "love to hate him" ethos. No extras on the new Kino Lorber/Zeitgeist DVD. (A MINUS.)
KINDS OF KINDNESS--Visionary director Yorgos ("Poor Things," "The Favourite") Lanthimos reunites with former collaborator Efthimis Fillipoul with whom he co-wrote such boldly transgressive films as "Dogtooth" and "The Lobster" for another cockeyed--and destined to be polarizing--masterpiece. A triptych of opera buffa proportions, each segment features many of the same actors (including Lanthimos muse Emma Stone, Jesse Plemons, Willem Dafoe and Margaret Qualley) and deal, in their own perversely obsessive fashion, with themes of domination. In the introductory segment, Plemons plays an office drone whose life is dictated by his sociopathic boss (Dafoe). Plemons' cop in the second act can't decide whether the researcher wife (Stone) who returns to him after having gone missing is his real wife or a lookalike imposter. The concluding chapter involves a New Age-y cult whose leaders (Dafoe and Hong Chau) are seeking a new spiritual leader (Stone's character, an early candidate, is banished after being deemed not "clean" enough). As open to all manner of interpretation as they are, each part is infused with patented Lanthimosian ticks: deadpan, frequently drop-dead funny dialogue; pointillist mise-en-scene; and an obsession with power dynamics between couples and communities. It's like an auteurist melding of Terry ("Time Bandits," "The Adventures of Baron Munchausen") Gilliam's pop-up storybook fantasies and the late, great Stanley Kubrick's formal rigor. The most extravagantly, sumptuously entertaining movie-movie I've seen so far this year, it deservedly won the Best Actor award at May's Cannes Film Festival for Plemons' fearless tour-de-force performance. Now streaming on Hulu. (A.)
#UNTRUTH: THE PSYCHOLOGY OF TRUMPISM--Dan Portland's sobering follow-up to his 2020 documentary #Unfit: The Psychology of Donald Trump" is another well-crafted, indisputably righteous indictment of the disgraced ex-President/felon that, sadly, mostly preaches to its choir of MSNBC viewers. In talking heads interviews, mental health professionals, behaviorists (including Steve Hassan, a former Moonie who instinctively recognizes the cult mentality evinced by MAGA supporters) and media pundits all provide damning testimony on the grave dangers posed by Trump and the QAnon conspiracy theorists who helped build his counterfeit political career. But since the people who really need to see this movie never will--or remain unconvinced of their Orange Jesus' mendacity if forced, "Clockwork Orange"-style, to watch it, the most that Portland's agit-prop can do is stir up righteous indignation among the faithful. Among the numerous interview subjects are trenchant heavy-hitters like Peter Strzok, Michael Steele, George Conway, Joe Walsh and Anthony Scaramucci. What they have to say desperately needs to be heard by as large a segment of potential voters as possible if American Democracy is to be saved this November. But is "#Unfit" the vehicle to do it? Fingers and toes crossed. (B.)
NOW AVAILABLE IN THEATERS, ON HOME VIDEO AND/OR STREAMING CHANNELS:
AFRAID--An average American family is selected to test AIA, a new state of the art home device (think Siri on steroids). While it's an initially benign presence in their home--and even more helpful than advertised--things take an increasingly sinister turn when AIA becomes a little too, er, invested in their daily lives. Directed by Chris ("About a Boy," "In Good Company") Weitz and starring John Cho and Katherine Waterson (both very good), this is a better-than-average "PG-13"-rated Blumhouse horror flick that earns bonus points for clocking it at under 90 minutes. It's no "M3gan," but for an end of the summer throwaway it'll suffice. (C PLUS.)
ALIEN ROMULUS--As someone who's liked, and sometimes loved, every "Alien" movie since the 1979 Ridley Scott original (I'm actually someone who thinks David Fincher's reviled "Alien 3" is a misunderstood masterpiece), I was understandably gung-ho about a new version populated with mostly unknown actors ("Priscilla"/"Civil War" breakout Cailee Spaeny and former Dora the Explorer Isabela Merced are the only familiar faces in the cast). Directed by Fade Alvarez who struck paydirt with 2016 sleeper "Don't Breathe," but fared less well with "The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet's Nest," a misguided 2018 sequel to Fincher's "The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo," it's a creditable addition to a 45-year-old IP, The most interesting thing about Alvarez's film is how stripped-down and elemental it feels. Youthful colonizers at an abandoned space station encounter, well, alien monsters who quickly make mincemeat out of them. Because she's the biggest "name" actor here, it's not surprising that Spaeny would fill the designated Last Girl Standing (Ripley in "Alien"-verse) role. But getting there is mostly good, icky fun, even if some of the jump scares seem a little phoned-in. I'm not sure whether "Romulus" will launch a brand-new franchise, but I'd gladly watch Spaeny in anything. Yes, she's that good. (B.)
ANSELM--If the late Rainer Werner Fassbinder was the "Father" of the German New Wave's Holy Trinity and mystic visionary Werner Herzog the "Holy Ghost," then Wim ("Wings of Desire," "Paris, Texas") Wenders should rightfully be designated the "Son." Having observed firsthand Germany's postwar "Economic Miracle"--largely fueled by American capitalism and technology--it's no wonder he became the most America-obsessed of the filmmaking trio. That economic dominance inadvertently produced a form of cultural imperialism which conveniently erased Germany's Nazi past. According to Wenders, "the need to forget 20 years created a hole, and people tried to cover this up by assimilating American culture." Ironically, the subject of Wenders' latest documentary, painter/sculptor Anselm Kiefer, made his career out of a personal reckoning with German history, including the Holocaust and Nazis. His first major work, 1969's controversial action piece "Heroic Figures," was a series of photographs in which Kiefer (ironically) gives the Nazi salute. Mortality, permanence, being and nothingness have been major themes throughout the 79-year-old Kiefer's remarkably prolific career. (An abandoned French airplane hangar was the only place large enough to house a lifetime of work.) "Anselm" isn't a conventional "Great Artist" documentary in which the arc of a subject's life is relayed through reams of archival footage and admiring talking-heads interviews with colleagues, friends and family members. Instead of an air-brushed biographical sketch, Wenders' film is instead the study of a man told almost exclusively through his art. With its free-form blending of animation, re-enactments of Kiefer's past (Wenders' great nephew, Anton, plays Kiefer as a boy; Kiefer's own son, Daniel, portrays him as a young man) and Kiefer's poetic, frequently political, occasionally rambling musings on his life, art/work and times, Wenders' portrait of the man emerges. Shot in 6K resolution, cinematographer Franz Lustig's mobile, floating-in-space 3-D imagery achieves a remarkably tactile effect: it's immersive in every sense of the word. The Janus Contemporaries new Blu-Ray set includes both 3-D and 2-D versions of the film, as well as an interview with Wenders and the theatrical trailer. (A MINUS.)
BLINK TWICE---Zoe ("The Batman," "Big Little Lies") Kravitz's remarkably accomplished directorial debut is sort of "Get Out" on Epstein Island during "Midsommar," but far richer and, yes, funnier than that reductive description makes it sound. While working a gig at tech billionaire Slater King's annual philanthropic gala, Manhattan cater waiter Frida (Naomi Ackie from "I Wanna Dance With Somebody") somehow manages to wrangle an invite to the mogul's private island. (It's a long story.) Tagging along is Frida's roommate Jess (Alia Shawkat), still reeling from a busted romance. Surrounded by his crew of "bros"--played by, among others, Kyle MacLachlan, Haley Joel Osment, Simon Rex and Christian Slater--the enigmatic Slater (Channing Tatum, never better) seems to be harboring a sinisteragenda, but it's not until Jess disappears that Frida gets wise that something is seriously amiss in this tropical paradise. Buoyed by stellar supporting turns from Geena Davis and Adria Arjano (as, respectively, Slater's personal assistant and on again/off again girlfriend), the film's vibe grows increasingly ominous until finally revealing itself as a feminist allegory. In a summer movie season dominated by IP franchise tentpoles, it's bracing to encounter a film that's actually a bona fide original. And, unlike Tatum's July release ("Fly Me to the Moon"), it's also a darn good one. (A MINUS.)
DEADPOOL AND WOLVERINE--Probably the most critic-proof movie of the year, this rambunctious "R"-rated pairing of Marvel titans Deadpool and Wolverine should have no trouble ruling the box office roost for the rest of the summer. Besides being catnip for fanboys/girls, it's decent lowbrow fun for anyone with a nihilistic sense of humor and a tolerance for snarky ultra-violence. Deadpool/Wade Wilson Ryan Reynolds' re-teaming with his "Free Guy" director Shawn Levy proves fortuitous since they once again bring out the best in each other, and Jackman's chronically dyspeptic Wolverine just seems happy to be along for the ride. (B.)
FAREWELL MY CONCUBINE--Chen ("The Emperor and the Assassin," "Life on a String") Kaige's 1993 arthouse smash has always felt like the movie David Lean could have made if he'd elected to follow "Lawrence of Arabia" and "Dr. Zhivago" with a Chinese-language historical romance. Despite being the first Asian film to win Cannes' Palme d'Or where it shared top honors with Jane Campion's "The Piano," 16 minutes were chopped off the original 171-minute run time by Miramax major domo Harvey "Scissorhands" Weinstein prior to the U.S. release. Finally restored to the "Cannes Cut," Criterion Collection's gorgeous new 4K Blu Ray rendering is a cause for rejoice in all self-respecting cinephile households. Along with Zhang ("Raise the Red Lantern," "Shanghai Triad") Yimou, Chen was one of the leading lights of China's "Fifth Generation" of filmmakers. A member of Mao's army in his youth, Chen frequently referred to "Concubine" as his official mea culpa for having publicly denounced his own father at the time. Spanning fifty tunultous years, this glorious old-fashioned epic--with staggering Technicolor vistas courtesy of director of photography Gu Changwei--boldly uses the wide-screen format to tell a surprisingly intimate story about the lifelong friendship between two wildly disparate orphans (brawny Duan Xiaolou and androgynous Cheng Dieyi) apprenticed to the Beijing Opera as children. During the '40s Japanese occupation, the duo makes the acquaintance of House of Blossoms' courtesan Juxian (Yimou muse Gong Li), inaugurating a love triangle which creates an irreconcilable rift between Xiaolou (Zhang Fengyi) and Dieyi (best known for his starring roles in John Woo's "A Better Tomorrow" and Wong Kar-Wai's swoon-worthy gay romance, "Happy Together") who still harbors an unrequited crush on his boyhood pal. The movie heartbreakingly climaxes in the aftermath of Mao's Cultural Revolution when loyalties, and even love, were crushed by government-mandated political dogma. The Criterion disc includes a new conversation between Chinese cultural studies scholar Michael Berry and producer Janet Yang; a 2003 documentary about the making of the film; Chen's 1993 American television interview with Charlie Rose; and an essay by author/scholar Pauline Chen. (A.)
IT ENDS WITH US--Blake Lively's touching, deeply felt performance is the main reason to see director Justin ("Five Feet Apart") Baldoni's uneven adaptation of Colleen Hoover's best-selling 2016 novel. As Lily, a young woman who flees a traumatic past to take up roots in Boston, Lively is so wonderfully empathetic she makes you want to overlook some of the film's egregious casting errors. Chief among them is Baldoni himself as the neurosurgeon Lily marries after a whirlwind romance, only to discover that he's as physically and emotionally abusive as her estranged father. (The fact that Baldoni's Ryle comes off as a creep from the get-go makes you question Lily's sanity.) And Brandon ("Yellowstone" prequel "1923") Sklenar is such a wet blanket as the old boyfriend who magically reappears in Lily's life that he never feels like a worthy alternative to her crumb bum husband. Although Lively keeps you emotionally invested in her character's plight for the duration of the movie's somewhat protracted 130 minute run time, only fans of Hoover's book are likely to have a transcendent cinematic experience. (C PLUS.)
MOTHER--When Albert Brooks' "Mother" opened on Christmas Day 1996, awards pundits all seemed to agree that it would be the movie that finally won Debbie Reynolds an Oscar. (Shockingly, she'd only been nominated once previously for 1964's "The Unsinkable Molly Brown") Apparently AMPAS disliked Debbie as much as they did Brooks since she wasn't even recognized for her career-defining performance. Brooks' sole nomination was for his supporting turn in James L. Brooks' "Broadcast News." (I still find it mind-blowing that he didn't even rate an original screenplay nod for 1985's "Lost in America," the best American comedy since "The Graduate.") The movie's set-up is deceptively simple. Twice-divorced fortysomething sci-fi author John Henderson (Brooks) moves back in with his Sausalito, California mom (Reynolds' Beatrice) hoping to cure his writer's block. The fact that Beatrice makes passive-aggressiveness an Olympic sport is immediately signaled when she introduces John to a neighbor as, "Oh, this is my son; the other one." (John's kid brother Jeff--Rob Morrow from "Quiz Show" and "Northern Exposure"--is the apple of Beatrice's eye despite being a preening narcissist.) Picking favorite funny moments is probably a Sisyphean task, but Beatrice's description of the ice crystallizing over her orange sherbet as a "protective layer" is something I've been quoting for nearly 30 years. Although Reynolds was actually Brooks' third choice to play Beatrice (both Doris Day and Nancy "Just Say No" Reagan turned him down), it proved to be remarkably fortuitous for all concerned. Not only did Reynolds' bravura performance help make "Mother" Brooks' top-grossing film, but Carrie Fisher, Reynolds' daughter, was instrumental in getting her ex, Paul Simon, to rewrite the lyrics to "Mrs. Robinson" for the movie's soundtrack ("Here's to you, Mrs. Henderson..."). Despite being the antithesis of "prolific" ("Mother" was only the fifth of seven movies Brooks wrote, directed and starred in over 45 years), I've been championing him as a national treasure since his short films which aired in the early days of Saturday Night Live. And while I'm delighted that the Criterion Collection is honoring him this month with dual releases of "Mother" and "Real Life," Brooks' 1979 feature debut, there are, sadly, precious few bonus features. Separate interviews with Brooks and Morrow, an affectionate essay by critic Carrie Rickey and the '96 teaser trailer directed by Brooks are the lone supplements. (A.)
QUERELLE--The remarkably prolific German New Wave wunderkind Rainer Werner Fassbinder died in June 1982 shortly after finishing "Querelle," and when it opened in theaters the following year reviews were generally dismissive. Even New York Times critic Vincent Canby who did more than anyone to "break" Fassbinder in America found the movie disappointing. Or maybe it was simply because the (largely) heterosexual bloc of American film critics at the time failed to appreciate Fassbinder's swan song for what it was: the most luxuriously stylized evocation of Gay Sensibility ever seen in a major movie. Along with Fellini's "Satyricon," it was (and remains) pretty much the gayest film ever made: a veritable Disneyland of queerness. Luxuriating in Fassbinder's deliberately artificial mise-en-scene is like taking a hit of amyl nitrate on the dance floor at Manhattan's fabled Crisco Disco in the pre-AIDS era. Although adapted from a novel by Jean Genet, the film seems even more beholden to the homoerotic artwork of Tom of Finland. As the titular sailor, Brad ("Midnight Express") Davis practically oozes sexuality, strutting his fine self into Feria, a Brest bar/brothel run by the imperious Madame Lysiane (Nouvelle Vague diva Jeanne Moreau). In short order, Querelle gets involved in an opium deal with Lysiane's husband (Gunther Kaufmann's Nono) that climaxes with the killing of his criminal cohort. Lusted after by everyone he crosses paths with, especially his superior officer, Lieutenant Seblon (Franco Nero), Querelle is a veritable walking and talking phallus. While the film ends tragically, it's also deeply, ironically funny. (Shades of Fassbinder creative muse Douglas Sirk's gloriously overheated 1950's Hollywood melodramas.) Would the New Queer Cinema that emerged a decade later have ever taken root without Fassbinder's posthumous masterpiece? Maybe, maybe not. Both Todd ("Poison") Haynes and Gregg ("The Living End") Araki have cited the film as a key influence on their early work. What can't be disputed is that Fassbinder--who died at age 37 after having directed over 40 films, 24 plays (most of which he wrote) and three television miniseries (including his magnum opus, 1980's "Berlin Alexanderplatz")--remains, along with Jean-Luc Godard, the most compelling, provocative and singular European filmmaking voice to emerge in the post-WW II era. Extras on the new Criterion Collection Blu-Ray include an interview with Museum of the Moving Image editorial director (and Queer Cinema scholar) Michael Koresky; Wolf German's 1982 documentary, "Rainer Werner Fassbinder: Last Works;" and a compelling, appreciative essay by critic Nathan Lee. (A.)
REAGAN-- Tacky production values worthy of 1980's network TV are the most authentic thing about this hacky, hagiographic biopic about one of the most divisive presidents in American history. With his Texan twang, Dennis Quaid--who looks nothing like The Gipper, by the way--is woefully miscast as the B-actor turned Right Wing poster boy. Equally absurd (and unintentionally risible) is the casting of Penelope Ann Miller, Lesley-Anne Down, Kevin Dillon and Mena Suvari as, respectively, Nancy Reagan, Margaret Thatcher, Jack Warner and Jane Wyman. Except for Never Trump Republicans, I can't imagine who the target audience is. For the record, director Sean McNamara has done better, less embarrassing movies, including 2018's "The Miracle Season" and 2015's "Spare Parts." (D.)
TWISTERS--Five years after a twister killed her boyfriend, New York meteorologist Kate Cooper (Daisy Edgar-Jones from 2022 sleeper "Where the Crawdads Sing") is reluctantly dragged back into the world of storm-chasing by former colleague Javi ("In the Heights" star Anthony Ramos). Almost immediately, Kate strikes romantic sparks with "Tornado Wrangler" Tyler Owens (Glen Powell), a cocky social media sensation whose biggest fan is himself. This standalone "legacy sequel" to Jan de Bont's 1996 blockbuster is a somewhat unlikely follow-up to director Lee Isaac Chung's previous film, lo-fi indie--and 2020 Best Picture nominee--"Minari." Fortunately, Chung manages to bring some of the humanist tropes from his Korean immigrant saga to the world of I.P. tentpoles. Edgar-Jones and blast of charisma Powell are predictably solid, and there's nice support from "Nope" breakout Brandon Perea and Sasha ("American Honey") Lane as members of Tyler's thrill-seeking crew. The state-of-the-art CGI easily surpasses the FX work from the earlier film, but the "wow factor" has been seriously dampened by the plethora of You Tube videos of actual tornados we've been inundated with over the past 28 years. Yes, global warming is real. (B MINUS.)
---Milan Paurich
