“Steal”

Yes, it’s another heist film, an audacious one at that, presenting this mystery thriller in six exciting episodes with an actual end without the hint of a sequel.

Black-masked and armed to the teeth, the bad guys invade the inner sanctum of one of Britain’s leading investment companies. Holding everyone at bay, they are suspiciously aware of how the system works and how many confirming sign-ins are necessary to access the accounts. Targeting one employee, they gain access to part of the login, but another is necessary to confirm the financial transfer with the home office and that person is having a panic attack, as would you if an AK-47 were pointed at your temple. Coming to the rescue of her colleague, Zara finalizes the transaction and billions in pension fund holdings are transferred to an offshore account owned by a person or persons as yet unknown.

The police arrive after the fact and begin a debrief of all the employees. DCI Rhys is immediately suspicious of two employees but proving anything will be difficult. Rhys isn’t just battling his suspects, he’s also up against MI5, who, for some reason, is more than a little interested in taking over this case. Is national security involved? Who, besides the masked bandits, has skin in this game? Rhys is immediately on the defensive.

It’s not really giving anything away to say that insiders at the investment firm were involved and two of them were the aforementioned Zara and her colleague Luke, both back office employees passed over innumerable times for promotion because they didn’t have the right family backgrounds. Zara, aware of the scrutiny, is two steps ahead and one step behind Rhys, but definitely a step behind the robbers who will “disappear” her at the earliest available opportunity and MI5, eager to bury the case and recoup the monies, including the sums sent to Zara and Luke in crypto. Zara’s estranged, slovenly mother knows something is afoot and schemes to be cut in.

Each fast-paced episode reveals more of the plot and players and increases the danger Zara faces. Certain she can outsmart them all and keep her cash, she gets more and more tangled in the web she has woven. Sophie Turner as Zara is both tough as nails and vulnerable; Archie Madekwe, Luke, is the definition of a clenched nerve; and Jacob Fortune-Lloyd is very effective as Rhys, a man with more at stake than just this case.

So sit back, but you won’t relax as you binge this series.

Now streaming on Amazon Prime.

“His and Hers”

A dark and rainy night; a dead body on the hood of a car; an unknown person in a dripping hoodie in the adjacent cemetery as a voiceover states, “There are two sides to every story: yours and mine, theirs and ours, his and hers; and someone is always lying.”

In this juicy mystery/thriller, he (His) is Detective Jack Harper, recently relocated from Atlanta to the small town of Dahlonega. She (Her) is Anna, his estranged wife, formerly the lead anchor on an Atlanta TV station. She disappeared into grieving for a year and has now returned and wants her job back. “Not possible,” says her boss. They hired her replacement, the blonde, blue-eyed Lexi, when Anna was unreachable. The dead body in Dahlonega is big news and she wants to cover it. She’s from that town and knows the players. And so it starts because Jack and Anna become prime suspects, along with others. She isn’t just covering the news; she is the news.

Jack continues to try to cover his tracks, realizing that he was the last person to see Rachel, the dead woman on the car, alive. Actually, his DNA is all over the scene because they were having their weekly tryst. His assistant detective, whom he dismissively calls “Boston,” is eagle-eyed and picks up on his shady behavior and the clues he is destroying. Soon another dead body turns up, someone, like the first, whom Anna knew and went to high school with. It may lead back to a high-school clique and something that happened long ago as revealed by well-integrated flashbacks interspersed with the current-day investigations. Like most small towns, everyone has history and at least one secret.

“His and Hers” is that delicious murder mystery where the solution seemingly comes out of left field but works very well and believably. Jon Bernthal is Detective Harper, empathetic, deceitful and protective of those close to him. Tessa Thompson, Anna, is serene but ambitious with a covert agenda. There are real rooting interests in these two, and at only six episodes, “His and Hers” will fly by.

Now streaming on Netflix.

“Agatha Christie’s Seven Dials”

This is a lovely addition to the Agatha Christie mysteries, most of which feature either Miss Marple or Hercule Poirot. In this delightful three-episode series, a new investigator is born. Young Lady Bundle Brent, the daughter of Lady Caterham, is overseeing the evening festivities at her family estate. Land rich and estate poor, Lady Caterham has sponsored a masquerade ball for paying guests like the nouveau riche Lord and Lady Coote. Gerry Wade, part of a security contingent and a long-time family friend, is teasing Bundle with a future proposal, one that is put on indefinite hold when he is found dead the next morning. The police would like to wrap this up as a suicide, but Bundle knows this can’t be true and starts on a journey to prove he was murdered. Because this is an Agatha Christie, more murders will follow.

The intrepid Lady Bundle will stop at nothing, ensnaring others into her investigations; her probes will prove fatal to some of them. Crawling along at a leisurely pace through the first two episodes, the viewer is treated to a well-worn period piece with beautiful costumes, gorgeous scenery, a subtle portrait of noblesse oblige and the striving of social climbers. Along the way, Inspector Battle from Scotland Yard appears, shadowing Bundle for mysterious reasons. Stay with the slow pace because things definitely pick up in the third episode, full of funny moments, sly dialogue and a very unexpected solution. Well, perhaps not entirely unexpected, because there are a limited number of choices for the bad guys, but the reasoning and rationales can only be ascribed to a soft satire of the so-called ruling class.

Mia McKenna-Bruce plays the pint-sized Bundle to perfection. She’s a good enough rooting interest that you will follow her anywhere. Her anguish over her dear Gerry (a handsome Corey Mylchreest) seems very real indeed. Edward Bluemel as Jimmy is the very tousled embodiment of spoiled but charming youth, always on the lookout for the next game to play. Helena Bonham Carter plays Lady Caterham, Bundle’s scattered mother. Like almost everyone else, her best moments are in the third episode. Serving as the necessary glue to hold this fluff together is Martin Freeman as Superintendent Battle, shadowing Bundle, trying to protect her but also needing her to stay out of his way. Almost always in support, Freeman somehow always manages to come to the front. His character is able to wrap up the troublesome details without seeming expositional.

This delightful period mystery is for fun and a rainy night. Enjoy.

Now streaming on Netflix.

Stay tuned for Part II of  “Too much of a good thing.”  

Neely Swanson spent most of her professional career in the television industry, almost all of it working for David E. Kelley. In her last full-time position as Executive Vice President of Development, she reviewed writer submissions and targeted content for adaptation. As she has often said, she did book reports for a living. For several years she was a freelance writer for “Written By,” the magazine of the WGA West, and was adjunct faculty at USC in the writing division of the School of Cinematic Arts. Neely has been writing film and television reviews for the “Easy Reader” for more than 10 years. Her past reviews can be read on Rotten Tomatoes where she is a tomatometer-approved critic.

The post TV—Too Much of a Good Thing is Pretty Good Part I appeared first on Beverly Hills Courier.

“Peaky Blinders: The Immortal Man” opens several years after the series ended. World War II is raging and the Nazis are making a full court-press on the Brits, the last holdouts against the Germans in Europe. They are bombing London in a blitzkrieg of terror and destroying factories all over Britain, specifically targeting those supporting the British war effort. Meanwhile, in Germany, Hitler has come up with an ingenious plan, one that was actually put into practice: more than 100 million counterfeit pounds were created in a ploy to destroy the economy of Great Britain and thus cause a bloodless capitulation (this plan almost succeeded). John Beckett, a member of Moseley’s British Nazi party, has been chosen to lead the effort and carpet Britain with the fake money. (There is no indication that the real John Beckett, a leading member of the British Nazi party, was involved with the counterfeit scheme.)

Tommy, long retired to his country estate with only Johnny Dogs as a companion, is haunted by the past, especially the night terrors of his experience in the trenches of World War I, and the death of his daughter Ruby, who succumbed to tuberculosis. He wants nothing to do with the past or the here and now. He left the Peaky Blinders life behind and has no interest in what has become of them. Whether aware or oblivious, the Peaky Blinders found new, violent life under the leadership of Tommy’s son Duke, born of a youthful dalliance with a Romany lover. With his other son fighting at the front, Duke has been leading a gang of violent miscreants in terrorizing the town anew and stealing whatever they choose with the blessing of crooked politicians and police. When they hijack a shipment of weapons, Duke’s Aunt Ada, now a well-liked politician and MP, has had enough. Driving into the countryside, she pleads with her brother to return and set things right. The people still revere him but are terrified of his son. Her pleas fall on deaf ears. Tommy cannot be moved.

Duke’s audacious activities have not gone unnoticed by John Beckett. Clearly Duke, unmoved by patriotism or compassion of any kind, is an excellent choice to move the counterfeit money into the mainstream. The enticement he offers, a healthy cut of the profits, is too good for the amoral Duke to pass up. They strike a bargain and the stage is set for a collision of murders, crimes and loyalty that will finally bring Tommy back to Birmingham.

Stephen Knight, creator of the original series and writer of the film, has found a way to blends in most of the original elements, many of the original characters and create an engrossing real-life plot that often leaves you on the edge of your seat. The tone is somber, the action moves forward at an alarming pace, the villains, although a bit too black and white, are identifiable and loathsome. Knight weaves in just enough fact-based activity that the film remains somewhat grounded. There was such a Nazi plot, as recounted brilliantly in the 2007 Austrian film, “The Counterfeiters,” directed by Stefan Ruzowitsky. Oswald Mosley was the leader of the British Union of Fascists, a party he created that espoused anti-Semitism and sought alliances with Mussolini’s Italy and Hitler’s Germany. That he was or was not involved in the counterfeit plot is immaterial; he very well could have been. The plausible non-fiction elements of the plot blend nicely with the fictional ones.

Loaded down with the kind of violence and explosions endemic to the original series, they are, nevertheless, organic to the plot and the characters. Director Tom Harper keeps the pace moving at a fast, sometimes almost too fast, clip. The cinematography of George Steel and Ben Wilson is effectively grimy, muddy and evocative of the frozen temperatures and barren landscapes. Production designer Jacqueline Abrahams and costume designer Alison McCosh contribute beautifully, perhaps not the right word, to this realistic period piece with the bombed-out buildings and the tattered clothing caked in mud. The punk score by Antony Genn and Martin Slattery adds to the thumping action of the characters, underscored by the resurrection of Nick Cave’s “The Red Right Hand,” used so prominently in the series as the musical theme of Tommy Shelby.

Knight and Harper have assembled a cast worthy of the film. The extraordinary Cillian Murphy brings a melancholy and resolve, along with the uncanny ability to engender sympathy for a character whose cursed life has been conducted on the wrong side of society. Seeing his careworn and haunted face up close is one of the best reasons to see this film on the big screen. His beauty is offset by the pain in his eyes. Murphy is an actor whose every feeling can be expressed in the twitch of an eyelash or the tight grimace of his lips. His criminal son is played effectively by Barry Keoghan with the dimness he showed in “The Banshees of Inisherin” and the cagey immorality of his character in “Saltburn.” He revels in criminality and shows only snatches of consciousness. He’s not what you’d consider a rooting interest, as one had for the Tommy Shelby of yore, but he has just enough mystery to keep you guessing. Several of the original characters from the series appear, most notably Sophie Rundle as Ada, Stephen Graham as Hayden Stagg, a former antagonist turned ally, Ned Dennehy as Charlie Strong and Ian Peck as Curly, as Tommy’s past loyal henchmen, but most are there as recognizable place markers. Rebecca Ferguson is the Gypsy seer and twin sister to Tommy’s first love, long dead, and Duke’s aunt. Her character is a plot pusher, there to remind the audience that Tommy has Gypsy origins and believes in the curses and forecasting so important to that culture. Tim Roth is the villain John Beckett, and although it is always a pleasure to see Roth on screen, Knight has cast him in black and white without any shading. One expects him to twirl his non-existent mustache for effect.

See this on the big screen where all the colors, emotions, and visuals are heightened.

Now playing at the Alamo Drafthouse downtown, the Landmark Sunset 5 or the Egyptian in Hollywood. Streaming on Netflix beginning March 20. 

Neely Swanson spent most of her professional career in the television industry, almost all of it working for David E. Kelley. In her last full-time position as Executive Vice President of Development, she reviewed writer submissions and targeted content for adaptation. As she has often said, she did book reports for a living. For several years she was a freelance writer for “Written By,” the magazine of the WGA West, and was adjunct faculty at USC in the writing division of the School of Cinematic Arts. Neely has been writing film and television reviews for the “Easy Reader” for more than 10 years. Her past reviews can be read on Rotten Tomatoes where she is a tomatometer-approved critic.

The post “Peaky Blinders: The Immortal Man” in a Mortal World appeared first on Beverly Hills Courier.

A warning is given. Mary Godwin Shelley appears on screen, back from the dead, to announce her disappointment in her early demise (poetic license because she died in her 50s) and her unfinished work—she had intended to write a companion piece to Frankenstein, pun intended, one that would be entirely from the female perspective. After Mary’s onscreen warning of what’s to come, we are transported to Chicago in the 1930s. The city is owned by Lupino, the gangster controlling all the rackets and cops in town. He does not cotton to women with big mouths and the jars behind him attest to his dislike of mouthy women. Ida, a wild thing, unapologetic of her sex, both gender and employment, has run afoul of the big boss. Slapped around by his henchmen, Ida takes a fatal fall and is hastily buried. (Note for those not versed in film history: combine Ida and Lupino and you have the name of one of the first successful female directors in the talkie era.)

Frankenstein, heretofore called Frank, has been wandering the earth for eons, alone and in desperate need of companionship. It is not mere coincidence that his travels have taken him to Chicago where he alights on the doorstep of Dr. Euphronious. He has heard that she is capable of reanimation. She is reluctant to try again because all previous successful experiments had been on animals. He is very convincing. First order of business, a not too stiff stiff. Under cover of night, they steal off to the nearest cemetery and dig up a fresh corpse, the recently deceased Ida.

Electrodes and wires akimbo, sparks fly, literally and figuratively, and a recognizable Ida, hair statically enhanced, emerges from the laboratory gurney. The primary side effects, however, are the indigo stains at her mouth and along her arms resembling a Rorschach test gone awry. Still, all in all, not a bad try. Stripped of memory, she can be whatever he, or primarily she, makes her to be. He’ll call her Penelope; she’ll make it Penny, but either way, she’s the Bride.

Arm in arm, emerging from Euphronious’ elegant mansion, Frank wants to take her to the movies. He wants to share his love of screen star Ronnie Reed, the handsome song and dance man. She does not yet understand, but Ronnie Reed is everything Frank wants to be. He daydreams himself on screen mimicking the dance steps and melodies of his hero (think Peter Boyle as the monster with top hat and tails, performing “Putting on the Ritz” in “Young Frankenstein”). Ronnie Reed and the Bride are Frank’s Achilles’ heels.

They are, to say the least, an unusual looking couple and, inevitably, attract the wrong kind of scrutiny. Frank has always had a hard time gauging his own strength and the body count begins to rise. Running afoul of the law, they take it on the lam, stealing a car and capturing the imagination of the public following their exploits in the news. Detective Jake Wiles and his intrepid secretary/assistant Myrna Malloy (as in Myrna Loy, the box office queen in the 30’s) are on the case but always a step or two behind. The wily Wiles knows, however, that Frank will be stopping at every theater showing a Ronnie Reed movie along the way and begins to track him by the movies playing along their escape route.

Penny is the catalyst, fighting alongside Frank and driving the getaway car. Her independence and “take no prisoners” approach has lit a fire in women across the country who copy the indigo pattern on Penny’s face and chant “Me Too, time’s up.” They are Bonnie and Clyde on no particular mission. Their relationship has been growing and Penny, now devoted to Frank, is willing to make it legal. Forces are combining to thwart their plans.

Gyllenhaal has made a film of sound and fury signifying nothing, but that is, in a way, her point. She has mashed everything up and doesn’t stay on one thing too long. Yes, there’s a momentary feminist bent but this is an entertainment not a diatribe. The adventures of Frank and Penny, whose true identity eventually becomes known as they are chased not just by the police but by Lupino’s men as well. They skip merrily from one misadventure to another, growing closer as the chaos increases. They are partners in crime and love and what Dr. Euphronious has joined together, let no man cast asunder.

Although criticized by many for its meanderings and stunted themes lacking in development, I would propose that this is exactly the point. Feminism may be a somewhat undeveloped undercurrent but “The Bride” is pandemonium and an homage to many of Gyllenhaal’s favorite things. I have caught a few of the obvious homages like Ida Lupino and Myrna Loy, but there are, no doubt, many others. The color palette is frighteningly bold, with its primary colors bleeding off the screen. The playlist is a mishmash of songs, old and new, from the canon of 30’s hits like “I’ve Got a Feeling I’m Falling” and punk rock songs from Fever Ray to the occasional dip into Schubert. Stay for the end credits and be treated to the song you knew had to be coming. Hildur Guđnadóttir has created a punk score that both mirrors and contrasts with the mood on screen.

Costuming by three-time Oscar winner Sandy Powell contributes to the bright and messy themes. Production designer Karen Murphy has created a specific time and place set that locates the film in the here and now of the era using the saturated tones chosen by Gyllenhaal. Cinematographer Lawrence Sher blends the real with the surreal.

And what a cast! Jessie Buckley is Ida/the Bride/Mary Shelley and carries this hodge podge on her often bared shoulders. Christian Bale, as you’ve never seen him, plays the subdued Frank awakened by his love for the Bride, a somewhat reluctant Clyde Barrow to her shoot from the hip Bonnie. Annette Bening is the easily convinced Dr. Euphronious and Jeannie Berlin is her hilarious maid and Igor-figure Greta stealing everything but the wall paper. Jake Gyllenhaal, Maggie’s brother,  plays the movie god Ronnie Reed, seen primarily in on-screen movie clips doing his own singing and dancing. There may be something more than transference in Frank’s idolization of this star. The sympathetically crooked Detective Wiles is Peter Sarsgaard, Maggie’s partner in real life; his assistant, the lovely Myrna Malloy is played by a luscious Penelope Cruz.

Initial box office returns indicate that “The Bride” may not be everyone’s cup of tea but it was mine and time will tell if this worthy film might gain more traction in cult status as people gradually catch on to the joke.

Now playing at The Grove and other theaters throughout Los Angeles. 

Neely Swanson spent most of her professional career in the television industry, almost all of it working for David E. Kelley. In her last full-time position as Executive Vice President of Development, she reviewed writer submissions and targeted content for adaptation. As she has often said, she did book reports for a living. For several years she was a freelance writer for “Written By,” the magazine of the WGA West, and was adjunct faculty at USC in the writing division of the School of Cinematic Arts. Neely has been writing film and television reviews for the “Easy Reader” for more than 10 years. Her past reviews can be read on Rotten Tomatoes where she is a tomatometer-approved critic.

The post ‘The Bride’—Here She Comes, Ready or Not appeared first on Beverly Hills Courier.

“F-1,” with a cast that boasts Brad Pitt, relies primarily on its occasionally exciting racing footage at actual Formula One tracks like Abu Dhabi and Las Vegas. The movie itself suffers from a lack of originality with the theme of an old-timer (Pitt) agreeing to come back into the game after a devastating accident years before to help out a close friend (Javier Bardem) and mentor a young turk with potential (Damson Idris). No surprises. The characters are all stereotypes and the script actually dulls some of the racing rivalries. Still, the star power and the race footage brought lots of eyeballs to this Apple-produced film. See it now on Apple.

Both “Frankenstein” and “Train Dreams” were intended for streaming by Netflix and released only nominally in theaters. “Frankenstein,” a creation by Guillermo del Toro, is a visual masterpiece but never seems to heat up despite casting two hunks in the roles of Dr. Victor Frankenstein (Oscar Isaac) and the monster (Jacob Elordi). Del Toro is a master at painting a picture, and he more than succeeds with his “Frankenstein,” from the chilly Arctic locations to its Victorian London environs, but the possibilities of making this a more universally themed classic seem to have been missed. The relationship between Victor and his monster is clearly love/hate with slight homoerotic overtones. The yelling, screaming, fright and fighting is there, but what is missing is the emotion, leaving the film all form and no substance.

“Train Dreams” is a real puzzle. A critical darling, it left me completely cold and surprised by its nomination. Starring Joel Edgerton, directed by Clint Bentley and based on a novella by Denis Johnson, it is a character study of one man’s life in the woods as he makes his way through the forests of Oregon as a lumberjack. Chopping trees is hard work and leaves little time to bond with his fellow men. Passively, always a watcher and rarely a participant, he sees racial violence against Chinese co-workers, bar room fights and death by falling trees. Finding a wife, he determines that he will build a better life for his small family, one that eventually includes a daughter, but even that is thwarted when, in fitting tribute to the vicissitudes of nature, they are lost in a forest fire. Never giving up hope, he lives the rest of his life in solitude, always with the hope that they are not dead and will eventually find their way back to him. Life goes on around him and the changes are massive, ones that, again, he views impassively. And then he dies. That’s it.

Most of the nominations for actors have already been mentioned. A few, however, were not in Oscar-nominated films. Ethan Hawke was nominated for his role in “Blue Moon,” a movie I absolutely hated. Hawke was better in the film than I credited him with. He portrayed Lorenz Hart, the prolific and brilliant lyricist of songs like “Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered,” “Falling in Love with Love,” “Isn’t It Romantic” and, of course, his least favorite creation, his golden goose, “Blue Moon.” Hawke portrays him at the end of his life, miserable, a closeted homosexual, alcoholic and no longer collaborating with Richard Rodgers. It is the opening night of “Oklahoma” and Hart is beside himself with anxiety. Perhaps I was mostly put off by the tricks used to disguise the 5’10” Hawke as a man of the petite stature of 5 feet at best. The gyrations needed to make him look short were distracting.

Rose Byrne received a Best Actress nomination for her stunning turn as an overwhelmed mother in “If I Had Legs I’d Kick You.” The Golden Globe winner for Best Actress in a Comedy or Musical was a head-scratcher. This was a very dramatic role, but the Globes had already given Best Actress in a Drama to Jessie Buckley for “Hamnet” and, no doubt, felt a need to honor Byrne for her brave performance. The Globes has done this in the past when they felt the need to honor two different actors who should have been in the same grouping. Case in point was when they shoehorned Matt Damon in “The Martian” into the Comedy and Musical category. Byrne is very good but has a tendency to play this role at the top register, leaving her very little room to maneuver to the quieter moments.

Kate Hudson’s Best Actress nomination was for her role in “Song Sung Blue,” playing Claire, part of a Neil Diamond tribute duo. The film, one of my favorites of the year, did not get a lot of love from the Academy and Hudson campaigned hard for the film and her role in it. As Claire, she showed the range and depth of a middle class woman who finds happiness in life with the right partner only to be felled in a freak accident and have to claw her way back to health. It could have been cliché. Even though this is based on a real person, the “finding happiness in love and life, losing it all and then working to regain it” is not a new concept. That Hudson breathes life into this formula is a tribute to her acting.

What were the surprises and snubs? There were several. From my point of view, “F-1” was a nod to commercial success. It was certainly deserving of all the technical nominations it received, but it was a stretch to call this overworked scenario full of stereotypic characters a viable Best Picture. I feel similarly about “Train Dreams,” which left me cold from beginning to end. I still can’t figure it out. Ethan Hawke’s nomination for “Blue Moon” was a surprise but, given that Paul Mescal was the actor who would probably have gotten that slot, it was, as they say, six of one half a dozen of another. Elle Fanning’s Best Supporting Actress nomination still puzzles me. She’s fine but doesn’t rise to the level of the others in the very fine “Sentimental Value.”

The snubs were more plentiful. The omission of “Wicked for Good” was startling. It was a box office behemoth with the same wonderful cast and marvelous effects. Of no more substance than “F-1,” it surely deserved a place at the same table.

Jesse Plemons, as critical to “Bugonia” as Emma Stone, was, for some reason, not nominated in either the Best or Supporting Actor category. It’s a puzzlement, as the lyrics from “The King and I” express. I was surprised that Jennifer Lawrence did not get a nomination for her harrowing portrayal of a woman in the throes of mental illness brought on by postpartum depression, exacerbated by an unfaithful husband and an unfriendly environment in “Die, My Love.” Lawrence was outstanding in a film that wasn’t, so it’s probably similar to a great player on an unremarkable team not getting an MVP. Kathleen Chalfant was amazing in a little-seen film called “Familiar Touch.” She portrayed a woman descending gradually into dementia as she adjusts to her new assisted living quarters. Rarely, if ever, has the slow tumble into memory loss, with occasional flashes of lucidity, been depicted with such sensitivity and subtlety. Criminally underused in film and on stage, Chalfant has always been an actor of immense depth.

My favorite film of the year, “The Life of Chuck” was ignored along with Tom Hiddleston, an actor who deserved a nomination. Granted, this small film, based on a Stephen King novella, had an interesting but confusing structure, starting at the end and ending at the beginning, it demanded a great deal of attention on the part of the viewer to put the puzzle pieces together. But the clues are all there in a poem by Walt Whitman and Carl Sagan’s explanation of the Cosmos, leading to the eventual understanding of the intersecting parts and players. It is totally satisfying and begs to be watched multiple times (I’ve seen it four times and each deepens my understanding of King’s intentions). Hiddleston portrays Chuck with colors that I didn’t even know existed. Assured from end to beginning (remember it starts with Act Three and ends at Act One), he is the everyman for every occasion. As this film, and his stage work, attests, Hiddleston is so much more than Loki! See it on Netflix.

Watch the Oscars on ABC and Hulu on March 15 at 4 p.m. Pacific Time. Conan O’Brien is your host.  

Neely Swanson spent most of her professional career in the television industry, almost all of it working for David E. Kelley. In her last full-time position as Executive Vice President of Development, she reviewed writer submissions and targeted content for adaptation. As she has often said, she did book reports for a living. For several years she was a freelance writer for “Written By,” the magazine of the WGA West, and was adjunct faculty at USC in the writing division of the School of Cinematic Arts. Neely has been writing film and television reviews for the “Easy Reader” for more than 10 years. Her past reviews can be read on Rotten Tomatoes where she is a tomatometer-approved critic.

The post Hits, Misses and Oscars, Oh My Part II appeared first on Beverly Hills Courier.

Although both sides would deny it, the timing of the Golden Globes broadcast on Jan. 11 announcing its winners is, no doubt, designed to influence Oscar voters, whose nomination ballots were due on Jan. 16.  The Globes especially like to point out their prescience because many of their award winners will also walk away with the golden trophy on March 15. Year in and year out there is a great deal of overlap, helped by the fact that the Globes give contenders two shots at the Best Picture and Actor top prizes because they have two categories: “Best Motion Picture (Actor) Drama” and “Best Motion Picture (Actor) Comedy or Musical.” The Golden Globe winner in Drama was “Hamnet,” for Best Musical or Comedy, it was “One Battle After Another” (a comedy?). Best Actor and Actress in a Drama were, respectively, Wagner Moura for “The Secret Agent” and Jessie Buckley for “Hamnet.” Best Actor and Actress in a Musical or Comedy were Timothée Chalamet for “Marty Supreme” and Rose Byrne for “If I Had Legs, I’d Kick You” (very few if any yucks in that one). Voting for the Oscars has just begun and ends Feb. 18.

Although Box Office receipts for most of the Best Picture nominees were not stellar, the few exceptions were for “F-1” and “Sinners,” although the late 2025 premieres of “Marty Supreme” and “Hamnet” are showing strength in the early 2026 returns. And…the Award for best  Box Office and Commercial Appeal should go to “F-1” and “Sinners.”

“Sinners” definitely deserves its place at the table. To call it a horror film or zombie movie is to diminish the actual artistry of this innovative film starring Michael B. Jordan (nominated in the Best Actor category) as twin brothers trying to build a business in an unfriendly (to say the least) environment. Character development, dramatic twists and turns in a story that is as much about prejudice as it is about perseverance, and outstanding acting make “Sinners” one of the front-runners for Best Picture. Director Ryan Coogler, nominated for Best Director, uses metaphor in a way that makes this film transcend its so-called “horror” genre. I never saw any of it coming and if you haven’t seen it, catch up with it on MAX.

“One Battle After Another,” like “Sinners,” takes an innovative approach to the oft-told “apocalypse” genre and finds ways to make it new. With a cast that includes Leonardo DiCaprio (nominated in the Best Actor category), Sean Penn (nominated for Best Supporting Actor) as a slimy villain just this side of V from “V for Vendetta” and Benicio del Toro (also nominated for Best Supporting Actor) as a low key but heroic counterpoint to Penn’s character. Directed by Paul Thomas Anderson (nominated for Best Director), he tells a complex story of the fight against man’s inhumanity to man with humor and depth. It probably has a marginal lead over “Sinners” for Best Picture, although both are deserving. Watch it on MAX.

“Sentimental Value” is a sleeper. A Norwegian movie (also nominated for Best International Film), it tells the story of an actress, Nora, at a crossroads with her career, her family and her life in general. It’s all complicated. Her father, Gustav, a famous film director, abandoned the family after his divorce from his psychotherapist wife. Their two daughters continued to live in his family home with their mother, a home that had been in his family for generations. With the death of his ex-wife and his career in decline, he returns to claim the house, evicting daughter Agnes and rekindling all the resentments that Nora had held in check. Ulterior motives abound because Gustav has a script and he needs Nora to play the lead role, one based on their family dynamics and his hidden demons. Directed flawlessly by Joachim Trier (nominated for Best Director), who proves that no matter how familiar the story, there’s always a new approach and his approach is filled with complexity and character development. Starring the incomparable Stellan Skarsgård as Gustav, nominated for Best Supporting Actor, Renate Reinsve, Nora, nominated for Best Actress, with Elle Fanning, as an American actress and Inga Ibsdotter Lilleaas, playing Nora’s sister Agnes, both nominated for Best Supporting Actress. This small, thoroughly engaging and thoughtful film garnered five major nominations, the same number of major nominations as “One Battle After Another,” and both were nominated in their respective writing categories.

“Marty Supreme” was a real surprise and very worthy of its spot on this roster. Who could ever have imagined that a movie about a professional ping pong player and conman would find its way to the Oscars? The script is inventive, the directing by Josh Safdie, Oscar-nominated for Best Director, is fast-paced, and the acting, oh the acting. Timothée Chalamet is nothing short of brilliant in the role of Marty Mauser and was rewarded with a nomination for Best Actor. He makes the film positively soar with his Machiavellian antics. His Marty goes well beyond misrepresentation into the realm of amoral deception all in the name of getting to that next international tournament. Aided ably by Gwyneth Paltrow as a jaded ex-movie star caged by her captain of industry husband, played by a brilliant and absolutely chilling Kevin O’Leary, the Canadian businessman and “Shark Tank” producer. Odessa A’zian is Rachel, who will stop at nothing to trap Marty for herself. Watch for a very subdued and effective Fran Drescher as Marty’s mother. This is Timothée Chalamet at his zenith and illustrating, once again, his ability to melt seamlessly into a role, bringing us with him. If I had a vote, it would be for him.

I was very much looking forward to “Hamnet,” one of my favorite books of the last several years. I broke my hard and fast rule to judge a film on its own and not on its underlying material and was disappointed. The setting of Elizabethan England was lush but the story was somewhat flat. Shakespeare, played by Paul Mescal, was thunderstruck by the beauty and free spirit of Agnes when he first saw her. He was the Latin tutor of her brothers and she was the Cinderella daughter of her father’s first wife, unbeloved by his second. Director Chloé Zhao, nominated for Best Director, focuses almost the entire story on Agnes, Oscar-nominated Jessie Buckley. Shakespeare is often the missing ingredient in the story of his wife raising their children on her own as he goes off to direct his plays in London. Uninterested in his life, she focuses on the day- to-day difficulties of their hard scrapple life. Losing their son, Hamnet, to the plague is devastating, and it is only this that seemingly brings them together. As bland and plodding as the film was throughout most of the runtime, it makes up for it in the last sequence when Agnes finally goes to London to see the play that bears their dead son’s name, “Hamlet.” It proves again that a spectacular ending can resurrect a moribund film.

Nobody could have been more surprised than I was to find “Bugonia” an engaging and remarkable movie. Having sworn off the films of Yorgos Lanthimos after “Kinds of Kindnesses,” I realized it was the only one of the 10 nominations for Best Picture that I hadn’t seen. Starring his muses Jesse Plemons and Emma Stone, staples in his previous films, they tell the story of a bedraggled duo of conspiracy theorists who are convinced that a Pharma CEO, the Oscar-nominated Stone, is part of an alien network hell bent on subjecting and then destroying the population of earth. Kidnapping her, it is a battle of wills and brains between the outmatched Teddy (Plemons) and the brilliant Michelle (Stone). Not an easy film to follow, Lanthimos’ signature hyperreality and supersaturated colors do end up with a surprise, killer finish, one that, if not out of thin air, is definitely out of this world.

“Secret Agent,” like “Sentimental Value,” is also nominated for Best International Film. Telling the story of a heroic individual, marked for death because he disrespected a corrupt businessman with powerful governmental ties, he decides it’s time for him to return home to Recife and reconnect with his son. Together they will leave Brazil for a safe haven elsewhere, or at least that is the plan. Anchored by the stunning performance of Wagner Moura, nominated for Best Actor and winner of both the Golden Globe and the Cannes Film Festival for Best Actor, his Marcello takes us into the clandestine world of others trying to escape the injustice about to be meted out for spurious reasons. Director Kleber Mendonça Filho drags you slowly into a spiderweb from which the characters cannot escape. It is a film very much for today when thin-skinned politicians target political rivals, seek retribution and misuse the judiciary. Yes, this is a film of and about Brazil but sadly it’s no longer just Brazil.

Part II will highlight Best Film nominations that puzzled me or were not up to the level of those discussed in Part I, as well as Best Actor nominations that were not part of movies nominated in the top categories. And then, there are the surprises and snubs, because there are always some, although everyone has their own opinions of what they were. You get my opinion.

Neely Swanson spent most of her professional career in the television industry, almost all of it working for David E. Kelley. In her last full-time position as Executive Vice President of Development, she reviewed writer submissions and targeted content for adaptation. As she has often said, she did book reports for a living. For several years she was a freelance writer for “Written By,” the magazine of the WGA West, and was adjunct faculty at USC in the writing division of the School of Cinematic Arts. Neely has been writing film and television reviews for the “Easy Reader” for more than 10 years. Her past reviews can be read on Rotten Tomatoes where she is a tomatometer-approved critic.

The post Hits, Misses and Oscars, Oh My! Part I appeared first on Beverly Hills Courier.

“Sirāt” is as full of life as it is of death; of the found and the lost. Luis is a father who has ventured into the unforgiving Moroccan desert with his young son Esteban. The pulsing bass of the subwoofers, the scantily clothed hordes, heads and bodies shaking, sweating and dancing in ecstasy in the relentless heat announces that he has found his destination. They are searching for his daughter and Estaban’s sister, Mar, who disappeared months ago into the black hole of rave culture. Determined to find her, they pass out flyers with her picture without result. Seemingly in the middle of nowhere, far from any urban areas, a battalion of army vehicles arrives to evacuate the ravers from riots that are taking place elsewhere in the country.

An intrepid crew of outcasts decides to flee and continue on to the next rave, alleged to be in Mauritania, to the south of Morocco. Luis, in his ill-equipped car with his son and their dog, is determined to follow them despite their warnings. The terrain will be punishing, at times over rocks and treacherously narrow unpaved paths. The professional ravers drive two ancient, well-broken-in massive Land Cruisers, large enough to sleep in and still carry all their living necessities. Luis will not be dissuaded. He has bonded with this group of international (French, English and Spanish) misfits: Josh, Stef and Jade, tatted and equal to the men, one-legged Tonin and Bigui, jolly, profane and missing part of one arm. Like camp followers, this intrepid group goes on instinct, not maps, to follow their dreams. Exiled from mainstream society, they find beauty that others overlook.

Luis is Laxe’s everyman. Like most of us, he lives an ordinary, anonymous life and, like most of us, he keeps life at arm’s distance, comforted in the lack of challenge, startled when confronted by something outside his norm. This is exactly what happens to him on the road trip he’s chosen, one he hopes will bring him to his daughter. Instead, he is confronted head-on by life and death, changing him immeasurably both for good and bad. This band of merry ravers lives life as it comes, facing its challenges and asking nothing more than continued adventures. Unrooted, unprepared, they relish this arduous journey not just for the goal at the end but for the unexpected that they face on their way. Luis, for whom his son and daughter are everything, has taken this trip not to bring his daughter back but to connect, to see her again. With his daughter’s disappearance, his world has been thrown off its axis. He is perplexed by this motley group. Do they not have families who miss them? They are as puzzled by him as he is of them. Of course, they have family; it is their cherished family with whom they live and travel every day. Family is not who you are born to, it is who you choose. They are the people St. Francis was thinking about when he said, “Grace is found especially among the excluded.” They are the very embodiment of the Beatitudes: “Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth; Blessed are the merciful, for they will be shown mercy;  and “Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted.”

The tone of “Sirāt” is its strength because starting off as a careless, happy, almost joyous road trip, an adventure to add to the many they have already experienced, it changes abruptly, a jagged chasm opened by an unexpected 7.5 earthquake, making us understand that how one confronts death is deeper and more fundamental to living than how one faces and lives life.

The cinematography by Mauro Herce sets the screen on fire. The Moroccan desert with its terracotta plateaus rising from the flat, beige Sahara, wisps of heat rising from the flat surfaces disturbed only by the gyrating bodies communing with the thumping bass of the loudspeakers is visceral imagery. The relentless danger from the unpaved roads followed by the intrepid family of voyagers is in direct contrast to Herce’s beautiful mountain backdrops that belie the dangers of the road. His photography of the rocky terrain is such that you feel the sting of their sharp edges. His color palette is as intense at times as it is muted at others. Herce has made the relentless landscape a character as important as the humans traversing it.

Kangding Ray’s score is immersive. As important to the film as the photography, he transitions seamlessly from the thumping boom of the rave’s techno beat to soothing, almost spiritual background music as they head off down the road until it disintegrates into cacophony as they face increasing obstacles along the way. He won the Soundtrack Award at Cannes for his score.

The actors, the majority of whom have only one credit on a television news series called “Arte Journal” in 1998, inhabited this movie and draw you into this heart of darkness with their amazing depth and focus. Working together as a cohesive unit, a bond that must have been shared before, the ravers are Stefania Gadda as Steff, Joshua Liam Hererson as Josh, Jade Oukid as Jade, the extraordinary one-armed Richard “Bigui” Bellamy as Bigui, the mesmerizing anchor of the group, and their graceful, peg-legged leader Tonin Janvier as Tonin. Bruno Nuñez Arjona plays young Esteban with wide-eyed wonder and the adolescent penchant towards danger.

The main reason, if any other were needed, to see this or any other movie is its star, Sergi López, an internationally acclaimed Spanish actor with credits that range from del Toro’s masterpiece “Pan’s Labyrinth” to his César-winning role in “A Friend Like Harry.” Whether playing heroes, villains or anything in between, his malleable face expresses longing, fear, hope, tragedy and the will to live. Both his sense of defeat and his will to continue are written not just on his face or in his voice but in his body and whole being. For me, López is an actor that I will watch regardless of the material, and he has always surprised me, that rare actor who is as effective in French and English as he is in his native Spanish. He elevates the material and this is even the case when the underlying story was already close to perfection.

Director/writer Oliver Laxe, collaborating with writer Santiago Fillol, winner of the 2025 Jury Prize at Cannes, has given us a story that is as universal as it is specific, bringing all the elements, photography, music and acting, together in a cohesive whole that will have you reeling. Submitted by Spain for awards consideration, it has been nominated for both an Academy Award and an Independent Spirit for Best International Film.

In Spanish, French and English with English subtitles.

Opening Feb. 6 at the Landmark’s Nuart Theatre.

Neely Swanson spent most of her professional career in the television industry, almost all of it working for David E. Kelley. In her last full-time position as Executive Vice President of Development, she reviewed writer submissions and targeted content for adaptation. As she has often said, she did book reports for a living. For several years she was a freelance writer for “Written By,” the magazine of the WGA West, and was adjunct faculty at USC in the writing division of the School of Cinematic Arts. Neely has been writing film and television reviews for the “Easy Reader” for more than 10 years. Her past reviews can be read on Rotten Tomatoes where she is a tomatometer-approved critic.

The post ‘Sirāt’—Between Heaven and Hell appeared first on Beverly Hills Courier.

Under the tutelage of her friend Stuart, she begins her journey with the hawk. Ironically, it’s not Helen training the bird, but the bird who is training Helen. Completely absorbed in the project, the recalcitrant hawk takes over her life. It’s a long road toward trust and the bird, at the beginning, won’t eat or obey. She takes him everywhere, something that displeases the resident directors, who remind her that pets are not allowed in campus housing. As she explains to one and all, her bird, now named Mabel, is not a pet.

As she becomes more and more absorbed in what may have started as a hobby but is now a life choice, she begins to neglect her classes, students and work. Her best friend Christina, still around despite the ghosting behavior of Helen, watches out for her friend as she goes down the rabbit hole of obsession.

Helen’s memories of significant moments with her father blend into her total consumption of Mabel’s behavior. Mabel is more attached to Helen than the jesses, the leather straps that keep her secured to Helen’s wrist as she trains. This is an inverse relationship because the more independent and proficient at hunting untethered Mabel grows, Helen becomes more dependent on the bird, worrying whether it will return or whether it will find its prey. Helen, the formerly neat and natty lecturer, nails done, hair coiffed, attire immaculate, gradually descends into slovenliness from dress to hygiene. Her classes are neglected and her future in doubt, Helen sees only the hawk, a substitute for her lost attachment to her father.

“H Is for Hawk” is based on the memoir by Helen Macdonald, who spent a year training a goshawk after her father passed away suddenly from a heart attack. It is a slim story made better by the extraordinary cast. In an undeveloped role, Lindsay Duncan as Helen’s mother, exudes care and concern. Denise Gough is Helen’s best friend Christina, whose loyalty is a touchstone both to Helen and the film. Brenden Gleeson as Helen’s dad, is always a welcome presence and a highlight of this small movie. It is easy to understand how wonderful an influence he was on his daughter, and how great a loss his absence is. Gleeson is an actor who would make the telephone book (remember those?) fascinating reading. Simultaneously gruff and warm, as a father he would be irreplaceable. Claire Foy is an exceptional Helen. She lets you see all the enthusiastic promise that her character held and breaks your heart as you see her obsession take over every aspect of her life, an obsession that merely masks but doesn’t replace her aching loss. Helen becomes a case study in depression.

The narrative is slight and ends rather abruptly, but it’s still an absorbing film full of character development and depth. Mabel the goshawk is, at turns, frightening and loveable, undergoing changes that dominate the screen and her mistress. The cinematography is excellent, highlighting the beautiful countryside around Cambridge. The film never drags, and just the falconry alone is worthwhile experiencing.

Now playing at the Laemmle Monica Film Center.

Neely Swanson spent most of her professional career in the television industry, almost all of it working for David E. Kelley. In her last full-time position as Executive Vice President of Development, she reviewed writer submissions and targeted content for adaptation. As she has often said, she did book reports for a living. For several years she was a freelance writer for “Written By,” the magazine of the WGA West, and was adjunct faculty at USC in the writing division of the School of Cinematic Arts. Neely has been writing film and television reviews for the “Easy Reader” for more than 10 years. Her past reviews can be read on Rotten Tomatoes where she is a tomatometer-approved critic.

The post ‘H Is for Hawk’—Flying High appeared first on Beverly Hills Courier.

“A Private Life” is a multifaceted title referring not just to psychiatrist Lilian Steiner (Foster) who has compartmentalized all the parts of her life, but also to the patients in her practice. Certainly everyone has a private life, a life separated from the professional, the family and the inner self, but not all of them are quite as complicated as the many rigid lives of Dr. Steiner. A psychoanalyst, she tries to make her patients adhere to the times she has allotted them. Not pleased one evening when a client shows up unannounced, she reluctantly lets him in. He’s through, he tells her. He has been coming to her for many years in an effort to stop smoking and, until just last week, he still smoked. What did the trick, he tells her, was not her therapy but his visit to a hypnotist who cured him in one short session. Not only is he no longer in need of her services but he’s angry that his sessions on her sofa did him no good. Stoically, she reminds him that much more than smoking was discussed and that cures for specific ills are not guaranteed. Off he huffs, vowing never to set foot in her office again.

More problematic news follows when she learns that Paula, a longtime patient, has died. Lilian is floored. Attending the funeral, she is confronted by Paula’s outraged husband who, inexplicably, blames her. Leaving, she records his reaction. His guilt, she thinks, is misdirected at her. But she’s troubled. Tears begin to pour down the cheeks of the formerly implacable Steiner. This has never happened before and she is powerless to stop the flow, no matter the situation. Perhaps her ex, Gabriel, a leading ophthalmologist, can help. Examining her, he is amazed. “I think it’s the first time I’ve ever seen you cry,” he says. “I’m not crying,” she exclaims. “It’s my eyes that are.” He tells her that everything is normal. “Did something happen?” “No,” she replies. “Nothing special.”

Still, the tears keep coming. Paula’s daughter arrives with the information that Paula’s death was a suicide using the pills prescribed by Steiner. Though she can submerge her feelings, she cannot stop the tears. She continues to see patients; her tears continue to flow. Frustrated to the point of exhaustion, she does the unthinkable and visits her former client’s hypnotherapist, Jessica, a woman who specializes in Ericksonian hypnotherapy, where focus on the present is given precedence over Freud’s self-exploration of past events. Remarkably, Jessica tells her she can’t stop her from crying because something within her needs to cry, needs to be in mourning. What she will do, however, is take her back to the past; open a portal to a past life that might give credence to what she’s feeling. Skeptical, Lilian allows Jessica to hypnotize her, and what she finds in this imagined past is remarkable, opening something within her, symbols that may have representations in her present.

Lilian clings to the past life portal that has been opened, finding in it another way to dismiss the here and now. Remarkably, the tears have stopped. Now she must unravel the death of Paula, convinced she couldn’t have missed the symptoms. Listening to one of Paula’s taped sessions, she discovers a possible hint to her death, a secret that Paula kept. She must have been murdered. Meeting Gabriel for dinner, she enlists him as her partner in solving what she is certain is a crime. She becomes more convinced than ever that foul play is involved when she returns home to find her office ransacked and the critical tape of Paula’s last session missing.

It is at this point that Zlotowski’s film veers away from psychodrama and into the realm of the slightly wacky, as Gabriel and Lilian follow what they think are clues to what Lilian is convinced is a murder, drawing them closer together than they have been in years. At this point the film has a slight “Only Murders in the Building” tone that might have worked a bit better if it hadn’t been a complete left turn. Nevertheless, this departure from the somber opens up the character of Lilian, who up until now was what one might politely call a stiff. The challenge of the chase, underscored by the weird past life scenario, serves to allow Lilian to relate more humanely to those around her, especially her much maligned son and the grandchild whose mere presence makes her wince. Zlotowski’s intent is to present Lilian as a new woman, less self-involved and more willing to deal with the ambiguities in her own life.

Zlotowski, both as director and co-writer with Anne Berest, was, perhaps, a bit overly ambitious. The various turns in tone and subject matter don’t always work but, if you stay with it until the end, the character development of Lilian Steiner from therapist to human being is quite satisfactory. Helping enormously is the amazing cast she assembled. Jodie Foster, a four-time Academy Award nominee and two-time winner, is remarkable as Steiner. A still-beautiful woman, aging gracefully, the lines etched along her mouth attest to years of stress and no release, characteristics endemic to this physician. Foster is able to convey tension and coldness in her posture as well as her eyes. She is a marvel to watch and would be reason enough to see the film.

But Foster isn’t the only stellar member of this cast. Daniel Auteuil, star of countless iconic films and an icon himself, plays Gabriel, Steiner’s husband. His warmth offsets her froideur; their chemistry is palpable. Nominated for 14 César awards (the French Oscar) and winner of two, he lends importance to any film in which he appears and he is one of the reasons to stay with this one. Virginie Efira, a César winner for “Revoir Paris,” plays Paula and capitalizes on the mystery of her character, making a big impression with the little screen time she has.

Mathieu Amalric, familiar to American audiences for his roles in “Munich” and “The Grand Budapest Hotel,” is a 10-time César nominee (for writing, directing and acting) and three-time actor César winner, playing Paula’s surviving husband Simon, his anger and sadness colliding effectively into explosiveness. A favorite of mine is Vincent Lacoste who plays Steiner and Gabriel’s son Julien. His realistic disappointment can be read all over his being, engendering sympathy as the neglected son of a troubled mother. A César winner for “Lost Illusions,” you would do yourself a favor to see this exquisite film (streaming on Amazon). Sophie Guillemin plays Jessica the hypnotherapist with conviction and Frederick Wiseman, a highly regarded documentarian and French favorite, is Dr. Goldstein, Steiner’s former professor, now colleague, whether he’s willing to admit it or not. The nonagenarian Wiseman approaches his role with a well-earned twinkle in his eye. Don’t miss his outstanding documentary “Menus Plaisirs – Les Troisgros” on PBS Passport.

Editor Géraldine Mangenot keeps the flow continuous even when the tone changes and cinematographer George Lechaptois makes his relatively dark palette find depth as the film takes a film noir turn.

Any reservations I have, and I do have them, relate to the choppy way in which Zlotowski changes the tone. Veering from personal crisis to a somewhat ineffective film noir homage, she then segues into a rather unconvincing farcical-mystery investigation. She finally arrives at a satisfying, if too hasty, romantic-comedy reconciliation between Steiner and her ex. The parts never completely coalesce into a whole. Although primarily a character study of the psychiatrist, in lesser hands, Steiner’s personal rehabilitation would not ring true, but Foster, the consummate actor, makes it believable.

In French with English subtitles.

Now playing at the Laemmle Royal 

Neely Swanson spent most of her professional career in the television industry, almost all of it working for David E. Kelley. In her last full-time position as Executive Vice President of Development, she reviewed writer submissions and targeted content for adaptation. As she has often said, she did book reports for a living. For several years she was a freelance writer for “Written By,” the magazine of the WGA West, and was adjunct faculty at USC in the writing division of the School of Cinematic Arts. Neely has been writing film and television reviews for the “Easy Reader” for more than 10 years. Her past reviews can be read on Rotten Tomatoes where she is a tomatometer-approved critic.

The post ‘A Private Life’—Under a Microscope appeared first on Beverly Hills Courier.

Man-su is living the good life with his lovely wife Miri, two children and two golden retrievers in a bucolic suburb in a custom home with all the amenities. He’s earned it. Working for one of the leading paper factories in the country, he’s good at his job, one he’s held for almost 25 years. He’s the very picture of self-satisfaction as he fires up his Weber Grill to barbecue the eel that has been sent to him in appreciation from his company. Certainly he is spending above his means, but he’s not worried. The eel was a symbol of the esteem in which he’s held and will, he is sure, result in a promotion and raise. Company loyalty is something he can count on— until he can’t. Called into the office, with a large group of other staff, he is told that their company is being merged with another and he is among many being made redundant. Not to fear, he is told. With his ability, experience, Japanese language skills and their self-help seminars, he should find a job in no time … or at least within three months. After all, he was, at one time, Pulp Man of the Year.

But this is no mere temporary layoff; paper companies across the country are consolidating and Man-su is still unemployed after many months. It’s not just the lack of money, but the loss of face. Overdue bills are piling up and they are behind on their mortgage. So sure that he would be back at work in no time, he continued spending and living a high life that they can no longer afford. His wife has realized that they are in a hole and has taken a job, and by doing so has seemingly announced their loss of status to the rest of the world, or at least to their social set. Still, Man-su will not retrench or retreat. What he needs is a new plan.

There are very few available jobs after all the company mergers and Man-su has graphed out where they are and against whom he might be competing. Of the dozen or so men who are out of work, he has determined that only two or three would be his direct competitors. How can he stand out against them? How can he get the job that might go to one of them instead? Man-su is a realist. Reviewing their skills and comparing them against his own, they would probably be higher on the ladder. The odds are stacked against him and that, in itself, calls for drastic action. He will eliminate the competition, literally and figuratively.

He is adept at mapping out the competition, where they live and what their weaknesses might be. He knows where to find his rivals but dispatching them efficiently without leaving clues is not his strong suit.

Most of the humor in this film is derived from Man-su’s attempts to kill his rivals. It must be said that he does get better at it the more he tries. But this is only one of the tools that director Park Chan-wook uses to highlight the ills of society. Unlike corporate America, the working man in Korea, much like the “company man” of Japan, has come to expect the same loyalty from their employers as they have given to them. Company men like Man-su, protective and loyal to the men (it is almost always men) they supervise, were always led to believe that there would be a pay off. The pay-off they were expecting has become a kiss-off at the end of the road. At the same time, Chan-wook is poking fun at the Korean version of American-style consumerism, spending and debt accumulation. Man-su’s superficiality is underscored by his wife’s willingness to live a simpler life, one they can afford. She is Chan-wook’s heroine, willing to step back from her position in society and work, protect her children and loyally stand by her man.

Especially pointed is a scene in which American businessmen arrive at the factory to judge its suitability as a target. Their dismissive attitude towards the workers is a harbinger of things to come, highlighting the disconnect between honor and profit that will soon take place.

The characters are well drawn; that their development is sadly lacking, in most cases, is a deliberate choice. That no one learns anything from their actions is the point. The writing is sharp, with contributions from Chan-wook, Lee Kyoung-mi, Don McKellar and Jahye Lee. It is significant to note that both Chan-wook and McKellar, creators of the HBO television series “The Sympathizer,” were expelled from the WGA for continuing to write for that series during the strike in 2023. As a Korean film, the sanctions were not applicable.

The acting is uniformly good. Lee Byung-hun as Man-su becomes more finely tuned in his actions as he “matures” into a more adept murderer. Son Ye-jin, Miri, is the very picture of a helpful wife, supportive but worried, only slightly, as she sees her husband edge closer to mania and become more secretive. The first target of Man-su’s plot, Bummo (Lee Sung-min), much like Man-su, has been living above his means and has taken to drink; his wife Ara (Yeom Hye- ran) has reached her limit with him. He has become a weight around her neck and, whether inadvertently or deliberately, she aids Man-su against her husband.

There is no argument that “No Other Choice” is darkly humorous. The ending is a killer, so to speak, but not literally. It is a payoff that makes the bloated 2½ hour run time worthwhile. The problem is that in each setup, it takes too long to get to the payoff, making the film drag. My enthusiasm would have been greater if “No Other Choice” had been 90 minutes long.

In Korean with English subtitles.

Opening Dec. 25 at the AMC Grove 14 and the AMC Century City 15. Opening wide Jan. 2. 

Neely Swanson spent most of her professional career in the television industry, almost all of it working for David E. Kelley. In her last full-time position as Executive Vice President of Development, she reviewed writer submissions and targeted content for adaptation. As she has often said, she did book reports for a living. For several years she was a freelance writer for “Written By,” the magazine of the WGA West, and was adjunct faculty at USC in the writing division of the School of Cinematic Arts. Neely has been writing film and television reviews for the “Easy Reader” for more than 10 years. Her past reviews can be read on Rotten Tomatoes where she is a tomatometer-approved critic.

The post ‘No Other Choice’ appeared first on Beverly Hills Courier.

For Alderman Duxbury (Roger Allam), the owner of the local mill, there is another loss to contend with. He founded and funds the local choral group, and their director has just enlisted. Replacement choices are few. The local photographer has a suggestion that won’t go down easily. Dr. Henry Guthrie (Ralph Fiennes) has returned to town and may be available. As undertaker Herbert Trickett (Alun Armstrong) points out, he won’t be a popular choice. Guthrie has spent many years in Germany as a much-respected artist. The locals will look unfavorably on what they perceive to be consorting with the enemy during these times. But Guthrie it is and it will be Bach’s St. Matthew Passion that he will be conducting. But possibly not. The anti-German feeling extends to anything written by Bach, Beethoven, Brahms and Mendelsohn. Instead, he chooses “The Dream of Gerontius” by Elgar. They are aghast. Elgar? Composer of “Pomp and Circumstance”? Guthrie explains that Elgar has more facets than marches, and he had a grand success in Germany conducting the “Gerontius.”

Guthrie, his standards high, calls for auditions, and every available voice in town is conscripted into his army of music. A few gems are found, but everyone else will be used to fill out the background. More problematic is the Alderman. He demands to sing lead tenor. He is the right age to play an old man dying and being led away from the devil by an ethereal young maiden; a tenor, however, he is not.

Every member of the choral, young and old, has their own drama going on. For Lofty, Ellis and their friend Mitch, it’s about girls and how to get them. For Mary, the young Salvation Army soprano and one of the gems, it’s finding her voice and who she is; for Bella, it’s discovering where her passion lies. Is it with her missing-in-action fiancé Clyde or her new flirtation with Ellis? Life becomes even more complicated when Clyde returns, minus a limb but eager to rekindle their romance. A former star of the choral, Clyde is reluctant to return to the choral when he realizes he’s been replaced in Bella’s heart. Pressure is exerted and he acquiesces, bringing with him his beautiful tenor. They need a star tenor to anchor the production and it isn’t the Alderman. If Guthrie rewrites the scenario of “Gerontius,” making the old man a young man, Clyde, who is dying in the war, reframing all the other actors as soldiers and Mary as a nurse then they would have a viable scenario. Even the Alderman is thrown a bone and promised the role of the devil.

It’s all highly suspect, reworking Elgar’s composition, but they are in a small village so it’s unlikely he’ll find out. But Mary has learned that he is receiving an honorary degree in Manchester, less than an hour away, and without Guthrie’s knowledge she invites him to a rehearsal. What are the chances? Elgar arrives and discovers their plans, going ballistic and threatening them all with a lawsuit. What started off promisingly ends very badly as he huffs off to the limo that brought him. Will they proceed? You will have to wait and see.

The plot is a good one, but Bennett has overladen it with subplots, denying each its own proper development. His ambition to tie the  inhumanity of war into the embrace of music that would soothe the savage beast was noble but far too diffuse. It was as if Bennett wove a tapestry, but forgot to tie the threads and they unraveled. It often feels like a play with too many characters. The enigmatic character of Guthrie shows very little depth. His time in Germany leaves us with questions and no answers, only hinting at his former life. His character has some marvelous unspoken moments, but subtext is one thing and total inscrutability is another.

All of the characters interact easily and knowingly but we’re not in on the game. There is enough drama in fitting disparate, sometimes dissonant souls into a life-defining concert, but it is a drama that is blunted by the many poorly defined interactions outside the rehearsal hall. Too much going on is the same as not enough.

The fault doesn’t just lie with Bennett’s screenplay but also with his longtime collaborator Hytner. It is the director’s job to keep things moving for the audience to engage and help the actors deepen their performances. The pace is often glacial, hovering too long on a meaningful look or an unspoken moment of longing. One of the greatest theater directors working today, it is surprising that he was unable to drive the action so that there was a compelling pace.

The cast was filled with famous names who should have lit up the screen. Roger Allam, the Alderman, is a star of stage, television and screen. He was the original Javert in “Les Misérables,” so it was a nice piece of acting for him to sing poorly as Girontius. The other elders, have little to define them. The youngsters were all good, especially Jacob Dudman as Clyde who effectively portrays a heartbreak that involves more than lost love. Ralph Fiennes as Guthrie was good, but it’s disappointing that he wasn’t great. He is little more than a tense, mysterious man who withholds emotion from everyone.

The true bright spot in all of this is the appearance of Simon Russell Beale as the officious, grandiose and lecherous Elgar. Arriving like a summer wind and exiting like a howling storm, this man of genius lets it be known that he has no equals and certainly not in the hinterlands. His performance makes you wish there had been more of that energy in the rest of the production.

“The Choral” is a good movie and worth a view. Its themes are effective and universal. I was just hoping it would be better and more resonant.

Now playing at the Laemmle Royal; wide release to follow on Jan. 16. 

Neely Swanson spent most of her professional career in the television industry, almost all of it working for David E. Kelley. In her last full-time position as Executive Vice President of Development, she reviewed writer submissions and targeted content for adaptation. As she has often said, she did book reports for a living. For several years she was a freelance writer for “Written By,” the magazine of the WGA West, and was adjunct faculty at USC in the writing division of the School of Cinematic Arts. Neely has been writing film and television reviews for the “Easy Reader” for more than 10 years. Her past reviews can be read on Rotten Tomatoes where she is a tomatometer-approved critic.

The post “The Choral”—Not Entirely Together appeared first on Beverly Hills Courier.

Eden is a wild child. Sexy, outrageous, unfettered by the restraints of society, she goes her own way, certain of her younger brother Nati’s approval and belief in the lack of boundaries she sets. As far as she is concerned, they have no secrets; they share everything. Ragged, raw, untethered, Eden demands attention and obedience. On Nati’s birthday, she has him kidnapped, terrifying him until he is released to her on a cliff overlooking the deep blue sea. She finds it hilarious; he, not so much. Eden exudes an almost incestuous adoration of Nati, one that clearly has him on edge, unnoticed by her. Finally escaping her bacchanal, he texts someone he is on his way. Distracted, a car slams into him and his young life ends almost before it begins.

Lost, angry, self-focused, Eden spends the evening after his funeral dancing with abandon at the techno nightclub she frequents on a daily basis. She would rather lose herself in her married lover’s arms than take the time to mourn, and if he won’t comply she’ll find others who will. When she suddenly learns that her brother had a girlfriend, someone he hid from her, she loses whatever small control she had over her emotions and determines to find this other person. Stalking her, she’s outraged by how ordinary this girl is. Her name is Maya and she lives with her mother. She is modest, studious and an inconceivable match for the beloved brother she thought she knew so well. Approaching her, at first with malice and eventually with curiosity, Eden is determined to unravel this other part of Nati’s life, one where he was the very picture of middle-class bourgeois desire—chaste girlfriend, pre-med aspirations, quiet evenings without the kind of drama that defines Eden. Maya is everything that Eden is not and the reverse is also true.

What Eden comes to recognize, however, is that a bond with Maya will keep Nati alive in both their hearts and minds and they begin to melt into one another. Eden is intent on turning Maya into her mirror image. Maya is her Pygmalion and she hasn’t got a chance.

Nesher has written a character study of Eden, an extremely flawed young woman. Throughout most of the film she is irredeemable, a classic example of clinical narcissistic personality disorder. Nesher gives us some insight into causation: a bitter divorce between the parents, a mother intent on self-healing to the disadvantage of her two children, a manipulative father and an obsessive relationship with a malleable younger sibling. While there may be extenuating circumstances, all we see is the end result: a toxic, unempathetic young woman who thinks nothing of upending the lives around her.

It is apparent that while Nesher intended to show the growth of Eden from oblivious to more cognizant of her behavior, she spent far too much time on the negative side, leaving not enough room to account for the growth she’d like us to believe Eden experiences over the time frame, with mourning rituals as the marking points from the funeral, to Shiva, to the one-month memorial, to the one-year visit to the graveside. There are two difficulties inherent in the way she approaches her subject. The first is that Eden is so unpleasant throughout most of the film that it’s difficult to stay with her. She’s just not someone you want to spend that much time with, and Nesher almost “lost me at hello,” to misuse a movie quote. The second is that by shortcutting Eden’s development to maturity and empathy, primarily experienced through the eyes and actions of Maya, she loses the kind of gradual character development Eden needs.

The production values are very good. Editing is smooth, costuming highlights Eden’s sensuality and the cinematography underscores the milestones experienced by Maya and Eden, highlighted by stunning scenery in the Sinai. Lia Elalouf, as Eden, in her debut performance, won the Best Leading Actress at the Ophirs  and deservedly so. It is a performance that is unchained and fearless. Darya Rosenn, as Maya, played her character with believable warmth and empathy, showing a well-paced character growth that was, alas, missing in Eden, one that enhanced the film and carried the audience with her during her development. Both actresses should have long careers.

Nesher’s film rises and falls with Eden. She was so focused on the interesting, outrageous and egregious aspects of Eden’s personality that she left too little time for her to gradually grow, mature and recognize the damage she has caused. We see the end result but not enough of the development leading up to it. Eden has cut a swath of personal destruction that leaves little room for one single incident to sell the transition to empathy.

In Hebrew with English subtitles.

Opening Dec. 12 at the Laemmle Royal 

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“Malice”

This clever revenge tale is too obvious from the beginning. The so-called innocent helper who is always there when you most need him and don’t realize that he set up that need is a thriller. The ultra-wealthy Tanner family is vacationing at their villa in the Greek Isles. Jamie Tanner (David Duchovny) is annoyed that wife Nat has invited friends Jules and Damien and their family to spend time with them. The Tanner nanny is rather useless but Adam, the tutor for Jules’ and Damien’s kids, is uber helpful, at the ready for any errand. He seems always to be around.

But Adam has a hidden agenda, one that will eventually become clearer, if not to the Tanners, at least to the viewers. Soon, things go missing, accidents happen, calls are misdirected, and the nanny is hospitalized from an almost deadly food poisoning, leaving the Tanners in need of the solicitous services of Adam, whose tutoring gig has come to an end.

Returning to London, more untraceable catastrophic events begin to engulf the Tanners, specifically Jamie, as their fortunes begin a precipitous fall.

Bloated, even at 6 episodes, it is evident from the start that the very wide-eyed innocence of Adam is at the root of all evil. Even though he is such an easily unmasked villain, it still takes time to uncover his motives. There would have been myriad ways to make this all-too-apparent scenario a bit more subtle, thus making each oncoming catastrophe less obvious. Jack Whitehall (“Bad Education”) as Adam lacks the depth necessary to keep the viewer completely on edge, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Nat, played by Carice van Houten (“Game of Thrones”), and Jamie, an excellent David Duchovny, are convincing as the targets of Adam’s misdeeds. Christine Adams, Jules, is convincingly unaware, but Raza Jaffrey, Jules’ husband Damien, has a star turn in the episode where he is on the path to unlocking Adam’s duplicity.

I prefer my thrillers a bit less obvious.

Now streaming on Amazon.

“Down Cemetery Road”

This should have been a slam-dunk series. Starring Emma Thompson and Ruth Wilson, with an appearance by the fabulous Adam Godley, all gold standard British actors, it is based on a book by Mick Herron, author of the books on which “Slow Horses” is based, and written for television by Morwenna Banks, also the writer of the “Slow Horses” series. How could this go wrong? Wrong may not be the optimal word, but uninteresting is. Bloated at 10 episodes and obtuse in the underlying mystery, “Down Cemetery Road” is not engaging.

Sarah (Ruth Wilson) has too much time on her hands. When an adjacent building blows up, an ambulance arrives to take away the two dead and the one survivor, Dinah, a ten-year-old. Sarah is immediately concerned about the welfare of Dinah and runs into roadblock after roadblock when she attempts to visit her in the hospital. Convinced that there is a nefarious plot afoot, she makes her way to the office of private investigators Zoe Boehm (Thompson) and her husband Joe Silverman (Godley). Joe is a sympathetic listener and desperate for a case, any case. Zoe, not so much. But when Joe turns up dead, Zoe finally begins to investigate and realizes that there is something underhanded going on.

The villains are many, each with different agendas, everyone seems to be in danger and the pitfalls abundant with increasing stakes. Amazingly, I didn’t end up caring, maybe you will.

Now streaming on Apple.

“Death by Lightning”—Dead on arrival

One of my all-time favorite biographies is “Destiny of the Republic” by Candice Millard. She tells the story of the fateful collision of events and people, all of which relate to the assassination of President James Garfield, a truly extraordinary man. The book explores the intersection of major mid-19th century figures, all of whom crossed paths at the 1876 Centennial Exposition in Philadelphia: Joseph Lister, father of antisepsis, Alexander Graham Bell and Senator James Garfield, soon to be elected president. Separate chapters are devoted to Charles Guiteau, the delusional individual who would eventually be on a self-proclaimed mission from God to assassinate Garfield, a man who he felt needed to be eliminated to save the union.

Mike Makowsky, the writer of this limited series allegedly based on the book, decided to take a different approach, choosing instead to present a rather fictionalized version of Guiteau, a man whose grandiosity and narcissism were the hallmarks of his failed life and needed no embellishment. Other characters fare worse. Chester Arthur, Garfield’s Vice President, and Roscoe Conkling, senator from New York, Arthur’s patron and Garfield’s political enemy, are presented as little more than foul-mouthed drunken buffoons. None of the important players in the death of Garfield are well defined, either by their roles in his death or who they were in life. Any significance is eventually taken care of in chyrons at the end.

An overabundance of exposition and too little development is the hallmark of Makowsky’s script. My bias comes through here, but I felt that too much time was spent on Garfield’s pre-presidential development, reducing the time spent on his potential as a president, one into which he was almost co-opted into the job. Of Alexander Graham Bell, little is mentioned of his close tie to Garfield and his desire to use his scientific knowledge to try to save his life. His resulting invention, a precursor to the X-ray machine, would find better use in the fields of World War I. Garfield’s attending physician, Dr. Willard Bliss, an opponent of Joseph Lister’s antisepsis methods, was the real killer and therein lay the most important part of the story, one that was given short shrift. For the rest of his life he was rightfully haunted by the expression “Ignorance is Bliss.”

Nick Offerman (Chester Arthur) and Shea Whigham (Roscoe Conkling) are reduced to stereotypes, good old boys intent on drinking their way through life. In real life, the roles of both were important and Chester Arthur rose to temporary greatness after Garfield’s death, something that would never be surmised from this tale. Bradley Whitford is excellent as James Blaine, first as a rival to Garfield and later as his most important supporter. Zeljko Ivanek (Dr. Bliss) plays the doctor arrogantly, as he should be. Michael Shannon is an excellent empathetic Garfield. The star turn was given to Matthew Macfadyen as Charles Guiteau, a man he, ironically, resembles. His prominent position in the limited series matches the position he was given in the book. Interestingly, the writer soft-pedals his personality. Yes, he was crazy as a loon, but he was also considerably more malevolent than seen here, spreading havoc across the country and even in Europe before he “discovered” that his true calling was politics.

With the exception of the fictionalized version of Guiteau, so little is actually learned about any of these men that it begs the question, “What story was he telling?” I’m not an impartial judge of this material because of the enormous liberties and direction that Makowsky took with this excellent work of nonfiction. “Death by Lightning,” at a mere four episodes, was a jumbled mess because the writer didn’t know how to frame his narrative in a meaningful and cogent manner. Watcher beware.

Now streaming on Netflix.

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My latest thumbnail sketches include series that premiered as long ago as last summer and as recently as last week. It seems to be a case of diminishing returns because few of the new offerings rise above the mediocre. And of course, this is always just my impression; a glance at Rotten Tomatoes will illustrate the wide range of opinions on offer.

Luckily, wading through the morass of offerings occasionally produces a gem or two.

“Chief of War”

Power struggles, greed, jealousy, passion. These are universal themes, and the new series “Chief of War” explores them in depth as they relate to Hawaiian unification struggles in the late 18th century. This exquisitely produced period piece presents an account we know so little about. Although historical fiction, there is an authentic feel to this story that is magnetic.

Oahu, Maui, Hawaii and Kauai are separate kingdoms with their own monarchical structure. Peace between the islands has been tenuous at best, but when the ruler of Maui yearns for more power and riches, he turns his eyes and army to Oahu. Falsely declaring that Oahu is preparing a war to invade the other islands, he gathers a great army to strike first. His most fearsome warrior, Ka’iana, is nowhere to be found. When he eventually appears, he is vilified by both the king and the king’s duplicitous sons. Ka’iana, a skilled soldier, fights ferociously against the people of Oahu, but discovers that this war was a ploy by the Maui king to subjugate the people of the island, decimating their army and killing their king, a mere boy. Considered disloyal, Ka’iana is hunted and, as witnessed by others, thrown off a high cliff to a certain death in the sea.

This is merely the start of Ka’iana’s journey, one that will intersect English and Spanish privateers before he is able to make his way to Hawaii, where he will reunite with family and ally himself with Kamehameha. Kamehameha, living in peace, has become the mortal enemy of the new king, Keoua. When Keoua’s father died, he declared his son, Keoua, to be his rightful heir to the throne, but gave the important position of Guardian of the God of War to Kamehameha. Keoua, outraged by the legacy given to his cousin, plots to overtake and kill him. It is Ka’iana’s allegiance to Kamehameha that propels the narrative.

It is a violent history and “Chief of War” is not for the faint of heart. This is not the Western warfare we are used to experiencing but an even more personal, exacting and horrifying use of spears, daggers, and incredible feats of strength. These men are big, seemingly enormous and fit beyond imagination. The male pulchritude on offer is reason enough to watch, but add to that great writing, terrific characters and incredible production values as seen through the cinematography by Matthew Chuang and Michael Snyman. Co-created by Thomas Pa’a Sibbett and Jason Momoa, the cast is led by the fabulous Momoa as Ka’iana, a better actor than you ever imagined. Cliff Curtis, that chameleon-like Maori actor who first grabbed attention as a Latino drug kingpin in “Training Day” and stole “Three Kings” as the haunted Arab refugee, here gets his teeth into a villain of Maori origin, as are most native Hawaiians. “Chief of War” is excellent and tells a story you probably didn’t know. Watch this first.

Now streaming on Apple, this is a must-see.

“All Her Fault”

“All Her Fault” is a terrific new thriller about family. Going to pick up her little boy, Milo, from a play date, Marissa discovers that not only is he not there but there never was a play date. Her son is missing, and there’s no sign of what happened. He’s been taken, but by whom? As each episode rolls out, more pieces of the puzzle are gradually forced into place. Unbeknownst to Marissa, supportive husband Peter knows more than he’s telling. Peter and Marissa are wealthy denizens of a glamorous Eastern seaside suburb with perfect lives like their perfect neighbors. Is this a kidnapping for ransom or a plot against the parents? Each episode unlocks one more drawer full of paranoia, secrets and subterfuge. Revealing any more details would diminish the tension and thrill of this series at the root of which is every parent’s nightmare.

Gifted with an extraordinary cast led by Sarah Snook as Marissa, Jake Lacy as Peter and Dakota Fanning as one of the neighbors who may or may not have her own secret. The twists and turns come hard and fast with an ending that fulfills the promise of the beginning and is enhanced by the character development of each member of this so-called perfect community. Scratch the surface and the creatures come into the light.

Now streaming on Peacock.

“Chad Powers”

This is a starring vehicle for Glen Powell that takes advantage of his twinkling bad-boy persona as Russ Holiday, an arrogant, extremely talented college quarterback. Playing in the Rose Bowl for the national championship, he spectacularly screws up his final play, loses the game, blames everyone but himself and, in a fit of anger on national television, upends a child in a wheelchair. All NFL hopes are dashed as he becomes the face of rude entitlement and failure. Several years later, just when the clouds begin to lift and he’s about to get a contract with a rival league, his past deeds come back and bite him you know where. Even for this no-name league, his infamy is too much for them to risk.

All Holiday knows is football. Still unrepentant, what he needs is another chance, an anonymous chance. And such a chance appears in the shape of a podunk college team in Georgia. In a leap of bad faith, he disguises himself as a nobody from nowhere and walks on. With the help of the school mascot who, unlike everyone around him, recognizes Holiday and signs on to the challenge of helping him with his new identity as Chad Powers.

“Chad Powers” benefits from a good cast with Steve Zahn as a very put-upon head coach with health and marriage issues and Perry Mattfeld as his daughter Ricky who is one of his assistant coaches. Of course, this is a highly unlikely scenario but suspend belief and you will be entertained.

Now streaming on Hulu.

“The Girlfriend”

The episodes of this ingenious series are each divided into two parts, in a girlfriend vs. mom scenario. Daniel has come home with a new girlfriend, Cherry, and his very controlling mother, Laura, has taken an immediate dislike to her. Each half episode looks at the same scene through the eyes of one woman and then the other. The interpretations of the same events, phrasing, motions are parsed through the eyes of Cherry, on the one hand, and Laura, on the other. Is Cherry a manipulative bitch only interested in the family money? Is Laura an overly controlling mother who can’t let go of her son? Who is right? Who is wrong? What is actually happening? And caught in the middle is Daniel who loves them both and doesn’t want to have to choose.

Each episode will keep you guessing and shifting your alliances. Well-scripted, the real draw is the acting. Olivia Cooke as Cherry is at turns innocent and manipulative. Robin Wright, wonderful as mother Laura, will make you hate her one moment and sympathize the next. Lots of hairpulling and angst, the supporting cast includes Waleed Zuaiter, Ben Miles and Anna Chancellor.

Now streaming on Amazon.

“The Paper”

If you’ve missed “The Office,” have no fear because “The Paper” is a direct descendant. Using the same “mockumentary” format, the camera follows a ragtag group of quasi-journalists as they try to keep a small-town midwestern newspaper afloat. Ned Sampson (Domhnall Gleeson) has just been hired to be editor-in-chief of this weekly throwaway, the “Toledo Truth Teller,” previously run by managing editor Esmeralda Grand, a hottie whose strength, if you can call it that, is planting false social media meant to enhance herself and using volunteers to download wire service articles. She is none too pleased with the arrival of Ned. This motley crew is beyond inept but Ned, despite blowback from Esmeralda, is determined to bring team spirit.

If you miss “The Office,” then this is the show for you. Created by Greg Daniels, also the creator of “The Office,” and Michael Koman, a veteran writer of SNL, the similarities and structure are deliberate, right down to the character of Oscar Martinez, the paper’s accountant. Martinez, played by Oscar Nuñez, was the accountant for Dunder Mifflin now working at the “Toledo Truth Teller.” Like he was at Dunder Mifflin, Oscar still hates being followed by a camera crew around the office, an office that is shared with Softees, a toilet paper company.

Now streaming on Peacock.

This list does not include returning favorites and they are favorites for a reason. “The Diplomat” (Season 3) not only lives up to the standards it set in the first season but at times even exceeds them. It is definitely a series to be binged and devoured. “Slow Horses” (Season 5) offers a delectable sendup of Roddy, the tech expert without any redeeming social value; and “Only Murders in the Building” (Season 5) has its ups and downs but is still very entertaining.

Part 2 will discuss new series that have attracted attention but are not up to the standards of the above shows.  

Neely Swanson spent most of her professional career in the television industry, almost all of it working for David E. Kelley. In her last full-time position as Executive Vice President of Development, she reviewed writer submissions and targeted content for adaptation. As she has often said, she did book reports for a living. For several years she was a freelance writer for “Written By,” the magazine of the WGA West, and was adjunct faculty at USC in the writing division of the School of Cinematic Arts. Neely has been writing film and television reviews for the “Easy Reader” for more than 10 years. Her past reviews can be read on Rotten Tomatoes where she is a tomatometer-approved critic.

The post ‘Drowning in TV Part 1’—Coming Up for Air appeared first on Beverly Hills Courier.

Ashamedly, I must admit that I knew little about the suffrage movement, only that American women did not get the vote until 1920. The trip down that aisle was long, circuitous and very, very slow. The opening number, “Let Mother Vote,” sung by Carrie Chapman Catt, one of the important leaders of the early movement and a protegee of Susan B. Anthony, cleverly illustrates the approach of the older suffragists. Always ladylike, she makes the appeal that mothers raised their sons to do good and be respectful and the respectful thing to do would be to give their mothers the vote. President of the leading suffrage organization, the National American Woman Suffrage Association (NAWSA), she ruled with her iron fist in a velvet glove.

Alice Paul arrives on the scene in 1913. Tired of waiting and seeing that the “ladylike” approach is going nowhere, she has other ideas, ideas that are rebuffed by Catt. Paul forms her own organization, taking a more direct approach by organizing a march in Washington to show the strength and volubility of these young women. A rift developed between Catt’s NAWSA and Paul’s new group, the National Women’s Party. Both recognized that a constitutional amendment would be necessary, but getting there was a stumbling block to them both.

Especially notable is the role of Woodrow Wilson, president throughout most of this battle, and his patronizing refusal to take the movement seriously. Although portrayed as a buffoon without nuance, it should be noted that historically, Wilson was the very antithesis of equal rights. His record on civil rights runs to the overtly racist and he jailed Paul and her supporters for protesting in front of the White House in the guise of treasonous activity that was counter to national security. Like all the other characters in this play, the men are played by women.

It must be said that the play is inventive and the musical approach is meant to go down like a spoonful of sugar. The difficulty in telling this story is that everything comes off as episodes, separate scenes without enough yarn to knit them together, much like watching the tableaux at the Pageant of the Masters in Laguna Beach. “Suffs” is all exposition, much told musically but not entirely effectively. The songs overwhelm the narrative. There is a song for everything, something that denies both the development of the individual characters and the story beyond its exposition. Recognizing that my opinion lies outside that of the Tony voters, Taub’s music is overly familiar. She has borrowed from the best; many times I was reminded of the scores of “Hamilton” and “Rent.” I was frustrated because I recognized refrains from other musicals but just couldn’t quite pinpoint from where they were borrowed.

She has a big story to tell, but because of the episodic way she has chosen, many important characters are shoehorned into scenes that do them little justice. The primary example of this is the introduction of Ida B. Wells, one of the most important figures in the history of civil rights who was shoved to the side by the leaders of the suffrage movement who, historically, found it more expedient to make it an all-white association. Treated tangentially is Catt’s homosexuality, presented in a lament as she sings “If We Were Married” to her longtime companion in life and in the movement, Mollie Hay.

There is no “pow” finish, just a clever tip of the hat to Paul and her continuation of the fight in the 1970s as she campaigned for the Equal Rights Amendment. Interestingly, however, Catt’s post-vote accomplishments were sidelined. She was the founder of the League of Women Voters.

The cast was good, but perhaps due to the ensemble nature, no one leaped out. Maya Keleher is a sincere and emotional Alice Paul and Marya Grandy is a steely Carrie Chapman Catt. Danyel Fulton never quite catches on as Ida B. Wells, some of which may be the nature of the way she was written, but I would have liked a bit more fire. Laura Stracko as Alva Belmont, a wealthy woman underwriting Paul’s group, stopped the show with her antics and furs. The costumes were evocative of the era and the use of the minimalist stage was inventive, although the choreography was rather perfunctory.

I wished I had liked it as much as the majority of the opening-night audience. I just wished it had been better.

Now playing through Dec. 7, Tuesdays through Sundays. Check the Broadway in Hollywood website for times.

Hollywood Pantages Theatre, 6233 Hollywood Blvd., Los Angeles. 

Neely Swanson spent most of her professional career in the television industry, almost all of it working for David E. Kelley. In her last full-time position as Executive Vice President of Development, she reviewed writer submissions and targeted content for adaptation. As she has often said, she did book reports for a living. For several years she was a freelance writer for “Written By,” the magazine of the WGA West, and was adjunct faculty at USC in the writing division of the School of Cinematic Arts. Neely has been writing film and television reviews for the “Easy Reader” for more than 10 years. Her past reviews can be read on Rotten Tomatoes where she is a tomatometer-approved critic.

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Ben Richards is a have-not. His baby daughter has a high fever and is dying. He’s out of work and his wife’s job doesn’t provide enough for medicine or a doctor. Burying his pride, Richards returns to his old employer, one that fired him because he made a verbal complaint about leaking radiation at the factory, and begs for his job or at least a small stipend so he can provide for his dying child. Compassion is not a word known by big business, and he is laughed out of the office. He’s run out of options and, in desperation, he joins the throngs auditioning for a spot on one of the endless reality shows.

The network’s crown jewel is “The Running Man,” a deadly competition that pits Runners, the contestants, against Assassins, whose only job is to hunt down the Runners, with an assist from the general public, and kill them. The Runners are tasked with staying alive for 30 days, with a gigantic payout, $1 billion, for the winner. The deck is stacked, much more stacked than the bloodthirsty public knows. But, the stakes for the desperate are worth the risk because it’s not just a payout at the end, no one has ever beaten the odds, but the intermediate bonuses awarded by reaching certain goals that go to the designated survivors. Although Richards had promised his wife that he would choose a non-lethal game, it was not in his hands because his anger-infused personality was just what the producer was looking for. He will be a ratings hit and ratings are what drive the financial gain for all. Richards is the dream come true for producer Dan Killian, who convinces him that, at the very least, the intermediary bonuses will keep his daughter alive and allow them to move up to better accommodations with the promise of increased status.

The race is on, prominently featured on TV and moderated by the network’s very smooth host, Bobby Thompson. The audience is clearly on Richards’ side, keeping him in the game as the hunters begin zeroing in. Richards, now something of a folk hero, is able to tap into his own personal resources, one who provides him with disguises and fake IDs, another who hides and then ferries him to an outlier, discovering that there is an underground network working to undermine the system that holds them back and has destroyed dissension. And the relentless Assassins keep coming while the television audiences are manipulated by the producer, who alters video and events to increase or decrease Richards’ popularity.

The director, humor horror master Edgar Wright (“Shaun of the Dead”),  seems to have lost his way in “The Running Man.” One has the distinct impression that he wanted this movie to be a darkly humorous take on present day American society, where the cultural and financial divide is increasing, acceptance of dissent is decreasing, and we are being fed an increasingly stultifying range of reality shows that definitely fall into the category of opiate for the masses. All of these elements are present, along with gratuitous violence, explosions, deafening noise and bazooka shots to the belly. Look for a hilarious sendup of “Keeping Up with the Kardashians” called “The Americanos,” the network’s other hit primetime reality show. If you look closely, you’ll see Debi Mazur as the matriarch of this raven-haired coven.

Wright has constructed a movie of scenes, all of which seem to stand alone but never completely mesh into a cohesive unit. Richards runs; Richards hides with or without the help of others; the Assassins chase; collateral damage ensues; quirky characters emerge periodically; Richard runs. Rinse, repeat. Somewhere within this loud, fast movie a plot may lie. Yes, it’s a sendup of reality TV, dark-hatted villains and cartoon violence, but it never comes together. It’s a real head-scratcher.

The failures lie squarely in the hands of the uncooked script by Michael Bacall and Edgar Wright and in Wright’s directorial concept, a concept that I have yet to grasp. The actors, on the other hand, are terrific and do what was on the confusing page.

Michael Cera is one of the bright lights in all of this as he plays Elton, an offbeat, off-kilter farmer with a justifiable grudge against the government and a fetish about hot dogs. Helping Richards along his way is undermined by his nuttier than a fruitcake mother, Victoria, played by Sandra Dickinson. Coleman Domingo is Bobby Thompson, the ultra-suave MC who plays his role without a “wink-wink” but definitely with humor. Domingo always elevates his material. Josh Brolin, as Dan Killian the producer, is a good enough actor that his villain is missing only a “V for Vendetta” mustache. He’s chilling, charming and frightening.

Glen Powell plays Ben Richards. Handsome, angry, vengeful, he is a network’s dream leading man. Range is not something built into the character but he keeps you watching and rooting for him. His role is nevertheless hampered by the lack of development, both of his character and the script. Because Ben Richards’ situation is so dire there is no humor, black or otherwise, built into his character and that is a pity because it’s been a strength he’s shown in other movies.

At an hour and a half, it’s still too long and bloated. Apparently, the filmmakers were of the opinion that more is never enough when it comes to explosions and killing, not realizing that there is a saturation point where the audience becomes inured to everything, even the sound.

Paramount treats reviewers well, in this case hosting the preview on the studio lot in their beautiful theater and providing popcorn. Unfortunately, like the movie, the popcorn was stale.

Now playing at AMC theaters including the Century City 15 as well as the Culver Theater. 

Neely Swanson spent most of her professional career in the television industry, almost all of it working for David E. Kelley. In her last full-time position as Executive Vice President of Development, she reviewed writer submissions and targeted content for adaptation. As she has often said, she did book reports for a living. For several years she was a freelance writer for “Written By,” the magazine of the WGA West, and was adjunct faculty at USC in the writing division of the School of Cinematic Arts. Neely has been writing film and television reviews for the “Easy Reader” for more than 10 years. Her past reviews can be read on Rotten Tomatoes where she is a tomatometer-approved critic.

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Incorporating a play, “UnRavelled,” written by Jake Broder, into the overall program of education about the brain and how the arts can be used to temper the inevitable, usually swift decline in cerebral function experienced in this particular form of dementia, Broder wrote his play using the singular case of Anne Adams. She was a talented biologist at the University of British Columbia who took a break from her career to nurse her son back from a devastating accident. As time went on, she was less and less compelled to return to the lab and began painting. Her husband, Robert, a mathematician at UBC, was less than enthusiastic. Anne was an unremarkable artist and they needed her income. Not to be deterred, she continued on her chosen path. Not long after her scientific retirement, she started experiencing word finding difficulties and subtle cognitive declines, something that coincided with a blossoming of her artistic creativity and prowess. Her dreams were inhabited by stories of the composer Maurice Ravel, with whom she began to feel a hallucinatory connection. It has been suggested that Ravel suffered from FTD and his music, especially “Bolero” was infused with the kinds of repetitions that Anne was showing in her increasingly accomplished paintings.

Although the exact nature of Ravel’s decline has never been established, he suffered from a cognitive impairment, some would say madness, that perplexed his doctors. An interesting, unprovable supposition, his appearance in Anne’s dreams suffuses her paintings with relatable repetitions and increasing depth. But this isn’t really about Anne or her art, interesting side lights. This is a story about empathy, care and relationships because, even though the illness, eventually diagnosed as FTD, was Anne’s, the burden was also Robert’s, one he bore with patience, love and empathy. The role of the caretaker is fundamental to the interactive exhibits presented by the Brain Health Festival.

The needs of those with dementia are similar, whether it be Alzheimer’s, Lewy body dementia, dementia brought on by Parkinson’s or FTD. There are no cures, although medical science, including some of the panelists at the festival, promise that there is help on the horizon. But the greatest message brought forward was one of hope, help and care. As explained in their FTD Pocket Guide, “Quality Time is Quality Care” and “Perception is Reality” whether that of the normal brain or that of the diseased brain. Do not expect a person with dementia to be what they were; accept them for how they are now. It matters little which area of the brain is affected or the kind of dementia. What does matter is that the caregiver finds the right resources for help and understanding. Although Robert, in the play and in real life, scoffed at a support group, he eventually found a path to understanding his role, strengths and limitations in assisting his wife and himself. Robert Adams was in the audience on Friday night; a panel, including their son Alex, the playwright and renowned neuroscientists from UCLA and UCSF, spoke following the play.

Besides the play and the interactive exhibits, the Brain Health Festival sponsored workshops on storytelling, music, movement and visual art. Acclaimed UCSF neurologist Bruce Miller, founding director of the Global Brain Health Institute, one of the post play panelists and a leading expert on FTD, presented the case of Anne Adams at a specially convened Grand Rounds at Cedars-Sinai.

An important resource for information about dementia, how to find a caregiver and things you can do to understand and lessen the burden can be found on the website fortheirthoughts.org. The goal of the For Their Thoughts Foundation is to help families find a community, and, to quote from their website: “equip caregivers, cultivate empathy and lift the stigma.” The Association for Frontotemporal Degeneration (aFTD) lists state by state resources, including a help line: www.theaftd.org. And, although Alzheimer’s and FTD are different types of neurodegenerative diseases, Alzheimer’s Los Angeles, alzheimersla.org, is a good source to know about.

Do not hesitate to contact your doctor for advice and help. It’s out there. You are not alone. Knowledge is power.

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Recognizing that the Allies had humiliated and bankrupted Germany after the First World War, acts of revenge against a vanquished foe that created the atmosphere that brought Hitler to power, President Truman did not want to put the enemies on trial just because they lost the war. He tasked Supreme Court Justice Robert H. Jackson with creating a tribunal of “justice” to hold the remaining Nazi hierarchy responsible for crimes against humanity. Truman was against the wholesale hanging of the perpetrators without a trial, something that our allies, especially the Russians, favored. Jackson must create a system that the rest of the world could trust—one that was seemingly devoid of obvious revenge against the losing side.

Following American common practice, one that remains today in potential capital cases, a psychiatrist, Lt. Col. Douglas Kelley, was assigned to assess the mental competence of the first group of defendants, among whom was Reichsmarschall Hermann Göring, second in command after Hitler and the highest-ranking Nazi captured alive. Assigned an interpreter, Sgt. Howie Triest, Kelley began his interviews using the tools available at that time. Administering Rorschach tests and interviews, he closely observed his subjects, amused by the disdain many showed, believing he was a Jew because he was part of what they considered a Jewish practice. Speaking to his subjects with the help of Triest, his interpreter, he is convinced that Göring was fluent in English despite his denials.

When Göring begins to trust him, Kelley tells Triest, they will be able to conduct their tests and interviews in English. And soon enough that happens. Kelley and Göring bond; so much so that Kelley is soon doing the Nazi’s bidding, transporting letters back and forth to Mrs. Göring, in hiding from the Americans. Keeping copious notes, crossing boundaries that are clear, not only from his mandate from the army but also professional psychiatric parameters, Kelley feels he is mining gold, the kind of gold that may make him famous. He has, seemingly, allied himself with the enemy, at times grabbing the bait that Göring is tempting him with.

Cutting back and forth to Jackson’s struggles to define the extent as well as the limitations of the court he is trying to create, we are given a firsthand view of how he brought about a court that was tasked with impartiality. Not insignificant was the difficulty in bringing the Russians into the fold. They were fully behind hanging them all. Jackson, knowing that the eyes of the world would be on this tribunal, assembles an unimpeachable cast of prosecutors, judges and jailers. He will be one of the prosecutors, aided by his British counterpart, David Maxwell-Fyfe. The danger, of course, is that any or all of the Nazis may be acquitted based on the evidence presented.

As Kelley slips further down the slippery slope of transference, his superiors, led by Burton C. Andrus, head of the prison, begin to doubt his impartiality and bring in a psychologist, Gustave Gilbert, whose agenda, a postwar book about those on trial, clouds his interpretation and skews the questions he uses to interview the war criminals. His postwar goals are not all that unlike those of Kelley. Discouraged and demoralized by his demotion, Kelley reveals to a journalist that he doubts that the prosecutors will be up to the task of convicting the brilliantly manipulative Göring.

There is a lot of good to be said about this film. Although heavy on the expositional side, it reveals much that is fairly new material. Vanderbilt wanted to give a 360-degree view of the tribunal process, from the building of the courtroom, the assembling of the prosecutorial pieces, to the process of determining competence, not just of the accused but also of the accusers. His storytelling was primarily divided into two parts: the story of Jackson, the Supreme Court justice who will establish new, international case law, and Kelley, the psychiatrist on whose research so much will hinge. The basis for the book was the story of Kelley and Göring. Ostensibly, everyone in this movie was based on a real individual; their motives and actions, however, are probably portrayed for dramatic effect. What was unmistakably real was the footage from the camps, used to support the prosecutors’ contentions that the Nazis knew full well what was taking place throughout their territories, despite Göring’s claims to the contrary.

Jackson, as played by Michael Shannon, is seen as having a great deal to lose. His is the most expositional of all the characters as he explains each and every move he makes. Shannon is a good enough actor that he triumphs over the expositional writing and allows us to experience the whys and wherefores of this new and important world court, so much of which will underpin future international trials.

Vanderbilt, however, based this film on the book about Kelley, so it’s safe to assume that he intended that part of the film to dominate the rest. In Russell Crowe, he found a formidable actor to portray Göring. No histrionics, no extraneous gestures, Crowe’s Göring fills the screen frighteningly with his brilliance and arrogance. As Kelley, unfortunately, Rami Malek is less than equal to Crowe’s Göring. Full of ticks, nervous energy and speech mannerisms, Malek does not command the screen. From the narrative standpoint, it is hard to identify with his subjugation to his patient. His betrayal of his superiors and his turnaround at the end are not entirely believable. It is possible that his actions are straight out of the book, but even so, it’s important to buy into all of his actions, and I didn’t. A stronger, less eccentric actor might have been more effective.

In smaller roles, Burton Andrus, in charge of the prison, is played by John Slattery as a one-note villain. No one expects a sympathetic jailer who must oversee Nazi criminals, but surely he has more than a scowl in his repertoire.

Richard E. Grant as David Maxwell-Fyfe was particularly strong. His prosecutor, always above the fray, was ever so British, effectively stiff upper lipped and sympathetic. Leo Woodall as Sgt. Triest, the interpreter, was a scene stealer. Always quiet, wide-eyed and observant, he was the soft-focused brush of reality, questioning Kelley’s actions but never inserting himself. The reveal of his background was poignant and worked to underscore his skepticism and heighten the sympathy he engendered.

Vanderbilt undermines his film by trying to tell too many stories. The drama and tension are kept too much in check. Not as dramatic as the 1961 movie classic “Judgment at Nuremberg,” it is far more factual but much less emotional. A more effective and much better film is the documentary called “Filmmakers for the Prosecution.” Directed by Jean-Christophe Klotz from an article written by Susan Schulberg, it documented the footage of atrocities uncovered by brothers Budd and Stuart Schulberg before the Nuremberg Trials, footage that was instrumental in proving Nazi intent and crimes.

The production design is outstanding, creating realistic World War II villages and bombed out buildings. Long, at 145 minutes, “Nuremberg” could have used some trimming and better editing. I wish it had been a more interesting film, but it does have a compelling performance by Russell Crowe that is reason enough to see it.

Opening Nov. 7 at the AMC Century City 15. 

Neely Swanson spent most of her professional career in the television industry, almost all of it working for David E. Kelley. In her last full-time position as Executive Vice President of Development, she reviewed writer submissions and targeted content for adaptation. As she has often said, she did book reports for a living. For several years she was a freelance writer for “Written By,” the magazine of the WGA West, and was adjunct faculty at USC in the writing division of the School of Cinematic Arts. Neely has been writing film and television reviews for the “Easy Reader” for more than 10 years. Her past reviews can be read on Rotten Tomatoes where she is a tomatometer-approved critic.

The post ‘Nuremberg’—A Trial appeared first on Beverly Hills Courier.

A genre-defying movie, “It Was Just an Accident” hops between slapstick comedy and chilling thriller, oftentimes blending the two. These sudden shifts between the absurd and the dramatic are both the film’s strength and weakness.

Arrested several times over the last 25 years and imprisoned by Iranian authorities, often without specific charges but almost always related to his filmmaking, his most recent prison stay was in 2022; released in 2023 after he began a hunger strike. While incarcerated, his feelings of isolation and hopelessness mirrored that of his fellow prisoners. Jafar was blindfolded and interrogated for eight hours a day, its own brand of torture, and then released as suddenly as he was arrested. Forbidden by the government to make films, this ban was lifted after he was released from prison. The catch, because of course there is one, is that he could only film in Iran with official permission, permission that will never come.

“It Was Just an Accident” was shot in secret, much like his other features. Using guerrilla tactics, with a run-and-gun style that both helped and hindered the continuity of the scenario, he sped in and out of locations that easily disguised what he was doing. He infused his most recent experience in prison into the histories of the characters in this movie.

It’s late and the family is tired. Father (Ebrahim Azizi) is serious, focused and driving on a rough road at night when he hits something. Getting out, he discovers he has hit a dog. Nothing to do, he relates to his pregnant wife and young daughter, “It was just an accident.” Leaving the animal, suffering on the side of the road, he charges on, but the car has suffered damage and they must find a garage. As fate would have it, it’s the garage of Vahid (Vahid Mobasseri), who recognizes the man, or at least thinks he does, when he returns the next morning to pick up his car. Acting quickly, recklessly, Vahid attacks the man and bundles him into his van. Vahid is convinced that his captive is none other than Eghbal, the guard who relentlessly tortured him in prison. His prisoner denies it. Because he has some doubt, Vahid sets about collecting others who were also tortured by this man. He seeks revenge but must be certain it’s Eghbal, who had a wooden leg, also known as Peg Leg, very similar to the man he has kidnapped. Soon he has amassed Shiva (Mariam Afshari), recently released and newly employed as a wedding photographer, Golrokh (Hadis Pakbaten) and Ali (Majid Panahi), the couple she is shooting for their wedding the next day, and Hamid (Mohamad Ali Elyasmehr), the off the rails ex of Shiva, who is in favor of shoot first and don’t bother about the questions. Of all the members of this disparate group, it is Hamid who has no doubts that the man in the van is Eghbal by the sight and feel of his wooden leg.

Careening all over Tehran, discussing the pros and cons of revenge against their prisoner, who may or may not be the man who ruined their lives, it is Vahid who is either the moral compass of the group or the most indecisive. Where lies the humanity of extracting revenge? It is the combination of their zigzagging ride across town and into the desert, where they consider burying him alive and discuss the ethics of torturing their tormentor. For Hamid, there is no question that it is Eghbal, and no question that he should die, family or not. And this is where slapstick humor collides with the serious nature of revenge versus forgiveness. The occupants of the van, especially the future bride in full regalia, her precious wedding dress dragged through mud and dust, are almost a rollicking band of merry pranksters. Hamid, more over-the-top than the others, is resolute in his desire to kill the man he is certain is Eghbal, and leaves the group when they are still mulling over the philosophical implications of taking another life, regardless of his sins.

Complicating matters further is their encounter with his pregnant wife, about to give birth and in need of assistance, help that our not-so-merry band provides before they continue their life-and- death discussions. Promises are made; promises are broken. What can these innocent victims of Eghbal achieve when they abandon humanity and embrace his techniques? Who gets to choose who lives and who dies, and what do you lose in the process? Jafari ends the film in chilling ambiguity, an ending I will not reveal.

Whether the melding of genres amid philosophical questions works is an unanswered question. There are laugh-out-loud moments sprinkled with the horrors of memory and the dread of the future. Could it have been edited together more smoothly? Perhaps. Nevertheless, the questions at the root of this “man’s inhumanity to man” scenario are substantive and definitely worth considering.

In Farsi with English subtitles.

Now playing at the AMC Century City 15.

Neely Swanson spent most of her professional career in the television industry, almost all of it working for David E. Kelley. In her last full-time position as Executive Vice President of Development, she reviewed writer submissions and targeted content for adaptation. As she has often said, she did book reports for a living. For several years she was a freelance writer for “Written By,” the magazine of the WGA West, and was adjunct faculty at USC in the writing division of the School of Cinematic Arts. Neely has been writing film and television reviews for the “Easy Reader” for more than 10 years. Her past reviews can be read on Rotten Tomatoes where she is a tomatometer-approved critic.

The post ‘It Was Just an Accident’—Or Was It? appeared first on Beverly Hills Courier.

Invited to Poland in 2014 by his friends Aaron Friedman Tartakovsky and Aaron’s mother Anita Friedman, he accompanied them to a rededication of the Jewish cemetery in their ancestral home of Gniewoszów, Poland. They had been to Gniewoszów 10 years earlier but were chased away, literally and figuratively, by suspicious and antisemitic residents. There was something to hide, but it would take many years to unearth the details and that is what Potash set out to do.

Rumors had persisted over the years of the postwar treatment of Jews who had dared return to Gniewoszów, but it would take time, patience and luck to unearth the details. Further adding to the difficulty of revealing the truth, the newly elected far-right Polish government enacted a new law in 2018 that made it illegal, punishable by prison and/or a substantial fine, to even suggest that Poland had any part in the Holocaust. Revealing anything negative about the Polish people’s actions during or after the war, no matter how well-researched and substantiated by respected historians, was squelched and punished. The law, under pressure from Western European neighbors, was eventually downgraded from criminal offense to civil offense, but the chilling effect remained.

Learning from the previous experiences of Friedman and Tartakovsky, Potash realized that it would be difficult, if not impossible, to get the residents of Gniewoszów to talk. All around, he found evidence of what had been done to erase any remnants of a Jewish presence in a town that had been almost 40% Jewish before the war. At that time, many Poles and Jews interacted harmoniously. Their children often played together, attended the same schools and shopped in the same stores, whether owned by Jews or Poles. An initial detail comes immediately to light. Jews were never referred to as Poles, no matter how many hundreds of years they had been in the country. They had been welcomed, even recruited for their skills in crafts and banking during the 15th century when there was a push in Western Europe to establish Christian uniformity. Jews were either forced to convert or were killed. But Poland offered a safe haven, and many settled in the small towns that flourished with the addition of these newcomers. Never considered Polish, the Jews, like in so many places, were the “other.”

Potash faced many dead ends. The younger residents of Gniewoszów refused to speak with him, although there was a certain willingness on the part of their elders. This was most evident when he arrived at the home of Henryk and Sławomir Smolarcyk, a father and son guided by different memories. Henryk had many positive recollections of his Jewish friends prior to the war. Sitting among the debris and junk in their yard, Potash notices a Jewish headstone. The Jewish cemetery had long since been bulldozed and the headstones disappeared mysteriously. Not so mysterious, really. The Smolarczyks were not the only ones to purloin the stone grave markers. Although neither can articulate why they have a Jewish tombstone in their yard, each has a different story about why it is there. Neither makes sense. The local contractors who tore up the cemetery sold the stones to residents. Many were also stolen to be repurposed. They could be cut into circles to make grindstones, which can still be found in local stores; they were used to shore up stone walls; some were effaced and made into Christian grave markers. This was just one way the Jewish history of Gniewoszów could be erased.

Potash interviews journalists, historians and local citizens who give perspective to what happened in Poland. Most important to him, though, is to follow the trail from the Nazi occupation to the continued murder of the few Jews who returned after the war. Among all the present-day citizens of Gniewoszów, he was lucky enough to find Pelagia Radecka. Reluctant to talk at first, she slowly opens up about what happened to the Jewish family who lived across the street. The Weinbergs owned one of the local stores, patronized by everyone. Mrs. Weinberg was respected and loved by all. Pelagia was smitten by their son Yanek and has never forgotten him. After the Nazis arrived, many Poles beat their Jewish neighbors and stole from them. Their situation grew worse and worse until all the town’s Jews were rounded up and put behind the walls of a hastily constructed ghetto before being sent to Treblinka, a nearby concentration camp. Revealing how broken-hearted she was when the Nazis came and rounded up the family, she begins to open up about the murders of returning Jews by Polish bands, hinting at a mass grave. Throughout her conversation, she continues her longing to know what happened to Yanek.

Tracing one lead after another, always looking for a link between Gniewoszów and its former Jewish citizens, he is very lucky to find Yaacov Goldstein, a Holocaust survivor and quite possibly the only living link between the Gniewoszów of yesterday and today. Now a professor in Israel, he has a harrowing tale to tell. In 1942, the Germans started implementing the Final Solution (the systematic slaughter of the Jews) and brought in trucks to ship residents of the Gniewoszów ghetto to Treblinka. Mother and son were loaded onto a truck; his father was kept behind to assess confiscated property. Audaciously, his mother made the decision to escape, and holding Yaacov’s hand, they jumped from the truck. Together, they returned to Gniewoszów to find his father. Hiding in the countryside, they had the money to pay suspicious farmers to hide them, but it was always a risk that their “hosts” would take the money and turn them in. Traveling in secret, his parents realized they would not be able to do it with young Yaacov. They had already given their baby to a farmer who, paid a great sum of money, promised to keep him safe. Reluctantly, they handed Yaacov over to another Polish family, providing them with a generous sum of money and the promise of more to come. For the next two years, Yaacov was kept in an attic; a place so small he couldn’t straighten his legs. His story is both harrowing and horrifying, but he escapes when the Red Army arrives and “liberates” the town.

Potash’s determination and fortitude to follow these stories plays out in so many satisfying ways. His ability to gradually tease out what Pelagia has kept hidden inside her for more than 70 years is breathtaking. Despite the risk of imprisonment, she finally has the courage to reveal that she was an eyewitness to the murder of her neighbors in 1945, months after the war had ended. Recently returned from hiding, but without Yanek, the Goldsteins hoped to reclaim their store and business. Janek was alive, they told Pelagia, and they would soon go to bring him home. It wasn’t to be; local thugs rounded up the few local Jews who had returned and murdered them, setting fire to the store where they had been taken. Pelagia, a witness to the event, was threatened with death should she ever reveal what she had seen. Still longing to see Janek once more, still hoping that he escaped, she kept this secret from 1945 until she revealed it on camera to Potash, a secret that also hinted at a mass grave.

Much of the wartime story of the Goldsteins, both in and out of Gniewoszów, is told using hand-drawn animation to illustrate the past, whether painting a portrait of the loving Goldstein family and Pelagia’s relationship with them; the harrowing escape by Mrs. Goldstein and her son; or the postwar murder of the Jews. These animations are engaging and a very effective means of storytelling.

Truly, a highlight of this powerful film is the miraculous encounter between Pelagia and her Janek, brought about by the filmmakers. Potash would have you believe that his documentary reveals both the best and worst of human nature: evidence of the best in human nature in the actions of the Poles, renowned for their antisemitism, is sorely lacking, resting almost entirely on the shoulders of Pelagia. It is quite telling that the revisionist Polish leadership wants to erase any evidence that there was Polish complicity during the war or criminal acts after it. But of course, Poland was not alone in their collaboration with the Nazis. For many years, France, another country with a dark history of antisemitism, would have had you believe that all their citizenry belonged to the Resistance. The United States allowed very few Jews into the country despite proof they were in mortal danger, and recently, it has been revealed that the Dutch were not as saintly as they would have had you believe. You can try to rewrite history, but, eventually, the truth will out. In Poland, under the new right-wing leadership, the sins of the father will be revisited on the son.

In English and Polish with English subtitles.

Opening Oct. 17 at the Laemmle Royal

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Hart was a complicated man. He could fill a book with pages of self-loathing. Hart was a very short (5 feet tall on a good day), not very attractive (he considered himself ugly), closeted Jewish gay man (an open secret on Broadway) who lived with his mother until the day he died. None of this was a professional stumbling block; it was his rampant alcoholism and lack of reliability that broke up his 20-year collaboration with Richard Rodgers and drove him to Oscar Hammerstein II, with whom he had an even more successful collaboration. Rodgers, who wrote on a regular schedule, from morning until dinner, was hamstrung by his partner’s lack of self-discipline. His lyrics were pungent, romantic, acerbic and brilliant, but his lack of work ethic was intolerable. Clubbing from dinner till dawn, reluctantly waking after noon, Rodgers could no longer tolerate Hart’s hungover presence at the end of his working day. He tried repeatedly to get Hart the help he needed, but Hart always fell back into his old habits. I tell you all of this because you will get very little history of Hart’s importance or relationships in Richard Linklater’s very flawed film, “Blue Moon.”

Opening on a dark, dimly lit alley outside an anonymous bar, Hart has stumbled and cannot get up. He died of pneumonia shortly thereafter. Cut to a glamorous theater and the 1943 opening night of “Oklahoma,” full cast singing the rousing first number about corn as high as an elephant’s eye to rapturous applause. A sour Hart, seated next to a bejeweled and overdressed older woman, his mother, stands and exits. Unable to watch further, he walks across the street to Sardi’s, the famous Broadway restaurant known for celebrity caricatures on the walls and its opening night parties. A regular at that bar, he cajoles Eddie, the bartender, into pouring him a whiskey. It’s clear that Eddie has been previously instructed not to serve Hart any alcohol, but they’re friends and Larry can be very convincing. And so starts the long (very long) monologue that Larry carries on about the new love of his life, Elizabeth Weiland, a Yale undergraduate 27 years his junior. Eyebrows raised, Eddie indicates that he thought Larry’s interests lay elsewhere. Nevertheless, he’s smitten and drones on and on about this relationship. Sitting in a corner is E.B. White, the famous author of “The Elements of Style,” “New Yorker” essays and “Charlotte’s Web.” This is the first of unnecessary conceits as White was famously shy, drank little and avoided social interactions. The wise pundit to Hart’s melancholy, the interactions ring false.

Larry’s diatribe isn’t just on the vicissitudes of his proclaimed love for Elizabeth, who has just arrived to greet him, but also for how much he loathed “Oklahoma,” a musical destined to live forever and one whose sentimentality is making him sick, literally and figuratively. It panders to the unwashed masses who live in the hinterlands and proclaims false joy and hope to those who should know better. His disdain is limitless, all with an undercurrent of jealousy for Rodgers’ new partner, Oscar Hammerstein. Not alluded to in the film was that Rodgers had wanted Hart to contribute to his collaboration with Hammerstein on “Oklahoma,” but his personal habits torpedoed that possibility. Contrary to Hart’s insinuations, Hammerstein was not a sentimental hack. Hammerstein was one of the originators of the book musical, where songs and dancing followed the story and not the reverse. His previous musical collaborator was Jerome Kern. Together they wrote “Showboat,” a musical not renowned for sentimentality and gave the world “Old Man River.”

As the clock ticks past 11 p.m., the cast of “Oklahoma” arrives for their party as they await the critics’ reviews. The creators, Richard Rodgers and Oscar Hammerstein, enter to waves of applause. Not coincidentally, the room and its inhabitants are bathed in a bright light contrasting markedly with the somber lighting in the bar. Among other things Hart hates is that Rodgers chose a very tall, very big man as his new partner. Larry approaches Richard, Richard reacts with trepidation knowing that there are no good endings with Larry. Falsely proclaiming his love for the play, one that he had seen many times out of town, Larry still is able to decry what he considers its overt sentimentality and Roger’s desertion of him. A skeptical Rodgers tries valiantly to extricate himself, reviewing their past relationship and why it broke up. Still, he patiently listens to Hart’s latest uncooked idea, while throwing him a lifeline, proposing a revival of one of their past hits, “A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court.”

The night drags on and so does Hart. On and on and on and on. One becomes grateful that the evening is ending and so, not very ironically, is Hart who will be dead within the year.

There are multiple reasons this film doesn’t work. First and foremost, it is all talk and no action, primarily because the talk isn’t very interesting. The Hart one comes to know, and loathe rather than pity, is an annoying, whiny man who complains incessantly about his height, lack of respect, isolation and abandonment issues without any recognition or insight into his own personal failings. The man known for his quick wit is humorless. Some of this might have worked if there had been a way to incorporate his backstory in a non-expositional manner. Richard Linklater, a very accomplished director and writer, saddled himself with the inexperienced Robert Kaplow, whose only previous writing credit was another film Linklater directed, “Me and Orson Welles,” in 2008. The story is, unfortunately, tedious and most of the acting does not rise to the level of insightful or exciting. Ethan Hawke, as Hart, seems to be miscast. Cinematographer Shane F. Kelly was successful in making the 5’10” Hawke look short, using a body double when shooting from behind. Still, it was impossible not to constantly make a mental note about how they were shooting him, a distraction from the tedious dialogue. Hawke successfully imparts needy but neglects the more complex vulnerability. One longs for him to stop talking.

Bobby Cannavale as Eddie the bartender is given little to do other than an occasional “tsk tsk” while he pours another drink. Simon Delaney was, no doubt, cast as Oscar Hammerstein II because of his size. He’s given little to say and is saddled with one of the “gotcha” moments when he introduces his 13-year-old guest and neighbor, Stephen Sondheim. Yes, Sondheim was his neighbor and mentee, but the likelihood that he brought him, instead of his own children, to the premiere is next to nil. Even less likely is that he would have unleashed Sondheim to critique Hart’s lyrics. Like inserting E.B. White into the action or having Weegee photograph the opening party, these are false plot pushers; wink-winks to a public who might recognize the names in 21st-century terms.

There is, however, a very bright moment in an otherwise tedious film. Andrew Scott, as Richard Rodgers, is captivating the moment he enters the scene. Not relying on dialogue to draw character, his eyes and tight smile reveal empathy, sympathy and the finality of his divorce from the partner who gave him his start. In the short space of a few minutes, you understand Rodgers, how he had to reluctantly move on and the fact that Hart will always be a part of him but no longer with him. Their interaction, graced with very little dialogue from Hart, is insightful in a way that the rest of the film isn’t. Without a spare movement or dialogue, you know who Rodgers is. Definitely not a saint, the window into his reputation as a serial philanderer is seen when he absorbs Hart’s lady love, Elizabeth, into his entourage, all with small gestures, eyes that see only her in that moment and a minor piece of dismissive dialogue about his wife having gone ahead to the party at their apartment without him.

“Words and Music,” the 1948 film about Rodgers and Hart directed by Norman Taurog, was little better, glossing over Hart’s alcoholism and eliminating any hint that he liked boys. It was a disaster as a biography starring Mickey Rooney (realistically short at 5’2”) but at least it offered a full panoply of his music sung by the greatest stars of the day, Judy Garland, Gene Kelly, Lena Horne, Mel Tormé and many others. Would that Linklater had incorporated more music rather than just the occasional song played on the restaurant piano by a character called Morty Rifkin.

Opening Oct. 17 at the AMC Century City 15.

Neely Swanson spent most of her professional career in the television industry, almost all of it working for David E. Kelley. In her last full-time position as Executive Vice President of Development, she reviewed writer submissions and targeted content for adaptation. As she has often said, she did book reports for a living. For several years she was a freelance writer for “Written By,” the magazine of the WGA West, and was adjunct faculty at USC in the writing division of the School of Cinematic Arts. Neely has been writing film and television reviews for the “Easy Reader” for more than 10 years. Her past reviews can be read on Rotten Tomatoes where she is a tomatometer-approved critic.

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Lionel, so unworldly in such a sophisticated city, has the talent to transcend boundaries meant to contain him. It is in a bar that he encounters David, sitting at the piano playing a folk song Lionel knows by heart. Lionel introduces him to songs of the past, songs sung on porches of the shacks he knows so well, and David is entranced. Their studies will separate them, as will World War I, until the music brings them back together. Returning to Boston, David seeks him out with a special proposal. About to begin a job at Bowdoin College, he has been given a grant to record the ethnic and folk music prevalent in the backwoods “hollers” and valleys of Maine. Equipped with wax cylinders for recording on a modified phonograph, they will hike through the wilderness looking for tiny enclaves where the ancient music still exists. Town after town, isolated shack after isolated shack, they find their music in all ways imaginable but especially personally. Most poignantly, it is not only a love song to our musical heritage but also one that will bind them together. Their love is pure and true and rife with difficulties. Lionel’s bubble of eternity is too soon burst. David must return to the college and there is no room for Lionel. David exhorts his lover to see the wider world. His talent is bigger and needs a wider stage. He should see America, see Europe, go where his singing will take him.

Sadly, reluctantly, Lionel returns to Boston. Made braver by David, he performs in Europe as his fame opens more opportunities for him. It seems rather hollow without David; he writes often without return acknowledgment. Lionel feels his life and future were bound inextricably to David and the box of cylinders. That they have disappeared is a mystery that will haunt him as his life view grows ever larger and his fame as an academic spreads.

Taking a chapter from the life of father and son ethnomusicologists John and Alan Lomax, writer Ben Shattuck centers this love story around the quiet joy of ethnic song collecting, a harvest, so to speak, of the bones on which this country was built. Folk songs, passed down through generations, are history and Lomax Sr. saw, early on, their value and how they were gradually disappearing. It took many years before academia caught up to him, and by then he had introduced his son Alan to song harvesting. Alan would eventually be commissioned by the Library of Congress to scour the countryside and record the folk songs of the relatively uncharted hills and valleys from Mississippi to Michigan. His archive and that of his father are still stored in the Library of Congress. Many of those recordings and archival photographs were featured in the Ken Burns Country Music documentary series on PBS.

“The History of Sound” is not a “Brokeback Mountain” of country music. It is an ode to love in all its permutations. It is love found, love lost and love that endures, tied up in the notes and melodies of songs discovered where least expected.

Seamlessly directed by Oliver Hermanus, the film is gifted with amazing actors. Josh O’Connor is a conflicted David, knowing where he must go but longing to go somewhere else. Chris Cooper plays the older Lionel, contributing early voiceover narration. His eyes betray a man who has lived a full, interesting life, but one that is dominated by the giant hole of what could have been. Paul Mescal was the perfect Lionel: hesitant and sure, innocent and world-weary. He makes all the joys and heartaches, the choices both good and bad, believable; his winning smile often tempered by his sad eyes.

The cinematography is extraordinary. Alexander Dynan filmed everything elegantly from the Kentucky of Lionel’s youth where the poverty of existence was tempered by the physical beauty of the hills and waterways that were free to all. The countryside of Maine where songs were recorded and lives were valued is otherworldly in color and depth. The variety of locations, from Italy to England and back to the East Coast, are painted as you would imagine them. The cinematography makes all the locations valuable characters in this film.

“The History of Sound” is not a fast-paced movie; it glides smoothly and is over all too soon. It is reminiscent of times gone by, times we are too young to remember, and of the varied aspects of love in which the physical is not the most important. But also this is a reminder that hearing is not the same as listening, whether to a sound or to your heart.

Now playing at the AMC Century City 15

Neely Swanson spent most of her professional career in the television industry, almost all of it working for David E. Kelley. In her last full-time position as Executive Vice President of Development, she reviewed writer submissions and targeted content for adaptation. As she has often said, she did book reports for a living. For several years she was a freelance writer for “Written By,” the magazine of the WGA West, and was adjunct faculty at USC in the writing division of the School of Cinematic Arts. Neely has been writing film and television reviews for the “Easy Reader” for more than 10 years. Her past reviews can be read on Rotten Tomatoes where she is a tomatometer-approved critic.

The post ‘The History of Sound’—Harmony in Motion appeared first on Beverly Hills Courier.

“Olympia,” her masterpiece, chronicled the 1936 Berlin Olympics, rightfully deifying Jesse Owens and revolutionizing sports photography with the tracking shot. She spent months before the Olympics filming high divers to find the right angles and camera positions. There can be little doubt that she was a formidable director and may be one of the best, if not the best, woman director of the 20th Century. This, however, does little to excuse her Nazi past, despite all her denials. As she repeatedly said, throughout her post-World War II lifetime (and she lived to 101, dying in 2006), “I am not responsible!”

Responsibility is an interesting choice of words because it can be interpreted differently, whether implying lack of trust, causation, accountability, proficiency, and to be very clear, she was extremely proficient. Riefenstahl was the very definition of responsible. She had complete control of her art. Despite her protests to the contrary, she was not following orders. She had final cut in everything she did, whether shooting and editing her films, choosing subject matter, or rejecting the advances of those like Goebbels, who pressed her, literally and figuratively. Leni Riefenstahl was very responsible.

Beginning her professional life as an actress, Leni had Greta Garbo-like beauty and presence. She immediately attracted attention in her first movie, “The Holy Mountain” (1926), doing her own climbing stunts. Not content just to act, in 1932 she directed, wrote, edited, produced and starred in “The Blue Light.” By this time she was very much on Hitler’s radar and he on hers. She was electrified the first time she heard him speak, “The State doesn’t give us orders. We give the State orders.” After an earlier commission, Hitler personally asked her to create a film about the 1934 Nuremberg Rally. The resulting film, “Triumph of the Will,” is an epic of propaganda filmmaking. Riefenstahl consistently denied that she was making propaganda; she was the ultimate apologist hiding behind her art.

“Olympia” (1938) was the most costly documentary up to that time. It was to be a film that glorified the athleticism of the Aryan race. She researched the original Greek games and the paintings and statuary depicting those athletes. But during the games, her focus shifted and she became entranced with the Black athletes dominating their events, particularly Jesse Owens. Her shots of him became burned in the minds of anyone seeing that footage, and most of us have. She described the Black athletes as beautiful, powerful animals, not as human beings.

Director Andres Veiel was drawn into “Riefenstahl” by producer Sandra Maischberger who, after the death of Riefenstahl’s partner in 2016, gained access to her estate. Although Leni Riefenstahl has been the focus of quite a few previous documentaries and Veiel makes use of clips from many of them, the gold mine that Maischberger discovered was boxes and boxes of Riefenstahl’s personal records, diaries, outtakes, unpublished photos, home movies and phone recordings. Unlike previous documentaries, Veiel was not beholden to either Riefenstahl or her partner, Horst Kettner.

The Leni Riefenstahl that emerges from Veiel’s outstanding study is a narcissist who knew exactly how to portray herself, whether innocent victim, naive young woman, object of desire, artist, apologist or, basically, anything she chose. Totally camera-aware, she flirts with it as though it were a sexual partner. She was a master at shutting down any conversation she didn’t like. She was always in control: in control of her films, of the men around her, of her life and most of all, her image. She was well aware of how important the public perception of her would be to her legacy. Her first avenue of attack was to “deny, deny, deny.” If you say it loud enough and often enough, you control the narrative. Leni, no matter how many times she changed her story, was always in control of the narrative. After all, she was only following orders.

Archival footage from previous interviews, and she was never hesitant to participate in talk shows, provided that the host adhered to her ground rules. In the 1950s, ‘60s and ‘70s, many Germans were still in denial over their part in the murder of the Jews and drank whatever drivel Riefenstahl had to offer. What comes to mind is the character of Sergeant Schultz in “Hogan’s Heroes,” an American comedy series of the 1960s about a German prisoner of war camp. His catchphrase, “I know nothing, nothing.”  That was the phrase Riefenstahl lived by, even when confronted with evidence to the contrary. The concentration camps? No knowledge. Didn’t she notice that Jews were disappearing? The only Jews she knew who disappeared were the ones who went to America. In one of her last Reich-sponsored movies, “Lowlands,” she used Roma children from an internment camp as extras. When the film finished shooting, those children and their parents were shipped to Auschwitz where they were murdered. Asked about that, Riefenstahl insisted that she had seen all of them again after the war. “I know nothing, nothing.”

Although she continued filming and photographing, notably in Sudan, her life’s work after the war was to reshape the public’s perception of her. Her story shifted with every interview. She was convinced that she could change history, or at least her history, something made possible by the dearth of evidence to the contrary. That evidence, evidence of her admiration for Hitler, the Nazi party and its values, the existence of the camps and the persecution of the Jews, was finally uncovered in the boxes and boxes of memorabilia that she and her partner kept locked for years. Most trenchant was the interview that never was. When contacted to appear on a Swiss talk show, she laid down her ground rules about what could and could not be discussed. When the host refused to acquiesce, she refused to appear. But this didn’t stop the show. Instead, very powerfully, the camera closes in on an empty chair, body mic hanging over the edge, as the host explains that she refused to show up unless they excised footage about the killing of the Jews. He proceeds with his questions to the chair and shows the footage, making it all the more intense.

Riefenstahl, “I’m not responsible.”

Opening Sept. 12 at the Laemmle Royal.

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The quintessential perfect couple, Theo and Ivy met in a restaurant kitchen in London. He, an architect, was escaping a stultifying meeting celebrating the completion of what he considered a mind numbing apartment complex and she, a sous chef, was putting together another of her creations for which she would get no credit. Their touch was electric; their immediate coupling, in the restaurant walk-in fridge, was lightning hot and fast. Before long, well actually it took a few years, they were off to California to start a new life. Ivy found work interning in Northern California restaurants and Theo began his rapid ascent at a prominent firm designing upscale projects for forward-thinking clients. They were their own mutual admiration and support network.

Kids came, a boy and a girl, and Ivy stayed home, her creative talents relegated to the home kitchen and imaginatively designed cakes and entrées for one and all. Their social circle was quite limited to his colleagues at work, the intensely competitive Rory and his far more talented wife Sally. Along the way they picked up Barry and Amy whose interests couldn’t have been farther from their own. Barry, a lawyer, loves guns and firing ranges and Amy loves exploring the boundaries of sexual acceptability with anyone in the vicinity.

Ivy, somewhat lost in her new environment with limited creative output now that the kids have started school, is grateful to Theo when he renovates a shack on the beach so she can have her own restaurant. On the surface, and isn’t everything always just on or below the surface, they still seem to have that magic together. Subtly, perhaps not so subtly, there is an imbalance in their relationship. It certainly didn’t start out that way. It was, after all, her idea that they move to the States, but with Theo on the rise and Ivy treading water, the shadow of Theo’s patronizing attitude toward the little woman begins to percolate. It’s probably not deliberate; he more than likely is unaware of it but Ivy begins to seethe under her wide smile and sparkling eyes. He’s successful and doing something he loves; she, less so, serving maybe two or three covers per lunch hour. Still, apart from her tight smile and the success he wears on his sleeve at which all are encouraged to marvel, this is still a seemingly supportive and loving couple. That will all change. Welcome to the textbook Love-Hate relationship.

A metaphoric storm, and an actual storm, have reversed their positions. Ivy is now renowned and successful beyond her dreams and Theo has been relegated to her former position as guardian to the kids. Civility is fraying at the edges and the words previously unspoken begin to be aired. And yet, as they point out, they’re British and the British invented repressed feelings. To say more would diminish the pleasure, full of schadenfreude and cynicism, that will come.

This is the story of a marriage. Granted, most marriages are not between two wildly successful individuals jockeying for position, but even the most mundane relationship flows with support and admiration and ebbs with resentment, neediness and recrimination. Someone is to blame or someone is not. The simple act of respect, the foundation of any relationship, is not so simple. No, Erich Segal, love is very much knowing how and when to say you’re sorry and when to yield, if only in the moment. Love isn’t all passion, sex and admiration, it’s also learning to negotiate the differences, resentments, the successes and the failures; and Ivy and Theo have become less and less accommodating to one another. They play a zero-sum game.

At the heart of that zero sum game is the house, a magnificent feat of architectural blending of nature and nurture; not exactly minimalist but not excessive either with a view that rivals Big Sur in both beauty and danger. An ode to modernism with the ironic touch of an AI helper named Hal (for those who have never seen “2001: A Space Odyssey,” look it up). This spectacular house, designed by Theo, representative of what he both lost and gained in his career, becomes the center point of the nuclear war they inflict on one another.

This is not the first screen adaptation of Warren Adler’s novel “The War of the Roses.” But Tony McNamara has made it his own, taking those relationship fissures and ripping the fabric as he tries to weave it back together. There are laugh-out-loud moments, surprises and lots of tension. Jay Roach, the director known for his deft comedic touch, has taken all of McNamara’s ingredients and stirred the pot so that the result is a bitter froth that curdles and amuses. They have given an accurate portrayal of a long-term marriage that survives as much on shared joy as it does on shared enmity. What happens when no one is willing to give an inch? Watch and see. Roach keeps everything moving and even interweaves characters that are totally tangential, like Benny and his libidinous wife Amy. Rory, a rival architect, is a necessary irritant, full of Schadenfreude toward Theo, but who cringes at his wife Sally’s clever malice and superior talent.

Roach was blessed with an outstanding cast. Andy Samberg as Barry is out of his league no matter where he turns but seems oblivious. Kate McKinnon, Amy, is hilariously inappropriate, something that has long been in her wheelhouse. Jamie Demetriou plays Rory as a second-rate architect who lives to criticize and Zoë Chao is his much cleverer and more gifted architect wife. They both live to demean but only she has enough firepower in her arsenal. Watch for a sensational appearance by Allison Janney. Saying any more would criminally diminish her effect.

“The Roses” is a very good movie, but what makes it exceptional are the two leads: Benedict Cumberbatch as Theo and Olivia Coleman as Ivy. Cumberbatch’s Theo is a walking incongruity, confident and rather supercilious when successful and a mass of insecurities and vulnerability encased in an impenetrable box of resentment when not. His eyes light up or darken depending on the situation and his comedic timing is impeccable, always just this side of tragic and/or vicious. Coleman, here, is given free rein to her dark, yet always very funny, side. Those wide eyes, so sparkling when Ivy and Theo were still discovering their strengths, eventually give way to slightly slitted, darker orbs framed by a wide, tight smile. The back-and-forth repartee between these two rather repressed individuals is a lesson in restraint that makes the result all the more hilarious and devastating. Originally aiming to wound, eventually the duo definitely are homing in on the kill.

While most will point to “The Roses” as the death of a marriage, I submit that it is not. Love and hate, vulnerability and strength lie in most long-term relationships. One is reluctant to acknowledge the negatives but they are there and usually to a greater degree than admitted. The ultimate strength of Coleman’s and Cumberbatch’s portrayals is the ability to express vulnerability and hope even while aiming for the jugular. The opposite of love isn’t hate, it’s indifference.

Now playing at AMC theaters including the AMC Century City 15. 

Neely Swanson spent most of her professional career in the television industry, almost all of it working for David E. Kelley. In her last full-time position as Executive Vice President of Development, she reviewed writer submissions and targeted content for adaptation. As she has often said, she did book reports for a living. For several years she was a freelance writer for “Written By,” the magazine of the WGA West, and was adjunct faculty at USC in the writing division of the School of Cinematic Arts. Neely has been writing film and television reviews for the “Easy Reader” for more than 10 years. Her past reviews can be read on Rotten Tomatoes where she is a tomatometer-approved critic.

The post ‘The Roses’—Everything Is Coming Up appeared first on Beverly Hills Courier.

Cob County is a patch of land in the middle of nowhere, fenced in and isolated from the rest of the world by cornrows (cue the first laugh). The townsfolk are mighty happy there and lack for nothing. The corn of Cob County is as high as an elephant’s eye (it makes as much sense here as it did in “Oklahoma”). They are about to participate in the wedding between Maizy (yes, I know, it’s too on the nose, or rather on the cob) and Beau. But stop the presses, the corn isn’t growing; worse, it’s dying. Peanut, Beau’s several-kernels-short-of-a-cob brother and purveyor of most of the truly awful jokes and puns, declares that he can’t marry them until they figure out the problem with the corn.

Cob County is the very definition of traditional and very out-of-fashion values. When Maizy declares that she believes they must look for help outside Cob County, she is shouted down, dismissed and ridiculed. They live and die by the idea that women need to be protected, don’t and shouldn’t have original ideas, and need to stay home and let the menfolk work out the problems. Hurt and repulsed when Beau expresses these thoughts and dismisses her out of hand, she rebels, determined to find the solution herself.

Maizy books a ticket to the outside world—Tampa. Tampa, when you can’t afford Orlando or Atlanta. Arriving in town, she is immediately drawn to a sign that points to the “Corn Doctor.” Like a bolt of lightning, she can’t believe her luck. The corn doctor will have the solution. Unaware of the other meaning, she makes an appointment with Gordy, the podiatrist, who is in need of a quick escape. The mob is breathing down his neck and he doesn’t have the money they demand.

Maizy, dazzled by his big-city charm, entreats Gordy to come with her to Cob County and fix their problem. Gordy, a conman of dubious proficiency, a less successful Harold Hill (“The Music Man” is channeled often) is more than happy to oblige when he spies Maizy’s dazzling gemstone bracelet, stones that may get him out of his troubles. Arriving back in Cob County, romantic problems rear their head when Maizy confesses to Beau that she kissed Gordy. But Gordy, already with his exit plan, is smitten by the one independent woman in town, Maizy’s cousin and best friend Lulu, whose corn whiskey business is about to be shucked unless she gets a fresh supply of corn.

There is so much more to tell, but why spoil the fun of viewing. The jokes, as mentioned, come a mile a minute and are at times so awful you can’t believe your ears (yes, I meant that too). Although the ones I found most memorable were double entendres not quite suitable for a PG audience, here is a sample:

“I think people in China must wonder what to call their good plates.”

“After all, a paper plane that doesn’t fly is just stationery.”

“He was head over heels, which is just standing upright.”

“I think if you had time to take a bullet for someone, they had time to move.”

“It was an unsolved mystery, which are really just mysteries.”

And, in illustration of how DNA does tell, “Grandma died doin’ what she loved…makin’ toast in the bathtub.”

Keep in mind, without the proper timing, this would all fall flat. Like the recently released “Naked Gun,” the residents of Cob County sell these lines because they take them seriously. There are no pauses for the laugh so you’ll have to listen carefully or you might miss a gem. The humor is embedded seamlessly into this frothy bit of soda.

There’s more to tell, and of course, all’s well that ends well, but this laugh-out-loud swiftly intoxicating shot of corn liquor will have you begging for more. The scenic design by Scott Pask is a stripped-down ode to a country town of corn stalks. Almost vaudevillian in execution, the choreography of Sarah O’Gleby is a hoedown of joyful high-stepping struts and arms akimbo. Tony Award winning Robert Horn (“Tootsie”) wrote the book and a very funny one it is. Both a satire and an homage to the “Hee Haw” South, composer/lyricists Brandy Clark and Shane McNally, CMA and Grammy Award-winners, have produced a cornucopia of those rarest of rare songs that are actually hummable and could be covered by any Nashville artist working today, and I hope they will be. I am, however, perplexed as to why the producers substituted the song “We Love Jesus” for the uninteresting “Ballad of the Rocks.”

“Shucked” is directed by the prolific Jack O’Brien who has won numerous Tony awards, including one for Lifetime Achievement. He keeps the action flowing smoothly and quickly and gets outstanding performances from his lead actors, and they are a wonderful lot led by that beautiful cornflower, Danielle Wade as Maizy. She has an aching country and western voice that seems to be a cross between Dolly Parton and Reba McIntyre (a co-producer listed as an official Stalksperson). The show is actually bookended by narrators, Storyteller 1 and Storyteller 2, played by the charming Maya Langerstam and Tyler Joseph Ellis, respectively. Miki Abraham as the independent Lulu has a commanding presence and voice. Quinn VanAntwerp is an effective conman who loses his con and finds his way. The charming Jake Odmark is Beau, who is the straight man to both Peanut and Maizy. Mike Nappi steals the show as Peanut as he delivers pun after pun and joke after joke, never cracking a smile on his puzzled, dim face.

Don’t be cornswaggled. Hurry to the Pantages Theater before this national tour moves on to its next cornerback.

Now playing through Sept. 7, Tuesdays through Sundays. Check the Broadway in Hollywood website for times.

Hollywood Pantages Theatre, 6233 Hollywood Blvd., Los Angeles 90028. 

Neely Swanson spent most of her professional career in the television industry, almost all of it working for David E. Kelley. In her last full-time position as Executive Vice President of Development, she reviewed writer submissions and targeted content for adaptation. As she has often said, she did book reports for a living. For several years she was a freelance writer for “Written By,” the magazine of the WGA West, and was adjunct faculty at USC in the writing division of the School of Cinematic Arts. Neely has been writing film and television reviews for the “Easy Reader” for more than 10 years. Her past reviews can be read on Rotten Tomatoes where she is a tomatometer-approved critic.

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Will Shakespeare is in the process of finishing his latest play, “Romeo and Juliet,” and Anne Hathaway, his wife, is none too happy. Why, she asks, does he have to kill off Juliet? Romeo’s dead, OK; but Juliet? Come on. Why can’t she wake up and just move on like the powerful independent woman she should be? Will is unsympathetic. She should leave the writing to him and stay home and raise the kids. Frustrated, Anne lets him have it. He likes his plays better than her; she’s not even sure that she’s the inspiration for his love poems. She grabs his quill and begins a “page one rewrite” of the ending.

Her Juliet doesn’t die. She has more to offer, although her parents are still intent on sending her to a nunnery. Enlisting Nurse Angelique’s help to escape that fate, she gathers her best friends around her—boyfriend May, clearly on the opposite end of the gender spectrum, and April, played by Anne. Will is less than impressed and informs Anne that the playwright never plays. But Anne has loftier aspirations and wants to show off her singing and dancing skills. A disheartened Will sees where this is going and it’s not in his direction. Of course, he violates his own rule not to insert himself into the action by doing just that as he wink-winks his way into various chorus roles.

The fun begins the minute the cast launches into the song “Larger than Life” as Juliet talks about what she wants. Will and Anne argue about her perception, but Anne just forges ahead with her vision of the play and the enlightenment of Juliet, singing “I Want It That Way,” like the first song, another former hit by the Backstreet Boys.

What to do? What to do? Let’s leave 15th-century Verona and carriage off to Paris where the fun continues. The plot is loose but, in the end, it’s really not about Juliet: it’s about Anne and what she wants and what she doesn’t have. Will and Anne’s musical interactions pepper Anne’s play throughout with an undercurrent of playfulness and tension, but always musically fun and inventive. It’s hard not to get swept into the anachronistic, illogical fun. Juliet’s parents are still threatening her with a nunnery, so a hasty marriage is planned and abandoned when love conquers all, just not the love anyone was expecting.

Everyone gets what or who they want; love is lost, love is found, everyone and everything is full of surprises and no one dies (literally or figuratively).

The colorful costuming is a modern take on the hats, tiaras, doublets, puffy-sleeved chemises, peasant skirts and hose worn by both the men and women. Jennifer Weber choreographs “& Juliet” like an MTV musical video of the ‘90s with bumps and grinds and hip hop and unadulterated joy. The cast performs the numbers like they would for a Beyoncé arena show. Only massive self-control keeps you from getting out of your seat and joining them.

What really sells the show is the fabulous cast of every size, shape, color and gender. Their enthusiasm, raucous singing and delightful dancing envelope you from the beginning. There are very few weaknesses. Mateus Leite Cardoso, who plays François/Frankie, Juliet’s Parisian love interest, is a fine singer but as an actor and dancer, he is stiff where he needs to be fluid. In the Los Angeles production, the role of Romeo has been recast, and Ben Jackson Walker, who originated the role on Broadway, is adorably tall, cute and gangly but seems still to be trying to integrate into an ensemble that has been rehearsing together for a while. The duo of Anne Hathaway (also April) and Shakespeare played by Teal Wicks and Corey Mach, respectively, are delightful, engaging, and the whole package when it comes to acting, singing and dancing. They really underpin everything with their personal marriage drama, one that is totally relatable. Supporting players Kathryn Allison as Angelique, Juliet’s faithful nurse, Nick Drake as the gender bending May, and Paul-Jordan Jansen as Lance, François’ father, all add substance and merriment to the convoluted story.

The star and shining light who carries this frothy production on her adorable off-shoulder blousons is the remarkable Rachel Simone Webb as Juliet. Her talented singing, dancing and acting set the stage on fire, and you will stand and cheer her at the end. Surely a major career on stage, screen and television awaits her.

Director Luke Sheppard keeps everything moving quickly, no small feat when considering the vast number of moving parts. It’s all very seamless. After a seemingly flawless, explosively entertaining first act, it was almost to be expected that the second act suffered from a lull as it tried to regain its footing in the story. David West Read had sung and danced himself into a corner. But recover it did, rousing itself to Juliet’s showstopper, “Roar,” a song originally popularized by Katy Perry. And roar you will at this jukebox musical that Max Martin (a Swede just like the creators of “Mama Mia,” Benny Andersson and Björn Ulvaeus) inspired with his many lyrical creative partners, or “friends,” as he deems them. If you miss it at the Ahmanson, hie thee to the Segerstrom Center for the Arts in Costa Mesa; its next stop.

Now playing through Sept. 7 at the Ahmanson Theatre, 135 N. Grand Avenue. Performances at 7:30 p.m., Tuesday-Thursday; 8 p.m. on Fridays; 2:00 and 7 p.m. on Saturdays; and 1:00 and 7 p.m. on Sundays.

At the Segerstrom Center for the Arts, 600 Town Center Drive, Costa Mesa, from Sept. 9 to 21. 

Neely Swanson spent most of her professional career in the television industry, almost all of it working for David E. Kelley. In her last full-time position as Executive Vice President of Development, she reviewed writer submissions and targeted content for adaptation. As she has often said, she did book reports for a living. For several years she was a freelance writer for “Written By,” the magazine of the WGA West, and was adjunct faculty at USC in the writing division of the School of Cinematic Arts. Neely has been writing film and television reviews for the “Easy Reader” for more than 10 years. Her past reviews can be read on Rotten Tomatoes where she is a tomatometer-approved critic.

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Director David Mackenzie and writer Justin Piasecki have set the stage for a mystery thriller that continues at a slow burn that gradually increases in speed and heat as the stakes are raised, and raised and raised yet again. Mackenzie, the masterful director of one of my favorite films in recent years, “Hell or High Water,” knows how to ramp up action, danger, stakes and build character. Piasecki’s skillfully crafted screenplay makes him someone to follow in the future.

Ash is a fixer. He brokers payoffs to whistleblowers whose information was ignored and suppressed by the corrupt corporations and CEOs who stand to lose much, if not everything, should that information be released to the public. The whistleblowers who hire Ash are men and women who, in trying to do the right thing, are threatened, harassed and in danger of grave bodily harm, if not death. Ash has just brokered such a deal between Hoffman and a big pharma CEO who will do everything he can to make sure that Hoffman’s incendiary report is not released before the big launch of their latest drug—whose clinical trials revealed major side effects. The payoff, in six figures, was more than Hoffman expected, but his instructions from Ash reveal that he is not yet out of danger.

Ash has been doing this for quite some time. He’s a loner and has isolated himself completely. None of his clients, on either side of the table, have ever met him. They find him through a remote answering service, a number that is floating in the ether. If, after due diligence, Ash finds the caller to be credible, he will communicate via a rather antiquated system known as a TDD (Telecommunication Device for the Deaf), a telephone relay service that was designed to facilitate communication between the deaf and hearing. Ash calls into the service through his own TDD, typing his message to an operator who then contacts the designated party and is told that they are going to relay a message from another, speechless (and presumably deaf) person. They may talk to the relay operator who will then type the message to the caller. No voice to recognize, no phone to track, no emotional attachment; just instructions, instructions that must be followed to the letter. Unimpeachable and entirely private, the relay service deletes all messages within 24 hours.

Always at a distance from his clients and adversaries, Ash has meticulously kept and secreted records of each transaction as a hedge against any future retribution or foul play against the whistleblower. His no-affect demeanor is his armor against personal involvement. These are transactions and he is the third-party negotiator. Until…

Sarah, a Ph.D. with impeccable credentials, calls a number she has been given, Ash’s answering service. She is terrified. The company where she worked has a new genetically modified organism (GMO) that has the potential to increase harvests at a very low cost. It would revolutionize the agriculture industry. Sarah discovered, however, that the GMO had a toxic and possibly fatal side effect. Because this product would be used in general foodstuffs, any potential adverse reactions would be almost impossible to trace back to the original source, releasing the company of all liability.

Sarah tried to bring the results to her superiors; she tried to do what she thought was right. For her troubles, she was demoted and then let go. Righteously angry, she surreptitiously gathered all the written evidence and left with it. It wasn’t long before the company discovered what she had done and she has been on the run ever since, tracked by company hired cyber thugs. She needs help. She’s in fear for her life. She wants to return the documents. Ash, receiving the message, begins his vetting of this potential client. His online search reveals that she is who she says she is. Ash, the loner, is struck by the emotion leaking from this terrified woman. His normal armor has seemingly been pierced by her tone and situation. He begins a relay interaction with her, one that is more fraught than usual and littered with mistakes. Hiding in plain sight, he ascertains that she is, indeed, being followed and stalked. Somehow they are aware of her every move. Ash’s job won’t just be to negotiate but also to protect.

The beauty of “Relay” is the speed at which everything moves. As a viewer, or rather a participant drawn into the threats and machinations, your pulse will race and your body will tense. Mackenzie is a master at roping you in and tightening the knot. Nothing is situational, and yet all of it is. Piasecki has created characters of deep dimension and believability. More to the point, there are no wasted moments and everything, no matter how small, will eventually come into play meaningfully when you least expect it. As Linda Loman said in “Death of a Salesman,” “Attention must be paid!” As you are being lulled into believing that the story is going one way or a personal interaction is a sentimental dead end, you will be wrong. Every action, reaction and interaction is meaningful even if you have to wait until the end to figure it out.

“Relay” is entirely satisfying and my favorite movie of the year. This is a cat-and-mouse game where the cat and the mouse shift at dizzying speeds. The fear you feel is full of “what ifs.” And, as mentioned right at the beginning, composer Tony Doogan, a Mackenzie staple, slyly set the mood with his tense scoring. Cinematographer Seamus McGarvey has made the dark streets of a Brooklyn that lies under elevated tracks and along a filthy water’s edge a character in Ash’s story. But that is not to diminish the story impact of every location, no matter how small, out of the way or seemingly insignificant.

“Relay” tells a terrific story, but the cast is the greater part of that.  Sam Worthington as Dawson, one of the very clever cyber thugs, is truly frightening. His handsome face offsets his deadly eyes, making him an effective villain of the scariest sort. Lily James is Sarah. Her fear is palpable, her air ingenuous and her beauty a lure. It is completely believable that she would break through Ash’s isolation.

The reason I was attracted to his film in the first place was its star, Riz Ahmed. Ahmed, whose breakthroughs in “The Night Of” and “Sound of Metal,” is a must-see performer, much like Michael B. Jordan, Taron Egerton, Tom Hiddleston and especially Olivia Coleman. Ahmed, as Ash, has an invulnerability on the surface that disguises pain and past injustices that eventually bubble to the surface. It’s not exactly a spoiler, but his Ash says not one word through at least the first third of the movie, establishing a stoicism that infuses his characterization.

This is an exceptional thriller whose surface plot disguises its depth of focus. I don’t think you’ll be disappointed.

Opening Aug. 22 at Century City 15 The Grove 14 and AMC theaters in the South Bay. On Aug. 23 there will be a Q&A with director David Mackenzie at the AMC Century City 15.  

Neely Swanson spent most of her professional career in the television industry, almost all of it working for David E. Kelley. In her last full-time position as Executive Vice President of Development, she reviewed writer submissions and targeted content for adaptation. As she has often said, she did book reports for a living. For several years she was a freelance writer for “Written By,” the magazine of the WGA West, and was adjunct faculty at USC in the writing division of the School of Cinematic Arts. Neely has been writing film and television reviews for the “Easy Reader” for more than 10 years. Her past reviews can be read on Rotten Tomatoes where she is a tomatometer-approved critic.

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Comedy this ridiculous depends on how it’s delivered, and here is where the director and writers struck gold. Like Leslie Nielsen before him, Liam Neeson is primarily known for his dramatic roles. And just like Nielsen, it was impossible to imagine him delivering comedic lines. But deliver he does because Neeson was well aware that no matter the material, you take the dialogue and character seriously. He says his lines as though they are as profound as Shakespeare; he never plays for laughs. And that is what makes you laugh all the harder. Whether his pants are around his ankles or he’s dispatching bad guys right and left with an ever- present coffee in one hand and a Glock in the other, he plays it straight.

Lt. Frank Drebin Jr. (Neeson) has followed in his father’s footsteps and works at the Los Angeles Police Squad under the very dour leadership of Chief Davis (CCH Pounder). Working with partner Ed Hocken Jr., they are called to a robbery in progress at a local bank. Dispatching the bad guys single-handedly, literally and figuratively, they misunderstood that the real goal of the theft wasn’t the money; it was the contents of a safe deposit box and the first silly sight gag. Henchman Sig Gustafson has retrieved an electronic box labeled “P.L.O.T. device.” PLOT is an acronym for something I can’t remember, but it’s emblematic of the kinds of jokes and “plot devices” that will follow.

Dismissed from this particular investigation because of his dubious tactics, Drebin is reassigned to traffic detail and a fatal crash on the PCH in Malibu. The dead guy and presumed suicide, Simon Davenport, worked for tech billionaire Richard Cane and something is rotten in the state of, well something is rotten. Waiting for him back at headquarters is Simon’s sister Beth. She’s convinced he was murdered for something he found out and Cane is at the root of it. While not entirely dismissed (it’s tough to dismiss a double-D dish like Beth), Drebin assures her he’ll look into it.

The very charming Richard Cane is one slippery devil and his nefarious plot and Plot Device will change the world as we know it. Meeting Drebin at a club he owns, Cane knows he must get him on his side and gifts him a state-of-the-art electric car. Gee, I wonder who they modeled their archvillain after? Tech billionaire, electric car manufacturer, overarching political ambitions. Hmm, I wonder. Because great minds think alike (hint: that was sarcasm), Beth also turns up at the club. It’s a well-worn and clichéd script gimmick, but there’s always a femme fatale who will either help or gum up the works. Drebin uses her to distract Cane as he tricks his way into the private office where the CCTV is kept.

In most good comedies, it’s the throwaway lines and references that are the funniest. Leeringly attempting to seduce Beth, Cane pours her his best wine. “What is it?” she asks. “It’s from Bill Cosby’s special reserve,” he responds. Beth and Drebin are found out but escape to a cabin in the mountains where they ogle each other in a very PG-13 way, although there is the suggestion of a threesome with Frosty the Snowman.

Will Drebin get his man? Will Beth get hers? Obviously. But the road to success is full of hilarious potholes and all of them lead to the downtown PonziScheme.com Arena where Cane will start to execute his plan during a WWF competition.  Every time I saw the name of the sports arena, I guffawed. It was one of those gags that never got old given the allusion to the Crypto.com Arena.

Over and over, never stopping to breathe, the writing/directing triumvirate threw joke after joke, sight gag after sight gag, at the wall to see what would stick. And more did than didn’t. The plot and all its devices are incidental; the execution is in the delivery. The humor is soft, sophomoric and endless. It’s check your brain at the door, sit back and enjoy.

The casting was wonderful and inventive. Playing Beth is the stacked and statuesque Pamela Anderson. Poured into her costumes, she never vamps and takes her comedy seriously. She’s actually an improvement over Priscilla Presley who was the girlfriend and foil to Leslie Nielsen’s Frank Drebin (Sr.). Don’t blink, but Presley has a single shot cameo toward the middle of the film. Paul Walter Hauser plays Ed Hocken Jr. (Sr. was played by George Kennedy in the original). He’s a good straight man and a very versatile actor. He won an Emmy playing a serial killer in “Black Bird” and can now be seen in “The Fantastic Four: First Steps.”

Danny Huston, Richard Cane, is the suave tech billionaire you love to hate. He has presence and his voice is full of gravitas. Like everyone else in this film, he took his work seriously and that makes it all the more fun. A pity he wasn’t called on to play Lex Luthor in the recent “Superman” movie.

Enough cannot be said about Liam Neeson, who carries this film on his shoulders. Age and responsibility weigh on his deeply lined, expressive face and soulful eyes, making him all the more believable when things carom out of control. He acquitted himself nicely in what could have been a thankless comparison.

“The Naked Gun” won’t be a classic; there’s probably only room for one of them on the classics shelf. But it’s funny and diverting and definitely worth your time whether you’re 8 or 80. Dan Gregor, Doug Mand and Akiva Schaffer have given us a respite from tense times. It might have been appropriate if more credit had been accorded to Jerry Zucker, Jim Abrahams and David Zucker, the writers of “The Naked Gun: From the Files of Police Squad.” They created the original characters, or rather the “fathers” upon whom this new film was based, but so many of the sight gags were also inspired by them.

The current creative team was ably abetted by their editor Brian Scott Olds, prop master Kyla Dill and a large special effects team. Costume designers Betsy Heimann and Maria Tortu should get special mention if only for showing that the middle-aged Anderson still has every curve in the right place. Composer Lorne Balfe’s music sped things along, but no credit was given to original composer, Ira Newborn, whose theme music occasionally poked through.

It may be a remake but “The Naked Gun” is an original in its own way and should find a wide audience looking for more at the movies than air conditioning and superheroes.

Opening wide on Aug. 1. 

The post ‘The Naked Gun’—Fully Loaded appeared first on Beverly Hills Courier.

“Smoke” is smokin’ hot! There are two, not one, serial arsonists in this big city, and it is the job of crack arson investigator Dave Gudsen and his newly assigned partner, Detective Michelle Calderone, to track them down. Assigned may be a euphemism because this is a Siberia to which the previously upwardly mobile Calderone has been sequestered. Neither is happy with the other but Calderone brings a fresh approach, a critical eye and gnawing suspicions to the evolutions and actions of both arsonists. Gudsen’s ego takes a massive hit, but he hides it behind his piercing eyes and tense but winning smile. Calderone submerges her disenchantment to make some major breakthroughs. There’s plenty of action, but it’s the character depth and development that sets this series apart from almost everything on TV. Written with breathtaking emotional expanse, it’s not so much who did it (you find out early on) but how they will be caught.

Dennis Lehane, a master novelist and exceptional writer of television, was the creator of the award-winning Apple limited series “Black Bird” and has now added “Smoke” to the magic he creates. He is blessed with two fantastic leads in Jurnee Smollett as Calderone and the amazing Taron Egerton as Gudsen. Egerton, whose range is stunning, having played Elton John in “Rocketman” and the petty criminal trying for a better deal in “Black Bird,” is someone Lehane obviously wanted to work with again. He may be the most effective, charming, ice-cold sociopath ever in a lead role. No matter the medium, his presence now makes it a must see. Smollett’s depth of character, a woman whose flaws almost outweigh her grace, shows she is a rare commodity.

Now playing on Apple TV+

“Stick” stars Owen Wilson as Pryce Cahill, an over-the-hill former pro golfer who now works in the local golf club shop. Soon to be divorced, still haunted by his rapid fade from the pro circuit, he spies what could be his comeback. Sneaking onto the driving range at night, teen wastrel Santi Wheeler hits balls out of the park, literally and figuratively. The kid’s an unknown, but maybe with a bit of fine-tuning Cahill can use him as his own steppingstone. Making a deal with Santi’s mother, Cahill will tutor Santi and prepare him for the junior nationals. Santi, however, is a handful. He’s been let down by better men than Cahill, or so he says, and isn’t interested in improving a game he thinks is already perfect. Teen angst and anger meet adult uncertainty and they’re off in a camper, accompanied by Cahill’s friend Mitts and an unusual love/hate partnership with a girl named Zero whose angles are many and sharp.

Wilson excels in this role, able to navigate the soft edges of his character without becoming maudlin. Peter Dager is a marvelous Santi, all dark-eyed anger disguising emotional scars; Marc Maron is Mitts, an amorphous character who somehow brings something to a nothing role, and Lili Kay as Zero adds some surprising mystery and danger. Watch for Timothy Olyphant as the antagonist to Cahill. He made it big, possibly over the back of his rival.

Never a fan of golf, not a big fan of Wilson, “Stick” actually delivers more than expected and makes both the subject and the star worthwhile viewing. It’s that endangered half-hour format that we need so much; no laugh track telling us when to laugh, just something to sit down, relax, watch and enjoy.

Now streaming on Apple TV+

“Nautilus” is true family fare. Remember when you could sit down as a family and watch something that appealed to kids as well as adults? “Nautilus” is just such a show, combining science fiction adventure that is loosely based on a classic novel, “20,000 Leagues Under the Sea” by Jules Verne. There are monsters of both the sea (a giant electric eel) and land (shipwrecked sailors and marauding bandits) with a measure of social justice and history thrown in at the same time.

Captain Nemo is a renegade Indian prince being chased by a government-sanctioned troop of English naval officers and executives of the East India Company (Company). Captain Nemo is a much-valued escapee from the Company’s prison. They have stolen his lands, killed his family and need the secrets he holds. He and a small band of scientists and escaped prisoners have commandeered the Nautilus, a mysterious submarine that can dive deep and evade pursuers. Gustave Benoit designed the vessel for the Company having been assured that it would be used for exploration. To his horror he discovers that they plan on using it as a killing machine. Nemo and his band of outlaw sailors steal the Nautilus and prepare for a journey to far-off lands, all while trying to evade the evil officers of the Dreadnought, the powerful warship that has been sent after them by the Company. Collateral damage are Humility Lucas, an aspiring engineer of great mind and stunning appearance, engaged against her wishes to a shallow aristocrat far below her intellectual standards, and Loti, Humility’s governess and keeper. And there’s an adorable dog.

Humility, with an eye to the Prince and a mind on statistics, is a bit too trite a character but Georgia Flood still makes you root for her. Shazad Llatif is a worthy Nemo, like some of the many who have played him before, James Mason, Michael Caine, Patrick Stewart and more. But true to the book, Nemo was an Indian prince whose fight was against his captors and imperialism.

So sit back with the kids; enjoy the wonders of this imaginary sea; root for the hero against the bad guys and marvel at some of the science and science fiction that make up this tale. Keep your eyes peeled for guest appearances by the hilariously smarmy Richard Grant as the White Rajah and the frightening Noah Taylor, the shipwrecked Captain Mogg.

All episodes now streaming on AMC+

“Ballard” is a welcome addition to the Michael Connelly universe. Renée Ballard, a character spinoff from the Bosch novels, is a disgraced detective who has been relegated to the new cold case division. The vanity project of a city councilman in search of the person who murdered his sister many years ago, the new department, understaffed and underfunded, located in the moldy bowels of a station house, relies on the help of volunteers. Ballard saw her career take a nose dive when she filed sexual harassment charges against her boss. Without corroboration from colleagues afraid for their own positions, she was exiled and he remained as powerful as ever.

The volunteers are an eccentric group that includes Ted Rawls, a skeptic and spy for the councilman; Colleen, a volunteer who insists she has psychic ability and Thomas Laffont, a retired cop putting in the hours to help Renée and also escape his well-meaning, hovering husband. Soon to be added to the group is Parker, a woman who quit the force under mysterious circumstances, who has more in common with Ballard than she’ll admit.

Not as influenced by political pressure as she should be, Ballard is tough and smart and knows how to read a crime scene, even years later. She’s interested in the councilman’s cause but she sees other pressing cases, including one about an illegal who was shot several years previously that may be related to the recent killing of a maid at the same motel. Ballard keeps all the balls in the air and comes up with both good news and bad news in the case of the murdered sister. The good news is some recently retrieved DNA; the bad news, a case with the same murder MO, indicating that this may have been the work of a serial killer.

Slow to start, the series eventually finds its rhythm by the third episode. The cast is what keeps you motivated to continue watching. Leading the crew is Maggie Q, action star, as Ballard. The ever reliable and empathetic John Carroll Lynch is Laffont and Michael Mosley as Ted Rawls grows from smarmily sarcastic to almost sympathetic. The always wonderful Amy Hill plays Tutu, Ballard’s grandmother and source of wisdom and Courtney Taylor plays Parker with a chip on her shoulder to hide her vulnerability.

Now streaming on Amazon Prime  

Neely Swanson spent most of her professional career in the television industry, almost all of it working for David E. Kelley. In her last full-time position as Executive Vice President of Development, she reviewed writer submissions and targeted content for adaptation. As she has often said, she did book reports for a living. For several years she was a freelance writer for “Written By,” the magazine of the WGA West, and was adjunct faculty at USC in the writing division of the School of Cinematic Arts. Neely has been writing film and television reviews for the “Easy Reader” for more than 10 years. Her past reviews can be read on Rotten Tomatoes where she is a tomatometer-approved critic.

The post So Much TV—So Little Time | Part Two of Two appeared first on Beverly Hills Courier.

Based on a novel by Jane Harper, Tony Ayres and Alberto Di Troia skillfully draw you into the multiple threads of this complex story. Weaving flashbacks into the narrative to show both how much and how little has changed in 15 years, the motives and possible guilt of multiple members of the community are realistically enough presented that you become convinced each was capable of doing something dangerous or illegal. This is a streamlined, very effective series that is able to tell its complex story in six episodes. There are no real red herrings to bloat the narrative, just possible and probable cause.

“The Survivors” is helped immensely by an extremely talented cast, most of whom will be unfamiliar to American audiences. Charlie Vickers plays Kieran, around whom most of the mysteries revolve. Damien Garvey plays his father Brian, a former pillar of the community whose dementia leaves him unable to defend himself. Yerin Ha, Mia, might be more familiar to American audiences because of her roles in the recent seasons of “Bridgerton” and “Dune: Prophecy.” Her somewhat plain appearance serves to emphasize her inner beauty and empathy. The standout performer is Robyn Malcolm as Verity, Kieran’s toxic mother and loving wife to Brian. The depth of her antagonism toward her son is clearly a measure of self-loathing that risks losing everything she has tried to maintain. Verity is truly a study in character development, something that ends up being one of the major strengths in this excellent production.

Now streaming on Netflix.

“Sirens” is a big fat soaper with sophisticated trimmings and aspirations. Make no mistake, it’s absorbing from beginning to end with beautiful people and ominous underpinnings. Devon, a hot mess of a 30-something and recovering addict, has been taking care of her father, Bruce. In the throes of Alzheimer’s,  he refuses a care facility even if they could afford one. Sister Simone left long ago and hasn’t returned despite pledging to help with Bruce. What Devon does know is that Simone is living a luxurious life far from the family home in Buffalo and it’s time for her to come back and help.

Tracking Simone to the private island of billionaires Michaela and Peter Kell, Devon hops on various modes of transportation, none convenient, and spontaneously makes her way through the estate’s intense security and crash lands at a most inconvenient time. Simone is Michaela’s closest associate and personal assistant. She has adapted well to the wealth that surrounds her, even lassoing one of the billionaire guests. Preparations are being made for a major photo shoot and party to celebrate the end of what one might call a rich adult summer camp, but has all the trappings of a cult. Smiling widely with false sincerity, Michaela invites Devon to stay. But the more Devon sees of her sister’s codependent relationship with the mistress of the lair, the more convinced she is that Michaela is leading a cult.

Will she be able to rescue the sister who doesn’t want to be rescued? What’s going to happen to dear old dad? And, more importantly, what is the endgame for each of the protagonists? “Sirens,” ingeniously written and well-directed, would probably work no matter who played these deliciously devious characters, but it is helped immensely by having Julianne Moore as the ethereal, manipulative Michaela. Her husband, appearing sporadically but significantly, is played by Kevin Bacon. Milly Alcock, playing Simone, is that combination of innocence, blind belief and opportunism. And leading them all is Meghann Fahy as Devon, a train wreck waiting to happen. The five episodes will zoom by.

Now streaming on Netflix.

“Grosse Pointe Garden Society” on NBC/Peacock is particularly yummy. Told in a deliberately confusing flashforward/flashback style, this is a fun soaper in the tradition of “Desperate Housewives.” Everyone is beautiful, the relationships are incestuously close, even if they’re not familial, the stakes are ridiculously low until they are ratcheted up with a murder. The hook? The viewer has no idea who has been killed because there are a number of worthy candidates among the enemies of our desperate housewives, and the deliberately confusing storytelling timelines always bring you right back to square one as candidates are eliminated and new ones suspected.

Grosse Pointe, the Beverly Hills of Michigan, is a town of the “haves” and a few isolated “have- nots.” The Garden Club is a hotbed of rivalries, jealousies and social climbing disguised as that “chance to give back” to a community that has already gotten far too much. Every year they prepare for two events, their annual fundraiser and the garden design competition. The club is run with an iron fist by Marilyn; she brooks no opposition. When suddenly Birdy Bradley, rich, rude, with no socially redeeming values, is thrust upon the Garden Society to fulfill her community service for her latest DUI, the chemistry of this tight-knit group begins to fray. Catherine, Alice and Ben don’t know what to do with her. But each is also an outlier in Grosse Pointe for one reason or another. The marriages of Catherine and Alice are rocky, and Ben is a single dad trying to retain custody of his kids. They all harbor deep, dark secrets and those secrets are what allow them eventually to embrace Birdy who, when push comes to shove (and there’s lots of shoving), is a whole lot of fun with too much time on her hands and plenty of money to share.

The episodes are written with flair, humor and just enough mystery to keep you guessing as to who they killed (accidentally or otherwise) and who is sleeping with whom. Totally lacking in deeper meaning and subtlety, this is definitely a relax and enjoy type of series. And enjoy it, I think you will. It took me by surprise and soon I was engrossed. Starring Melissa Fumero, Aja Naomi King, Ben Rappaport and AnnaSophia Robb, expect salacious sex, evil mothers-in-law, duplicitous husbands (and wives) and a manipulative stepdad. Everyone has higher aspirations, but then again, doesn’t everyone? Spoiler alert: NBC has canceled the show and there will be no Season 2. So who’s dead? Who cares?

Streaming now on Peacock.

“Those About to Die” shows the ancient roots of soap opera. Granted, the true foundation would have been the Greek Tragedies, but this one is based in ancient Rome during the Flavian Empire, a period that saw a civil war following the suicide of Emperor Nero. Supported by the Roman armies, Vespasian became the fourth emperor in almost as many years, although his reign was relatively short, from 69 CE to 79 CE. His two sons succeeded him. It’s a fascinating time in history when the Romans were staking a foothold in Great Britain and conquering Jerusalem; Mount Vesuvius erupted and plague infected Rome. The series gets a surprising amount right about this time period, although there are plenty of embellishments and the killer finish is entirely made up.

This series is a romp, full of blood, sex, naked bodies, gladiators, slaves conspiring with and against their owners, gambling and general corruption. There would be something for everyone if only it weren’t so awful. I have very little doubt that creator Robert Rodat was aiming for “Game of Thrones” but landed so far off the mark that this really terrible series has more in common with those “sword and sandal” Italian adventure movies of the 1950s that starred bodybuilders. While the plotting of “Those About to Die” can be ingenious, the writing borders on dreadful. It’s questionable if a really good actor could compensate for the dialogue that is, on occasion, jaw-droppingly bad. But the answer to that question is rather self-evident because the great Anthony Hopkins plays Emperor Vespasian who, lucky for him, dies in an early episode. The permanent expression on poor Hopkins’ face says “what on earth am I doing here?”

Yes, this is a really dreadful series but, and it’s a big but, it is one of those train wrecks that is so bad it’s funny. I am embarrassed to say, but I thoroughly enjoyed some of the episodes because I wanted to see if they could lower the standards that had already been set. They did.

Streaming now on Peacock.

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Superman, a metahuman, has left the United States, flown the coop so to speak, to intervene in the war between Boravia and Jarhanpur (a thinly disguised Russia and Ukraine, perhaps?). His Spidey-sense (oops, wrong superhero) has led him to aid the Jarhanpurians against American ally, Boravia, because the Boravian invasion was just so unfair. It is here that his superpowers are tested to the max and come up wanting. Although he stopped the war, he lost the battle to a group of really ugly metahumans with similar powers and they wiped the floor with him. The Pentagon is less than happy with Superman’s actions, but even more unhappy is arch-criminal Lex Luthor, now a tech billionaire who has been supplying the Boravians with weapons and funding the takeover of Jarhanpur. Superman is a hurdle to be jumped and he’s the villain to do it, having cultivated a new race of metahumans. The corrupt mastermind has convinced the Pentagon that Superman has a secret agenda to destroy America and must be stopped. Despite all the goodwill built up over the years, they choose to believe Lex Luthor, who has an algorithm for every occasion. Watching him on a computer is like watching David Hockney create art on an iPad.

Enter the pyrotechnics, kidnappings, evildoing and incredulity. It’s not just logic that must be suspended, but also plot, because there really isn’t one. Superman saves the world from a dictator, is vilified for it, framed as having a secret agenda to destroy mankind, loses his powers when spirited off to an alternative universe and must overcome all lapses in story to save the world again, whether they want it or not.

The cast Gunn assembled is, for the most part, not up to the intensity and plausibility necessary to successfully suspend belief. On a positive note, Superman, played by David Corenswet, a relative newcomer to the big screen, is charming and believable as an ingenuous rube who believes in truth, justice and the American way. His Kansas roots show through in all the best ways. He plays this nonsense straight and tries hard to sell his own tenuous situation and that of his adopted country. He’s not helped a great deal by the turgid dialogue. Rachel Brosnahan, Lois Lane, intrepid reporter, is no damsel in distress. She believes in her man (she already knows that Superman is Clark Kent) but recognizes that the gulf between their realities may be insurmountable. Wendell Pierce, Perry White the publisher of the Daily Planet, is called on to deliver gruff homilies a couple of times; truly a waste of a terrific performer. Shortcomings abound. Coming to Superman’s aid, at least on occasion, is the nascent Justice Gang (it’s not League yet). Brought on for comic relief, their actions and dialogue are forced and singularly unfunny. Nathan Fillion plays the Green Lantern strictly for laughs, but the jokes are thin and his strutting and bad haircut are not enough to resurrect the character. Better is Edi Gathegi playing Mr. Terrific. He plays it straight and is effective as one of the minor heroes. The true star of the movie is Krypto, the superpowered dog. Some of the best scenes are designed around this naughty dog with a cape. More than comic relief, he inspires fear, threat and joy. Maybe a movie could be designed around him next time. Who doesn’t love a misbehaving terrier?

No Superman movie ever works without a villainous Lex Luthor, and Gunn tried to bring Lex into the modern age by making him a tech billionaire. It’s easy to imagine that he patterned Lex after the high-foreheaded Elon Musk or the previously bald Jeff Bezos. Unfortunately, Nicholas Hoult, a very fine actor in the right role (“The Menu”), lacks a threatening presence. It’s not enough to do bad deeds, stare at the camera with his steely blues and be a horrible person, but a movie supervillain must make you shake in your boots. Gene Hackman, the original cinematic Lex Luthor, played his villain with scenery-chewing panache, sense of humor clearly intact, but a truly threatening presence and someone to fear. Certainly this Luthor does some truly horrible things and acts with impunity, but it’s one thing to quake at what he does and another to quake when he enters a room. Hoult, thin of voice, instills no fear or even creepiness when entering a scene. Certainly his Lex Luthor fits into the category of entitled rich boy, something Hoult plays very well, but he doesn’t have the gravitas to pull off an otherworldly villain.

The pyrotechnics and video effects are excellent, and this is what sells the movie to the audience it is aimed for. The cinematography by Henry Braham is fine but doesn’t rise to the level of the effects. Truly disappointing was the music. Snatches of John Williams’ score are occasionally heard, perhaps as an uncredited homage, but the music by David Fleming and John Murphy, which should have underscored the tension, is just loud. Gunn, who rose to justifiable fame with “Guardians of the Galaxy” (Parts I, II and III), is loyal to his creatives and has employed many of them on this film.

And therein lies the problem. James Gunn the director did not insist on a cohesive script from James Gunn the writer. There is no actual identifiable plot and when all is revealed at the end, the stakes were never actually high enough. Call me old fashioned, but I like a story with a beginning, middle and end, with characters I can root for and those I can boo. Filling the screen with robots and hideously unappetizing hybrid lizard monsters doesn’t work for me. I don’t mind a few supersized creatures, but I need an actual story, not a series of hyper events being shoehorned into an expositional narrative. “Jurassic World Rebirth,” full of hideously reptilian monsters, at least had a plot that held your attention.

I may be too harsh. This movie is burning up the box office and is on track to make a billion dollars globally. I’m not an adolescent video gamer and some of this vitriol may be because I was really looking forward to this film. It was definitely time for a reboot; for me, this was just the wrong one. Be aware, however, that mine is a voice in the wilderness. Many reviewers have been ecstatic about “Superman,” and despite my opinion, you may love it. Certainly my disappointment colors my reaction. “Caveat Emptor.”

In wide release at a theater near you.  

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The franchise has always been able to attract big stars like Chris Pratt and Sam Neill in leading roles, but each successive film after the original was a case of diminishing returns. “Jurassic World: Rebirth” doesn’t come close to the original; after all, originality went out the window after the first. Still, mix together some elements of the “Jurassic World” franchise, along with better writing, better acting and bigger and scarier thrills and chills, stir that pot to a boiling froth and you have an entertaining movie for its target audience of PG-13.

Martin Krebs, a big pharma exec, has approached Zora Bennett, a former special forces op who has turned to the dark side, aka a mercenary, to put together a team and breach the barriers of the equatorial island where the last of the dinosaurs have been sequestered. A boatload of money waits for her at the end of this rainbow. The dinos were unable to thrive in the parks created for them and those that survived were shipped to a friendlier atmospheric environment off the coast of Suriname in South America. She will be working with Dr. Henry Loomis, a paleontologist, expert in all things Mesozoic, whose museum is closing. The dinosaur craze has ended and with it goes his job at the museum. Zora, sizing up the prof, knows she will need some more muscle and engages the services of longtime partner Duncan Kincaid, now retired on a tropical isle. As Zora explains to Krebs, she needs Kincaid, his crew and his boat, or this is a no-go. She slyly extracts another boatload of money from Krebs for this mission. And what is the mission? Why do they need to go to the forbidden and foreboding Ile Saint-Hubert? There are three different species, one terrestrial (Titanosaurus), one aquatic (Mosasaurus) and one avian (Quetzalcoatlus) with DNA that will revolutionize cardiac medicine. These dinosaurs have enormous hearts that allow them to live a century or more, and their DNA is a necessary part of a new medication that Krebs’ company is developing. There is the distinct possibility that this new medication will forestall heart disease by almost two decades.

And it’s off to the equatorial island they go. Encountering their first aquatic beast recalls that famous line in “Jaws.” “I think we’re going to need a bigger boat.”

Koepp and director Gareth Edwards felt a need to ramp up the stakes. And up them they did by adding civilians. Reuben Delgado, a divorced summertime father, has decided to take his daughters Isabella and Teresa and Teresa’s useless boyfriend Xavier on a sailing trip around the world. It becomes fairly apparent early on that Reuben has bitten off more than he can chew trying to navigate both the sea and awkward family relationships. Definitely way off course, life becomes treacherous when they encounter a Mosasaurus, a giant reptile of the sea that lived at the same time that dinosaurs walked the Earth and one of the creatures being sought for its DNA by Krebs’ group. Their boat is upended and the family is able to make it, if barely, to the rocky shoreline ahead. Using their walkie-talkie, they make a mayday connection with Kincaid who, against Krebs’ wishes, detours to save the family. Outlaw band meets wholesome, clueless family and the journey takes off.

There will be blood, there will be chills and thrills and, yes, there will be deaths, but it’s always full steam ahead to get the dino DNA and save humanity. But underlying the adventure and the perilous journey is the question of benefit. Who wins? Who loses? What are the alternatives as our intrepid Zora and the altruistic paleontologist push forward to capture the DNA without being captured themselves? Finally landing on the forbidden island that once held a genetics lab, and it doesn’t take long for Loomis to realize that most of the creatures they are encountering are mutants, creating danger on an even higher plane.

It’s amazing how well Edwards can push our panic buttons as the creatures are manipulated to maximum terrifying effect. I defy you not to jump out of your seat repeatedly. Certainly, you worry for the characters as they continually face mortal danger, especially cute little Isabella Delgado. But manipulation is the name of the game, and it is you, the audience, that the filmmakers are aiming at.

Although the beasts themselves are engrossing and terrifying, what differentiates this film from its “Jurassic World” predecessors is the acting, and it’s wonderful. The chemistry between Scarlett Johansson (Zora) and Jonathan Bailey (Loomis) is palpable but almost chaste. Each is attracted to the other sexually and intellectually, but it’s not distracting from the course at hand. It doesn’t hurt that they are both incredibly beautiful. They effectively sell their persona—the petite Johansson as a kickass mercenary and Bailey as a super brain. Mahershala Ali (Kincaid), with his two Academy Awards, is on hand to lend acting depth and fatherly protection, while Rupert Friend (Krebs) plays the villain quite well. The Delgado family led by Manuel Garcia-Rulfo as Reuben, the father, is less effective but the filmmakers felt the need to add vulnerable civilians into the mix. Personally, I felt they slowed down the action, but then that’s akin to clubbing a baby seal when you don’t get worked up about an 11-year-old on the threshold of being gobbled by a mutant dinosaur or bonding with an animatronic baby Aquilops she names Dolores.

The production design by James Clyne, the locations in Thailand and Malta, the cinematography by John Mathieson and the VFX departments should share top billing with the animatronics designers because the movie is as much about the people fighting nature as it is about the creatures they’re fighting.

The premise may be ridiculous, but the movie works. It needs to be seen on the biggest screen possible with an audience to get the full fear factor. You’ll jump, you’ll scream, you’ll hold your breath, but most of all, you’ll be entertained.

The film is now playing at AMC, Laemmle and Cinemark theaters throughout Los  Angeles. 

Neely Swanson spent most of her professional career in the television industry, almost all of it working for David E. Kelley. In her last full-time position as Executive Vice President of Development, she reviewed writer submissions and targeted content for adaptation. As she has often said, she did book reports for a living. For several years she was a freelance writer for “Written By,” the magazine of the WGA West, and was adjunct faculty at USC in the writing division of the School of Cinematic Arts. Neely has been writing film and television reviews for the “Easy Reader” for more than 10 years. Her past reviews can be read on Rotten Tomatoes where she is a tomatometer-approved critic.

The post ‘Jurassic World: Rebirth’—They’re Baaaack! appeared first on Beverly Hills Courier.

The play, “Giant,” is set in 1983. Following the great success of “The BFG,” and on the cusp of publishing “The Witches,” Roald Dahl is visited by his London publisher. It is a particularly fraught time for the internationally acclaimed children’s author. Always in pain from back and hip injuries suffered in World War II, recently divorced from his wife of 30 years (Patricia Neal), on the cusp of marrying his mistress of more than a decade (Felicity Crosland), in the midst of the general chaos of a house renovation, he must also give final approval for the Quentin Blake illustrations accompanying “The Witches.” He apparently loathed having to share royalties with Blake.

Hovering over it all, however, is his recently published scurrilous essay entitled “Not a Chivalrous Affair,” disguised as a review of “God Cried” in the August 1983 issue of “Literary Review.” A photo book with text by Tony Clifton, “God Cried” details the invasion of Lebanon by Israel in 1982. The military action, spurred by PLO (Palestinian Liberation Organization) attacks on Israel, was further exacerbated when the Abu Nidal terrorist group tried to assassinate Israel’s ambassador to the United Kingdom. Civilian casualties were rampant on both sides of the border. Dahl used his review as a screed against the existence of Israel. To quote from the review, “Never before in the history of man has a race of people switched so rapidly from being much-pitied victims to barbarous murderers.” Dahl wasn’t just a champion of Palestine and Palestinians—he was a very vocal opponent of Israel, Israelis, Zionists and, in not so coded language, Jews in general. The public reaction to Dahl’s expressions has been overwhelmingly negative and, as his publisher Tom Maschler  points out, it won’t be good for sales. Further, his U.S. publisher, Farrar Straus Giroux, has sent a representative, Jessica Stone, to discuss the marketing of “The Witches,” something that could be endangered by the views he expressed in his review. The very definition of nonplussed, Maschler, a Jew, fled Vienna with his parents when Hitler annexed Austria; probably unknown to Dahl, Maschler spent a summer on a Kibbutz following secondary school.

When Stone arrives, she is greeted by an unrepentant and condescending Dahl. Goading her, questioning her credentials and unearthing that she is a Jew, the atmosphere is tense. Stone, not particularly high in the chain of command, is, at first, reluctant to engage. Eventually, Dahl’s incessant harassment brings out a fierce defensiveness that more than matches his patronizing and prejudicial arguments. It is a duel, perhaps not to the death but one that will wound both parties as Maschler and Crossland stand on the sidelines trying to calm the torrential seas to no avail.

Although Crossland and Maschler were participants in the life and career of Roald Dahl, Stone is a fictionalized character brought in to underscore and highlight the views and actions of Dahl. Did he have a contretemps with his American publisher or representative? Unlikely. But this was the playwright’s device to highlight the actual words written and spoken by Dahl. It is highly likely that conversations and debates, like those of the fictionalized Stone and the actual Maschler and Crossland did take place. But, as much as one would like to believe that the views expressed in his contretemps with Stone created a dent in his sales, it is unlikely. Sadly, today as in times past, the antisemitic ravings of a revered writer, of children’s books no less, are easily overlooked and dismissed.

Written by first time playwright Mark Rosenblatt, “Giant” lifts the curtain on the truly unpleasant side of someone who heretofore was a beloved figure. Beloved, I suppose, because most of us, fans of his books and what they brought to our children, never bothered to scratch the surface to reveal what had always been there. A good publicist can go a long way with someone whose belief structure is iron clad, and nothing was more iron clad than Dahl’s antisemitism.

Directed brilliantly and seamlessly by theater legend Nicholas Hytner (artistic director of the National Theatre from 2003-2015 and now artistic director of London Theatre Company at the Bridge Theatre), he makes every role count no matter how minor. Even the tiny role of Hallie, the cook and bottle washer, played by Tessa Bonham Jones, has significance as a punctuation mark in the last scene. Rachel Stirling as Felicity represents the kind of glamorous, noblesse oblige upper middle class woman who finally got her man. Elliot Levey as Tom Maschler, the publisher, won the best supporting Olivier (the British Tony) for his in depth study of a man who must balance his professional life and relationship with one of his most important writers and his personal history. Watch as he’s goaded, how his eyes and body language convey the kind of strength it takes to parry the abhorrent behavior of someone he had considered more than a client. Making her West End debut is Aya Cash as Jessica Stone, the American representative. Her tentativeness that eventually grows into disdain and anger heightens the stakes. She is truly a marvel.

“Giant” is nothing, however, without a giant presence and that defines John Lithgow brilliantly. Inhabiting Dahl’s best and worst qualities, it is impossible not to be totally absorbed by him. With a career of great roles and performances, this is one of his best, if not the best, and it got him the Olivier Award for best actor. He has already committed to a proposed Broadway production.

Rosenblatt wrote the play in the Spring of 2023, before Hamas attacked Israel. The arguments that continue today about the justification of massive retaliation when the primary impact is against civilians, and whether sympathy and support for the Palestinian people in Gaza equates to antisemitism, mirrors some of the objections that Dahl had to the invasion of Lebanon in 1982. The main difference was his negation of the right of Israel to exist and what was eventually shown to be his blatant antisemitism. But deep within the structure of “Giant” is a view to the casual acceptance of his views that Jews controlled the media and the banks. His wife’s nonchalant handling of her husband, explaining that he really must consider an apology if he ever wanted to get on the Queen’s honor list, highlights that her only disapproval was rooted in self-interest.

Is it possible to overlook Dahl’s personal views when reading his books? Can genius and talent lie within an abhorrent being? Is reconciliation necessary? This is a conversation that started when considering Picasso the man versus Picasso the artist. Would you erase “Charlie and the Chocolate Factory” or “James and the Giant Peach?” Do you have to? If you cancel the artist, must you also cancel the art? The questions and answers that Rosenblatt presents are all complex, some with obvious answers, some without.

My advice? Get on a plane, get a ticket and see this incredibly timely play. Actually, get on a plane and see the marvelous palette of entertainment on offer this summer on the London stage. “The Fifth Step” starring Jack Lowden and Martin Freeman; Hytner’s transformative “A Midsummer Night’s Dream,” playing again after an award-winning run in 2019; a revival of “Evita” directed by Jamie Lloyd and starring Rachel Zegler; Brendan Gleeson in Conor McPherson’s quintessential Irish drama “The Weir” and Ruth Wilson and Michael Shannon in “A Moon for the Misbegotten.” London theater tickets are so much less expensive than Broadway that a week of plays there and a great dinner in Covent Garden would pay for the differential when compared to what it would cost for New York tickets and airfare to get there. It’s worth the jet lag.

“Giant” playing at the Harold Pinter Theatre through August 2. 

Neely Swanson spent most of her professional career in the television industry, almost all of it working for David E. Kelley. In her last full-time position as Executive Vice President of Development, she reviewed writer submissions and targeted content for adaptation. As she has often said, she did book reports for a living. For several years she was a freelance writer for “Written By,” the magazine of the WGA West, and was adjunct faculty at USC in the writing division of the School of Cinematic Arts. Neely has been writing film and television reviews for the “Easy Reader” for more than 10 years. Her past reviews can be read on Rotten Tomatoes where she is a tomatometer-approved critic.

The post ‘Giant’—Big But Not Friendly appeared first on Beverly Hills Courier.

CinemaCon has promised sequels and tentpoles, but the releases are heavy on horror as well. It’s been a long haul since the pandemic shut down the movies, followed by the strikes of 2023, but the wheels have been turning and many of the anticipated movies that were delayed are getting their release. There’s something for everyone from kids to teens, young adults to old and everything in between. So relax, grab a cocktail (or soda) and ponder what there is to see after you’ve piled into the IMAX to see “Mission: Impossible—The Final Reckoning,” part two of the 2023 blockbuster “Mission: Impossible—Dead Reckoning Part One.” This summer will prove that movies are no longer an impossible mission. Lots of familiar faces from the small screen grace the Cineplex this summer, so …

Let’s all go to the movies (dates may change).

Early June

“Ballerina” is a spinoff of the John Wick Universe starring a beautiful girl assassin taken under the wing of the Ruska Roma criminal group. This violent tale of revenge will have special effects that pop and a cast that shines. Starring Ana de Armas, Ian McShane, Anjelica Huston—and what would a John Wick movie be without John Wick—Keanu Reeves.

“The Life of Chuck” is a lovely, inventive movie of many moods, telling its story in reverse. Chuck is a man who lived his best life despite setbacks. Deliberately confusing, Chuck may not actually be the lead of the three chapters, featuring an end, a middle and a beginning, but he’s on everyone’s mind. Based on a Stephen King short story brought to the screen by Mike Flanagan, it’s more a question of what you make of this seemingly end-of-days scenario that begins at the end and gradually unspools to the beginning. Starring Tom Hiddleston and Chiwetel Ejiofor, look for Mark Hamill as the grandfather.

“Dangerous Animals” is about a serial killer who feeds his victims to sharks. His chumming turns to yumming when he abducts beautiful surfer Zephyr, who must find a way to escape. From Shudder Studios, whose very name lets you know what to expect.

“I Don’t Understand You” is the vacation of their dreams that becomes a nightmare they couldn’t have anticipated. Dom and Cole, a wealthy gay couple, are anticipating the birth of a child by surrogacy. It’s their 10th anniversary, and they’ve decided to celebrate and reconnect by going to Italy. Not speaking the language should never have been the problem it becomes as they dodge polite little old ladies and vengeful sons. Starring the always charming Andrew Rannells and Nick Kroll, their timing is pitch-perfect, and you’ll often find yourself laughing where you shouldn’t.

“The Ritual” in this case is an exorcism; but not your everyday exorcism. This one will be performed by two priests, long in conflict with one another. The hook is that the priests are played by Al Pacino and Dan Stevens, and it’s based on a true story. For fans of horror, rotating heads, and those who believe in such things.

“How to Train Your Dragon,” the live-action interpretation of the beloved animation hits, will star an awesome CGI dragon and charming youngsters who will protect the dragon from the Vikings at all costs, even if it means betraying hundreds of years of tradition.

“Materialists” boasts a star-studded cast of today’s hotties: Dakota Johnson, Pedro Pascal and Chris Evans. Johnson’s character, a successful matchmaker of very high-end couplings, is drawn to an ultra-wealthy dreamboat (Pascal) who only has eyes for her. The snag? Her very handsome and sincere ex, who still pines for her, and possibly she for him. The hook? It’s written and directed by Celine Song, whose very heartfelt feature, “Past Lives,” was Oscar-nominated, as was she.

Late June 

“Elio” is the latest Pixar animation tale from Disney. Eleven-year-old Elio is accidentally shot into space, landing on another planet. Upon arrival, he is forced to pretend to be the leader of Earth or risk annihilation. Really, what choice does he have? Sweet, fast-thinking Elio must find a way out of this mess. I bet his mom is sorry she didn’t listen when he called and said he had an emergency.

“Bride Hard,” starring Rebel Wilson, is a hostage film—it seems to be a popular platform this summer. Wilson, a spy, reluctantly agrees to be the maid of honor at her best friend’s wedding to a billionaire. When bad guys arrive to take the wedding party hostage, they have no idea what they’re in for. Director Simon West hopes it’s for the laughs.

“28 Years Later” returns for the sequel to “28 Weeks Later” (which was the sequel to “28 Days Later”). Danny Boyle is back to save us from zombies with a heavy-hitting cast that includes Ralph Fiennes, Jodie Comer and Aaron Taylor-Johnson. They mean business.

“M3GAN 2.0” finds that AI assassin, M3GAN, is up to her old tricks and we have to hope that Gemma, her creator, and her niece Cady can convert M3GAN to good and save the world from the evil defense contractor who stole her technology.

“F1,” the highly anticipated new Brad Pitt Formula One-plotted film, has Pitt as a retired champion lured back by his old boss (Javier Bardem) to mentor the latest hotshot to a championship. Tobias Menzies and Kim Bodnia add firepower. The draw, besides the stars, will be the footage from real Grand Prix races. Think “Top Gun” in a car.

July 1

“Jurassic World Rebirth” and it’s back to the future, so to speak. A new crew has been hired to breach the confines of a dinosaur island full of raptors to try stealing an egg that might save humanity. It will be up to the intrepid scientists, Scarlett Johansson and Jonathan Bailey, to make it out alive if their boss, Mahershala Ali, has anything to do with it. There will be scary creatures.

July 3

“Shiver” is attacking sharks gone wild, terrorizing a town already confronting storms, utter darkness and their own fright. There will be special effects but maybe not an original plot. Will they survive? Should they survive? You be the judge.

July 11

“Superman” is still battling a very dangerous world and continues to romance Lois Lane in the guise of Clark Kent. This time around, Superman/Clark Kent is played by David Corenswet, leading a cast that includes Wendell Pierce as Perry White and Rachel Brosnahan as Lois Lane. Nicholas Hoult is the evil Lex Luthor, who is joined by new visitors from the DC Universe like Nathan Fillion as the Green Lantern and Rex Mason/Metamorpho, played by the marvelous Anthony Carrigan (Noho Hank from “Barry”).

July 18

“Smurfs” features Rihanna in all her singing glory as Smurfette in the latest incarnation of these beloved animated creatures. As always, the Smurfs will help save, well, whatever needs saving. The fantastic voice cast features Kurt Russell, Nick Offerman, Octavia Spencer and the aforementioned Rihanna, who has written new songs for the feature.

“I Know What You Did Last Summer” is the same story with a new cast. The teens are still being stalked by a killer who knows what they did and is determined to punish them. With cameo appearances by original cast members like Freddie Prinze Jr. and Jennifer Love Hewitt, they are joined by new leads Madelyn Cline and Lola Tung.

“Eddington” takes place during the pandemic. Tempers are hot and rivalries are elevated, leading the sheriff of this small New Mexico town into conflict with the mayor. Everyone takes a side and previous, controlled conflicts threaten to explode. The all-star cast of this modern-day Western is led by Joaquin Phoenix as the sheriff, and the seemingly ever-present and always-welcome Pedro Pascal is the mayor. In support are Emma Stone and Austin Butler.

July 25

“The Fantastic Four: First Steps” is betting that the third time is still a charm as this intrepid family of superheroes who fly in and out of their human and animated presence is ready to save the world once again. Voiced and acted by Pedro Pascal, Vanessa Kirby, Johnny Storm and Ebon Moss-Bachrach.

Aug. 1

“The Naked Gun” stars Liam Neeson as that bumbling detective, Frank Drebin, in the remake of the beloved 1988 movie that starred Leslie Nielsen. A true send-up of the original, the new detectives play the sons of the original detectives from the 1988 film. It will all hinge on whether Neeson can be funny. But, then again, Nielsen was a shot in the dark when he starred in “Airplane!” in 1980, having been a leading man in drama and romances with no known comic ability. He never looked back.

“Together” is yet another horror film with supernatural elements that strive to tear a loving couple apart. The loving couple is played by James Franco and Alison Brie, which may be tempting enough to dip your toe in this one.

Aug. 8

“Freakier Friday,” much like its origin story, has Tess Coleman (Jamie Lee Curtis) and her daughter Anna (Lindsay Lohan) in for another role swap and shapeshift. But now, Tess and Anna are a grandmother and mother, respectively, when lightning strikes a second time. How will they negotiate their new roles until they figure out how to return to their old selves? Lessons will be learned.

“Weapons” is an all-star follow-up to “Barbarians,” writer/director Zach Cregger’s cult film from 2022. This time it’s not about a scary Airbnb, but about high school students who have mysteriously disappeared in a town rife with corruption and religious hocus-pocus. Stars Josh Brolin, Julia Garner, Benedict Wong and Amy Madigan lead the action and sophisticated horror of this tale.

Aug. 15

“Nobody 2” is the sequel to “Nobody” and stars the surprisingly multifaceted Bob Odenkirk as Hutch, a retired government assassin who would like nothing better than to live in peace. Unfortunately, the bad guys didn’t get that memo. Odenkirk and Connie Nielsen reprise their roles as estranged husband and wife, alongside Christopher Lloyd as Hutch’s father. Sharon Stone adds to the star power. 

Aug. 22

“Americana” ostensibly centers around an archaeological find where greed and need intersect. When a rare Native American artifact is discovered in a small town in South Dakota, the race to claim it brings out the worst in the previously upstanding citizens. There will be crime, violence and occasionally dark humor, or at least we can hope.

“Relay” shows real promise, if only because of its stellar cast led by Riz Ahmed. His character Tom is a broker between rich, corrupt big shots and their victims. Discretion is his specialty and all negotiations are kept strictly secret. That is, until he agrees to help Sarah (Lily James) in desperate fear for her life. In the hands of crack director David Mackenzie (“Hell or High Water”), tension and thrills are guaranteed.

Aug. 29

“The Roses” may be something of a remake (“The War of the Roses”), but at least it’s a comedy for adults starring the great Olivia Colman and Benedict Cumberbatch, a couple who have less in common than they thought. Director Jay Roach fills out his cast with a team of accomplished comedic actors like Allison Janney, Kate McKinnon, Andy Samberg and the new “it” boy, Ncuti Gatwa (“Doctor Who”).

“Caught Stealing” stars Austin Butler as Thompson, a former baseball player who lands in a deep pit of trouble. Based on the Charlie Huston book series featuring Thompson, he’s an antihero who trouble seems to follow. Also starring Vince D’Onofrio and Zoë Kravitz.

“The Toxic Avenger” is another reboot. This time it’s Peter Dinklage who falls into the toxic waste vat and is transformed into a hideous creature with superpowers. Normally such an event would call for revenge, but this creature chooses to use his newfound powers for good and not evil.

Sept. 5

“The Conjuring: Last Rite” is the ninth installment in the “Conjuring” series and the second one starring Vera Farmiga and Patrick Wilson as husband-and-wife paranormal investigators. Ben Hardy also stars. If you haven’t yet had enough of demons and the paranormal, then this one is for you.

I predict barrels of popcorn and gallons of soda in store for everyone this summer. Bon appétit. 

The post Summer in the City with Lots of Thrills, Chills and Laughs appeared first on Beverly Hills Courier.

Act 3, the beginning of the story, is the end; the end of many things. Marty Anderson is an English teacher with the unenviable task of instructing his students in poetry, specifically Walt Whitman and his “Song of Myself.” He recites a stanza.

“The past and present wilt—I have fill’d them, emptied them,

And proceed to fill my next fold of the future.

Listener up there! What have you to confide to me?

Look in my face while I snuff the sidle of evening [I savor the transition to evening],

Talk honestly, no one else hears you, and I stay only a minute longer.

Do I contradict myself?

Very well then I contradict myself,

I am large, I contain multitudes.”

But the class is distracted by bigger issues. They cling to their cellphones as news of cataclysmic disasters is announced over the internet. Most of California has fallen into the sea; the Midwest is being inundated by floods; a volcano has erupted in Germany. What is the point of Whitman when the world is crumbling?

Time passes, school continues but the signs of the impending apocalypse are everywhere. No more internet; TV blacks out; electricity is intermittent; cellphone service begins to fade. People separate; people reconnect. The one constant is the banners and signs thanking Chuck Krantz for his 39 years. They are everywhere; they are inescapable. Who, Anderson wonders, is Chuck Krantz? He discusses it with his neighbor, with strangers on the street. Who is this ordinary-looking man? No one knows.

Wandering the streets, littered with cars mired in a permanent traffic jam, Anderson encounters an old man sitting on a bench contemplating all around him. An undertaker, business has never been better, Sam Yarborough is calm and willingly shares his philosophy. What is happening is more than the result of climate change and man’s inhumanity to nature. It’s something greater; something harkening to end of times; an inevitability that has been long in coming. He is an oracle and this may be a Greek tragedy. He is the long-ignored but not unfulfilled. He had his dreams; he is all the beatitudes from the meek to the righteous to the merciful and pure of heart. But who is Chuck Krantz? Sam has no idea.

As if drawn by a magnet, Marty walks toward his ex-wife Felicia’s home. Long divorced, there is still a connection, and in times like these, one needs a connection. As he nears her home, the electricity fails, the lights go dark. But the ever-present signs of Chuck Krantz are now videos in every window. As Marty and Felicia cling to one another, there are two questions: What is happening and who is Chuck Krantz?

Forewarned is forearmed. Observe everything from the wallpaper on Marty’s walls, his explanation to Felicia of Carl Sagan’s “Cosmic Calendar” to “Song of Myself” taught in that first class because each will reappear again, as will other cosmic “coincidences.” Many who you will see at the end you will see again. The end relates to everything that came before it, even if, in this case, it will be everything that comes after.

In Act 2, the middle, we are introduced to Chuck, a man who has clearly made a life worth living even though there are storm clouds on the horizon. Act 1, the beginning told at the end, is, in a way, the origin story. Young Chuck, orphaned very young, is a curious soul blessed with grandparents who love and nurture him. His Bubbie teaches him to dance, something that translates later to his embrace of her love and memory. She loves him unconditionally. His adoring Zadie (grandfather) has but one rule. Chuck is not allowed in the locked room of the cupola. The locked room is Pandora’s Box and a very Kingian touch because it actually unlocks nothing and everything at the same time.

Middle school holds many mysteries, not the least of which is the lesson on “Song of Myself.” What, he asks his teacher, does “I am multitudes” mean? Lovingly she guides him to his own conclusions, conclusions that we, also, must come to terms with as we try to go forward again and unlock the mysteries presented to us.

“The Life of Chuck” is mystical and metaphorical. King takes us on a poetic journey of life and one that you will want to go on again; nay, need to go on again. I’ve traveled that path three times so far, and each time more was revealed to me. He asks so many questions and delivers few, if any, answers. How do you stay centered when there is no longer a center? And the key to everything is still in that Whitman poem. Is life itself a contradiction? What does “I contain multitudes” mean?

Mike Flanagan, a writer/director who has successfully adapted King novels in the past (“Doctor Sleep,” “Gerald’s Game”), has intersected the supernatural with the mundane and made it all come gloriously alive, both on the page and on the screen. He relied heavily on voice-over narration using a marvelously sonorous Nick Offerman to great effect. In most cases, and certainly in lesser hands, voice-over narration is an expositional crutch, used because the screenwriter doesn’t know how to translate words into visions. Film is a visual medium; prose is internal, making full use of the reader’s imagination. Here, however, reading whole passages of the beautifully written novella serves to underscore the actions you are seeing. Watch in Act 2 as Chuck is walking purposefully down the street, only his red socks and black shoes on view. Offerman’s narration intensifies your experience of Chuck’s steadfast march towards somewhere, but where? You’ll have to wait and see. Flanagan knows that we don’t need to see how or where he is going to appreciate the speed and poetry of his motion. The director succeeds in giving you the best of both worlds, leaving you enough internal imagination combined with the visual of Chuck’s red socks on an unknown mission, one that will soon be a detour that emphasizes a rhythm that has already been established.

The mood-setting score is by The Newton Brothers. Cinematographer Eben Bolter has created a visual world that is as much fanciful as it is real. The cinematography is breathtaking at times and purposefully mundane at others. But it is the actors that make everything come alive; they ground the film while also making it soar.

Carl Lumbly is Sam, the philosophical undertaker. He shines in his ability to explain both the universe and his understanding of life’s disappointments. Something he does with great effect in both Acts 3 and 1. Chiwetel Ejiofor, Marty, a British actor of stage and screen, imparts a range of emotions and intelligence with just the bat of an eye. His range is varied and the depth he brings to his characters, no matter how small, is amazing. The appearance of Mark Hamill as Albie Kranz, Chuck’s Zadie, is surprising and gratifying. Hard to imagine that Luke Skywalker is now playing grandfathers, but he is and he’s doing it warmly and convincingly. His Zadie is a linchpin to both the supernatural and the worldly of this story. He brings believability to his grandfatherly utterances, and additional meaning to his pet phrase, “Math doesn’t lie.”

Tom Hiddleston as Chuck is reason enough to see any film. All elegance and empathetic warmth, his very presence answers the question, “Who is Chuck?” His eyes sparkle, his gait is meaningful, there are no superfluous gestures. He has that speechless capability of giving meaning with his expressive eyes and loose-limbed presence.

See this film on the big screen. It is the embodiment of the whole being greater, far greater, than its parts. To quote those sages from Liverpool, “I am you and you are me and we are all together.” Some questions have no answers.

Opening June 6 at the AMC Century City 15 and the AMC Grove 14.  

Neely Swanson spent most of her professional career in the television industry, almost all of it working for David E. Kelley. In her last full-time position as Executive Vice President of Development, she reviewed writer submissions and targeted content for adaptation. As she has often said, she did book reports for a living. For several years she was a freelance writer for “Written By,” the magazine of the WGA West, and was adjunct faculty at USC in the writing division of the School of Cinematic Arts. Neely has been writing film and television reviews for the “Easy Reader” for more than 10 years. Her past reviews can be read on Rotten Tomatoes where she is a tomatometer-approved critic.

The post ‘The Life of Chuck’—Well Lived appeared first on Beverly Hills Courier.

Agathe, pretty in an awkward, open-faced sort of way, works at Shakespeare & Company, the storied English-language bookstore in Paris on the banks of the Seine facing Notre Dame. As the camera pans over the shelves, it lingers very briefly on a Jane Austen novel. Agathe, a novice writer, feels like she is from a different era, romantic with the unrealistic standards that go with it. She waits endlessly for a prince who will match her sense and sensibilities.

Tightly wound, Agathe lives with her free-spirited sister Mona and young nephew Tom. Agathe hasn’t been on a date in years; Mona is out every night. Agathe hasn’t been out of Paris in ages and avoids cars at all costs. There is a reason, but it’s slow in coming and when it does, it explains a lot. Everyone loves Agathe, certainly more than she loves herself. Félix has read the first chapters of Agathe’s novel and is more impressed than she is. She has never had any trouble starting a novel; it’s the ending that never comes as is the case in this one. What she doesn’t know is that Félix has submitted her unfinished novel to the prestigious Jane Austen Society Writers’ Residency in England. When a letter of acceptance arrives, she is shell-shocked. All her self-doubts surface, and even her fear of riding in cars seems to be an insurmountable complication. But Félix is determined to make this happen, and he does.

Setting foot on the dock after the ferry ride from France, she spies a sign with her name on it held by Oliver, a distant relative of Austen and unwilling heir to his parents’ Residency program. In true Austen fashion, they do not hit it off. He is the quintessential snob, the type of disdainful Englishman she reviles. She is no better in his eyes. Their cultural clash is older than the books Agathe reveres. He, a professor of contemporary literature, has no use for anything reeking of the 19th century, the very definition of Agathe.

The Residency is idyllic but even so, Agathe has a major case of imposter syndrome. She’s not like the others; they have talent, they deserve to be there. Still, she perseveres in getting to know the other writers, none of whom seems to suffer from the same writer’s block that she does. Wandering the idyllic grounds, so very English that you can smell the lavender, she begins to relax. Writing, however, is still out of her grasp. Will our heroine be able to finish her novel? Will she find love? Will she become more insightful and less self-doubting? Even if you think you can answer those questions, there will be bumps along the road in Agathe’s journey to self-awareness and I’m betting that you’ll want to go there with her.

The characters, all clichés of one sort or another, generally straight out of Austen, are as charming as the actors playing them. Félix (Pablo Pauly) is the engine that gets the story moving. Going from girlfriend to girlfriend, never lingering long, he, too, is in search of an elusive ideal, one who may be staring him in the face. A classic man-child, he may never grow up, but he’ll have a good time along the way. His best-friend chemistry with Agathe is fun to behold and experience. Wouldn’t we all like to have a friend who watches out for us, sings funny songs and seems to know what we need before we need it? That’s Pauly’s Félix. Charlie Anson plays Oliver, an academic conflicted in nature between the very contemporary literature he loves and teaches and the old-world values of his parents and their Austen heritage. Like Agathe, Oliver is straight out of any number of Jane Austen novels, something he would recognize if he read one. Camille Rutherford is Agathe in every way possible. Gauche, she seems to lead with her left foot, timing always off and appearance slightly askew. In other words, endearingly charming. Her warmth and empathy for others make her always the bridesmaid and never the bride. Rutherford makes us root for Agathe, and we do.

From the moment that Agathe’s best friend and coworker, Felix, chastises her for uselessly waiting for her Mark Darcy, the plot and probable ending are revealed. The close-up of a Jane Austen novel and the Darcy reference were dead giveaways. Nevertheless, the characters and setting were so lovely I still wanted to take the trip. This is a story that has been done innumerable times and will be done again, over and over. For me, they did it well. I wasn’t looking for twists and turns, thrills and chills. I was looking for a film that was easy to follow, with identifiable characters losing their way and then finding it in gorgeous locations. No one is mean, or at least not all the time, and everyone learns something. A truly bilingual film set first in a very famous English bookstore in Paris and then in the prototypical English countryside, the English characters all speak French, and the French characters speak English, making the cultural lines blur in immersive fashion. Pierre Mazoyer’s lush cinematography makes me want to ride a bike through the side streets of Paris, wander through the gardens of England and scour the shelves at Shakespeare & Company. I might not meet Agathe there, but perhaps Piani, who worked there while completing her film studies and still haunts the stacks.

In English and French with English subtitles.

Opening May 23 at the Laemmle Royal and AMC 14, opening nationwide on May 30.  

The post ‘Jane Austen Wrecked My Life’—But Not Mine appeared first on Beverly Hills Courier.

Executive Director of the Paris Opera Ballet, Genevieve (Charlotte Gainsbourg), and her counterpart in New York at the Metropolitan Ballet Theatre, Jack (Luke Kirby) are meeting at Lincoln Center to discuss strategies to bring back the audiences that disappeared during the COVID-19 pandemic. Both world-renowned companies are failing financially and something drastic must be done. Neither can afford the kind of marketing campaign necessary to get those seats filled and, despite world-class dancers and choreographers, there is stagnation. Genevieve proposes a radical solution. They should do a company swap, trading some of their stars for a year to reinvigorate their companies and give them a huge worldwide marketing push. It’s a great idea but, Jack points out, neither company has the resources for the marketing, transportation and housing that such a proposal would cost. But Genevieve has thought it all out and has found a donor willing to underwrite everything. Crispin Shamblee (Simon Callow), aka the devil himself, is eager to fund both companies. Not only is he a lifelong fan of the dance, but his reputation as a robber baron trafficking in arms, weapons and as a general destroyer of the environment could use a bit of burnishing. It worked for the Kochs and, for a time, with the Saklers. Why not him? Jack, furious that he has been backed into a corner, is outraged at the prospect, one he realizes he can’t refuse if he wants to save his company.

Both companies are full of international stars and there is a lot to trade. Genevieve’s “gets” are Jack’s brilliant but eccentric (to put it mildly) choreographer, one of his lead male dancers and, curiously enough, a young, emerging dancer that Genevieve had previously cut from her company. The whys and wherefores of this talented young dancer, Mishi, will develop over time. Jack, however, demands the impossible and gets it: Cheyenne, the world’s most famous and talented prima ballerina. Her name alone sells out houses. Genevieve will have hell to pay with the government, the company’s source of funding, and Jack will have to cope with the impossible dancer, one with whom blows are sure to occur.

“Etoile” is one of the most perfect, and I don’t use that term lightly, pilots I’ve ever seen. The Palladinos introduce almost all the characters in the first episode, each with his or her personalities and quirks fully on view. These complex individuals will grow over time as dance and its rigors, psychological and physical, are superimposed over their characters, growing stronger, more complicated and at times, more difficult. You will know them from the very beginning and be amazed at the growth that takes place as they succeed, as they fail and as they adjust to their circumstances. As is true for the dancers, it is true for Jack and Genevieve. They all go into the fire voluntarily and come out alive, most the better for it.

The cast is fantastic and relatable, even in such a rarefied atmosphere. Luke Kirby (a graduate of “The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel”), all tousled hair, charming with boyish good looks that women find hard to resist, is the personification of a tightly wound New Yorker trying to keep the company together, battling a board more interested in commerce than art. Charlotte Gainsbourg is all arms and legs, sometimes in sync other times not unlike a colt trying to find its footing. Don’t be confused, however, as the interim director she can be silently ruthless, leading with her seemingly ingenuous manner. What a coup to get this international star, daughter of Jane Birkin, into American series television. But this is just the beginning of an intriguing cast. David Haig, the glorious British character actor, plays Jack’s artistic director with aplomb and inappropriate anecdotes. Yannick Truesdale, the quirky, snobbish concierge in “The Gilmore Girls,” is Raphael, Genevieve’s second in command. His comic timing, always with a straight face, is a joy to be anticipated during his scenes, as few and far apart as they are. He’s as droll in French as he is in English. Watch for Palladino favorite Kelly Bishop in the role of Jack’s high-society mother.

“Etoile” is as much about the drama as it is about the dance, and most of the core background players are professional ballet dancers who lend credence to the choreography, some of which was created by Christopher Wheeldon, one of the most famous choreographers working today. Two of New York City Ballet’s most famous stars, Robbie Fairchild and Tiler Peck, have small roles in this dramedy, adding wry humor and spectacular dancing. Taïs Vinolo, Mishi, the dismissed and then reclaimed dancer, and LaMay Zhang, Susu, a preteen student taken under the wing of the famous Cheyenne, are both highly trained ballerinas and have a marvelous presence on screen, developing exponentially as time goes on. Ivan du Pontavice plays Gabin, the needy bad boy of the Paris company who truly believes he deserves more recognition than he has yet earned. The personification of a legend in his own mind, his maturity will come slowly, but come it will with the choreography of Tobias played by Gideon Glick, another “Mrs. Maisel” transplant. Glick is all eccentric tics and on-the-spectrum quirks adding to his eventual blossoming. Another trained ballet dancer, David Alvarez, who recently starred as Bernardo in Stephen Spielberg’s “West Side Story,” plays Cheyenne’s personally chosen partner, a man with a complicated history, one that gets more and more complex with time.

Veteran British character actor Simon Callow effectively imbues Crispin Shamblee with the enormous charm of a self-made billionaire trafficking in society’s darkest corners. All sweetness and light, he’s a viper waiting to strike. And last, but most definitely the star most riveting to watch is Lou de Laâge as Cheyenne. De Laâge originally trained as a dancer, making her mesh all the better with her dance double. Her ballet is as compelling as her portrayal of this truly incendiary character. There is no way to take your eyes off her, whether dancing or exploding over her latest eco venture. Her talent sends a shiver down your spine in anticipation of her next move. Saying, “I don’t love to dance but it’s who I am, so I have no choice,” she has let us into her world, if only momentarily.

“Etoile” excels in painting the internecine battles centered around credit, roles and personality differences when casting is involved. But even with all the fabulous actors, dancers and storylines, what sets this series most apart from others is the photography. Filmed on location at Lincoln Center and the Opera Garnier in Paris, and other sites substituting for them, “Etoile” lets you into backstage domains exclusive to the dance world. Filming dance is notoriously difficult. Do you focus on individuals? Do you center the camera above the dancers executing their jumps and pirouettes? When do you concentrate on faces or arms or legs in extension? There are so many angles, almost acrobatic in nature, that filming must be done with multiple, possibly dozens of cameras looking for the right exposure or viewpoint and then editing it all together to make a seamless whole. The binational camera crews, led by cinematographers M. David Mullen and Alex Nepomniaschy, did just that, and better than I’ve ever seen before. After you’ve enjoyed the drama and the characters, go back and watch the series again, just for the dance. It will make you soar and you’ll not see better.

The Palladinos are a truly gifted writing couple, but it was Amy who had to choose between dance and writing. She chose writing, but they have now given us a view into the dance she loved and chose to give up. Thank you.

In English and French with English subtitles.

Now streaming on Amazon. 

Neely Swanson spent most of her professional career in the television industry, almost all of it working for David E. Kelley. In her last full-time position as Executive Vice President of Development, she reviewed writer submissions and targeted content for adaptation. As she has often said, she did book reports for a living. For several years she was a freelance writer for “Written By,” the magazine of the WGA West, and was adjunct faculty at USC in the writing division of the School of Cinematic Arts. Neely has been writing film and television reviews for the “Easy Reader” for more than 10 years. Her past reviews can be read on Rotten Tomatoes where she is a tomatometer-approved critic.

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This creative imagining of “what ifs” in the life of the adult Harry Potter, last seen vanquishing the mortal enemies of Hogwarts, including Voldemort, he who must not be named. Harry survived, married Ginny Weasley and is still best friends with Ron Weasley and his wife, Hermione Granger. They are very busy with their grown-up jobs, well, except for Ron who still runs the family joke shop. They are now the establishment and tasked with maintaining order so that all residents will remain safe and sound, something they fought so diligently for in the past,

Harry wants only the best for his son Albus Severus, named after his two Hogwarts heroes, both of whom died saving him from Voldemort. This would be a heavy burden for anyone to carry, but even harder for Albus, who is struggling with his identity as the son of the savior. Albus resents his father and his father’s achievements. He’s nothing like him. Albus struggles with his schoolwork and is not in the least athletic. Father and son see each other differently, not the least because Albus is suffering from a massive case of teenage angst and resentment, something that is greatly exacerbated when he is shoved onto the magical train to Hogwarts with the Weasley’s daughter Rose. First order of business—making friends—easier for Rose than for Albus. Finding an empty carriage, they encounter Scorpius Malfoy, son of Harry’s old school nemesis Draco Malfoy. Scorpius is as unlike his father as Albus is from Harry. Even less athletically skilled than Albus, he also suffers from a massive lack of self-confidence, lack of friends and the inability to be quiet when silence is called for. Of course, they become best friends, much to the chagrin of their respective fathers.

Albus’ desire is to be assigned to Harry’s old house at school, Gryffindor; his nightmare is that the Sorting Hat will choose Slytherin Hall, home of his father’s school enemies, for him instead. Harry told Albus to wish very hard for the house he wants, and the Sorting Hat will hear him. Dad was wrong again. It didn’t. Slytherin it is, but at least Scorpius will be there too.

Life is difficult for Albus. The students know all about his father, and the remaining professors have set a high bar for him. It doesn’t help that Harry visits too often. Albus sinks deeper into his resentment. He wants to be himself, whatever that is; he wants to make a grand gesture; he wants to have friends. All of this seems hopelessly out of reach. Learning more about Harry’s feats, he discovers that for Harry to live another student, Cedric Diggory, had to die. It is Cedric’s cousin Delphi who tells him of the circumstances. Convinced of the injustice of it all, fueled by his antipathy toward his father, he enlists Scorpius to help him devise a plan.

They need a Time-Turner, an instrument that allows its user to teleport back in time, but they have been outlawed since the Battle of Hogwarts and all remaining Time-Turners were destroyed. All but one, apparently, because the Ministry has found one and, rather than destroying it, has hidden it away. Stealthily spying on the ministers, Albus is elated to discover that this device exists and enlists Scorpius to go on a mission with him. They will steal the Time Turner, find Cedric and change the circumstances so he doesn’t die, thus saving him.

Any aficionado of time travel, and you don’t have to be one to foresee this future, is well aware of the ripple effect that changing one event in the past has on the present. And thus “Harry Potter and the Cursed Child” is on its merry way.

With plenty of adventure for the rapt preteens in the audience, and believe me, there were lots of them, and subtext for the older members, this is basically a story of adolescent angst and teenage conflict with a controlling parent. Something has to give or catastrophe will ensue.

What this play, by masterful playwright Jack Thorne (“The Motive and the Cue”), based on an original story by J.K. Rowling, John Tiffany and Thorne, does best is segue nicely from 20 or so years in the past to the present while breathing believable life into characters you knew and loved from the books and creating their new, realistic offspring with their own “worldly” problems in the present. The stakes are high, the possible consequences chilling and the mischief of immature teens is believable. The stage effects, very magical indeed, rely on light, movement and sleight of hand, much like a show at the Magic Castle. There are rigged props and unseen wires that dangle the actors like puppets and robes and actors are whisked off and on before your eyes. It’s quite entrancing and always surprising. Sometimes the actors stand still as the stage circulates, and sometimes it is the actors that glide in well-choreographed movement that flows seamlessly. It’s all quite mesmerizing.

The acting is fine all around, but the young man who plays Scorpius, Aidan Close, is the standout, becoming more a focus than was probably intended. His development from awkward to more self-confident (but still incredibly gawky) is heartwarming in ways that the others fail to achieve. Harry (John Skelley) and Albus (Emmet Smith) are a bit too one-note.

Not working to advantage, from a viewer’s standpoint, the stage at the Pantages is quite large, more than three times wider than the stage of the Lyric Theatre in New York or the Palace Theatre in London where it premiered. This expanse eliminates a sense of intimacy, necessary to make the audience feel as if they were part of the show and the action, or at one with the characters. The play is long, almost three hours including intermission, but this is an improvement over the version I saw when this play was presented in two parts, the first being two hours and 40 minutes and the second, two hours and 35 minutes. When the producers had to shut down during the pandemic, they realized that the play needed to be cut down, not just because Part II was almost superfluous, but also because it was so expensive. In 2018, I paid £125 for each part. The play was overburdened and condensing “Harry Potter and the Cursed Child” into a single evening’s entertainment benefited both the story and the audience.

Be forewarned, however, this play is almost incomprehensible unless you’ve read the books. My husband was totally unacquainted with the “Harry Potter” saga; he didn’t even know who Voldemort was, so a quick cheat sheet was necessary at intermission. He very much appreciated the effects but was lost with the story. It is a shame that the producers didn’t think to provide a summary of the story in the Playbill. I retrieved my program from the Palace Theatre, and the first few pages reprised the books and gave an excellent glossary to the ancillary characters mentioned in the play, from Death Eaters to the Ministry of Magic, from Muggles to Mudbloods and portkeys to Bellatrix Lestrange. In London, one pays for the programs but even so, the Playbill of the Pantages was remarkably short on information. Surely they could have sprung for another couple of pages for summary information. Unbelievable as it may seem, there are actually people out there who never entered Harry’s world before this. Unknown to me there is a website— Harry Potter Resources—that explains it all.

Whether before the show, at intermission or when leaving, take the time to gaze at the double ceiling laden with Art Deco adornments with a huge chandelier and sculptural triangles meant to evoke sunrays. The grand lobby is even more impressive both above your head and beneath your feet. There are painted panels and faux Egyptian statues throughout. Truly deserving of its landmark status, its beauty is sure to rub off on this young generation of theatergoers after they see this imaginative story of a grown-up Harry Potter struggling with the adolescence of one of his children.

Now playing through June 22, Tuesdays through Sundays. Check the Broadway in Hollywood website for times and discounts.

Hollywood Pantages Theatre, 6233 Hollywood Boulevard, Los Angeles. 

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“Mid-Century Modern” is a throwback to the multicamera comedies of old. It is the personification of set up, joke and punchline. Creaky in premise, think “Golden Girls,” although here it is “Golden Boys” in Palm Springs, there are still some laughs to be mined.

Instead of Blanche, Rose, Dorothy and mother Sophia in Miami, it’s Jerry, Arthur, Bunny and mother Sybil in Palm Springs. Not very timely, or as one critic remarked, this is the edgiest comedy of 1986, but it’s often funny and the cast can be endearing. Nathan Lane plays Bunny, the leader of the pack and the owner of the home he shares with his mother, Sybil, played by the glorious Linda Lavin in her final role. Bunny’s other two friends/roommates are Jerry, played by the very handsome Matt Bomer, a flight attendant whose coming out, years ago, was painful for his entire Mormon family, including his ex-wife and daughter; and Arthur, a very funny Nathan Lee Graham, former fashion icon and still a critic until they take away his last set of pumps. The fabulous Pamela Adlon, with that sparkly hoarse voice, recurs as Bunny’s difficult sister Mindy.

No, it’s not original and some of the humor is forced but it’s like a sugar cookie—no surprises but it goes down easily. What is wonderful is the presence of Linda Lavin, whose way with a phrase is like a defanged venomous snake, lovely to look at and extraordinarily clever, but you don’t want to get too close because she still stings. And let’s not forget some of the great guest stars like Jesse Tyler Ferguson, Rhea Perlman and Judd Hirsh. Leave your expectations at the door and enjoy the occasionally well-placed timing of the script by David Kohan and Max Mutchnick, the team that brought you “Will & Grace” during the era when gay characters were provocative.

Now streaming on Hulu.

“The Studio,” created by Seth Rogan and Evan Goldberg, among a few others, is a look at the studio executives who battle actors, directors and the corporate czars who think that because they supply the funds, they are entitled to a say (well, actually they are, but that’s beside the point). Rogan, who also stars, is Matt, the newly appointed head of Continental Studios whose greatest desire is to produce art. He jousts with executives, actors with their own agendas and a moronic corporate overlord whose idea of art is making a movie about the Kool-Aid Man (red pitcher and condensation) to rival the “Barbie” movie. Cameos abound by the likes of Ron Howard, Zac Efron, Olivia Wilde and Greta Lee, to name a few. The infighting of venal assistants trying to get ahead by undermining those they think have sabotaged them, and former executives bent on getting their jobs back or, at the very least, destroying those who took them from them.

Ordinarily I lap Hollywood stories up like honey, but this time, and I’m in the minority, I found ”The Studio” to be too clever by half and way too insider to play in Des Moines. Rogan is engaging as a lead, putting on his producer’s hat to tell that side of the story, but, in the end, the series is short on identifiable or likable characters. Not everyone has to be likable, but I enjoy a rooting interest and I didn’t have one here. The acting was quite good and the episodes were well-written; I just didn’t care enough.

Now streaming on Apple TV+

“Your Friends and Neighbors” has been much anticipated, partly because it is John Hamm’s return to television as a series lead. The premise is excellent and the storytelling is tight. Andrew Cooper (Hamm) is a hedge fund manager with a huge and lucrative client list. His boss, breaking the 10th commandment, covets his portfolio and has found a way to fire him and take it over. Recently divorced, he is still reeling from the alimony and aftereffects. His wife, Mel (Amanda Peet), had an adulterous affair with his best friend, who has now taken his place in the house Cooper still has to pay for. It all seems so civilized in public but there is rot in the framework. Cooper’s firing is unknown to all except the man who fired him and his lawyer, Barney, a very good Hoon Lee. Too embarrassed to come clean, especially because his non-compete clause is ironclad, making him untouchable to other firms, Cooper must find a way to maintain the Hamptons lifestyle his ex-family relies on before his savings run out.

One night, during a party, Cooper comes across a very expensive watch in the host’s bedroom. Pocketing it, he has now launched himself on a new career—thief. He doesn’t get anywhere near the full value, but it still pays some bills and is easier than he imagined. All the homes are open to him; he’s a popular resident and invited to everything, snooping is his new occupation and he begins to learn more about his neighbors than either they or he finds desirable. Everyone has secrets. The question is how to use them to advantage.

“Your Friends and Neighbors” is well-produced, well-written and loaded with excellent actors. I shouldn’t have anything to complain about, but I do. Why, I ask myself, should I care about any of these people? I don’t. They are not characters that I want to spend time with, but considering the excellent production values and cast, you very well might.

Now Streaming on Apple TV+ 

Neely Swanson spent most of her professional career in the television industry, almost all of it working for David E. Kelley. In her last full-time position as Executive Vice President of Development, she reviewed writer submissions and targeted content for adaptation. As she has often said, she did book reports for a living. For several years she was a freelance writer for “Written By,” the magazine of the WGA West, and was adjunct faculty at USC in the writing division of the School of Cinematic Arts. Neely has been writing film and television reviews for the “Easy Reader” for more than 10 years. Her past reviews can be read on Rotten Tomatoes where she is a tomatometer-approved critic.

The post TV Now Playing—Not Just as Much Fun | TV: Part Two appeared first on Beverly Hills Courier.

“The Residence” is an enjoyable romp through the White House led by Cordelia Cupp (Uzo Aduba), straight-faced, ironically humorous, committed bird watcher and “best detective in the world.” The chief usher, A.B. Wynter, has been found in the billiard room, bloodied and most assuredly dead. Although the FBI and CIA are present, it is the Washington, D.C. police in charge and Captain Dokes has called Cordelia Cupp to lead the investigation, much to the chagrin of everyone in the “house.” Discretion is of the utmost importance because downstairs the president is hosting a state dinner for the Australian delegation and their guests. FBI agent Edwin Park (Randall Park) is assigned the thankless job of assisting Cordelia, and nothing could be more thankless. Cordelia orders the entire house sealed, including all the Australians and White House staff. She is unmoved by the inconvenience and possibility of an international incident.

Everyone is a suspect and she is determined to interview them all. She does. Switching back and forth in time, much of the story is told in flashback as the evening is recounted in front of a Senate investigating committee led by Senator Filkins (Al Franken). And you can’t tell the players without a scorecard. The consummate professional, Wynter made many enemies with the staff, a staff jam-packed with eccentrics. Among them are the dipsomaniac mother of the president (Jane Curtin); the first husband’s kleptomaniac brother (Jason Lee); the disgruntled French pastry chef (Bronson Pinchot) engaged in a competitive battle with the head chef; Server Sheila Cannon, who dips too frequently into the vodka supply; and the president’s friend and advisor, Harry Hollinger (Ken Marino), who thwarts Cordelia at every turn. And then there’s Lilly Schumacher (Molly Griggs), the entitled aide who is determined to redecorate the White House mindfully, replacing the soft edges with ones sharp enough to cause damage. She’s already moved the traditional Gingerbread White House to the basement from its former pride of place in the Red Dining Room.

One murder and everyone is a suspect.

At eight episodes, it’s two episodes too long. Nevertheless, this is pure pleasure and lots of fun. Each actor, no matter how small the role, is a standout. The wild incongruity of some characters only enhances the fun, but it is Uzo Aduba who carries this show gloriously. Never breaking stride or character, her seriousness is what drives the others into a frenzy. Watch this terrific show from Shondaland, created and written by Paul William Davies. It’s fun from first to last.

Now streaming on Netflix.

“The Americas” is a new wildlife documentary that takes you on a marvelous journey across the Americas, from the southernmost point in Patagonia, through the Amazon, Mexico, our own Wild West in the still rough-hewn edges of Montana, to Arctic North America. Each 45-minute episode is more of an appetizer than a full-course meal, but even so, it’s a great introduction to places you’ve visited or wished to or didn’t even know that you wanted to.

The nature photography is outstanding, with top international cinematographers for each episode. Produced by the BBC, the folks that brought you the award-winning “Planet Earth” and “Blue Planet,” this 10-part series is excellent family viewing. Narrated by Tom Hanks, who, surprisingly, has a rather slow, somnolent delivery, “The Americas” gives us much to ponder. Consider this an invitation to explore more because, at 45 minutes, it is, necessarily, limited in depth.

Still, the opportunity to cruise down the Amazon as macaws fly overhead and crocodiles swim below, visit some ruins in the Yucatan Peninsula and watch polar bears search for prey in the Arctic is one to be cherished.

Most episodes are now streaming on Peacock.

“Ludwig” is a real sleeper. Starting slowly, it grows on you until you are completely under its spell. John Taylor’s twin brother, James, a police detective, has gone missing and Lucy, James’ wife has asked John to help unravel the mystery. John, definitely on the spectrum, hasn’t left his house in ages; interacting with other human beings is not his strength, not even when they are relatives. John prefers the isolation that solving and creating puzzles allows him.

John arrives at the home of Lucy, his sister-in-law, and Henry, his nephew, to learn that James’ disappearance may not have been voluntary. What Lucy horrifyingly proposes to John, who has a hard time interacting with her, someone he loved but was paralyzed to express it (he’s still paralyzed), is to pretend he is his brother and go into police headquarters and find James’ secret notebook, one that may unlock the mystery. Reluctantly, he agrees, but when entering the station he is so ill at ease and twitchy that he’s certain the other members of James’ team will catch on that he’s a fraud. Of course they don’t. James’ former partner has allegedly been transferred and replaced by D.I. Carter, who has no prior experience with James. The junior members of his squad, D.C. Evans and D.S. Finch, are so busy competing for arrests that they pay no attention. John breathes a sigh of relief, finds the notebook and is almost out the door when disaster strikes. There’s been a murder and James’ team (that would now be John’s team) has been assigned the case.

John’s skill has always been solving puzzles, and with this case, as will be true of all the others (woe to poor ill-adapted John, there will be others—at least one per episode), he approaches the murder like he would any other brain teaser. What fits, what doesn’t and how to piece them all together. It’s a pure delight for the viewer if not so much for his superiors. As John adapts to his new role, and there is a slight amount of pleasure in it, he begins to find clues to the disappearance of his brother.

The cast is marvelous, led by the subtly hilarious David Mitchell as both John and James Taylor. Mitchel is a well-known British sketch comedian with impeccable timing, which he uses to great effect in creating a character whose tie to the world is tenuous at best. Anna Maxwell Martin is the very sympathetic and grounded Lucy, James’ wife who shares a history with John, and Dylan Hughes as her son Henry, all boyish charm and teenage impertinence. The detectives are very good as well, led by Dipo Ola as D.I. Carter, a slow convert to the skills of John/James. Dorothy Atkinson as D.C.S. Shaw runs a tight ship and is as skeptical of James/John as her boss, Chief Constable Ziegler, played by Ralph Ineson.

“Ludwig” is a lovely way to spend a few evenings. It’s one of those rare series where you want more because you’ll follow the main characters anywhere. At six episodes, there’s no bloat and room to grow.

Now Streaming on BritBox.

To be continued in next week’s issue. 

Neely Swanson spent most of her professional career in the television industry, almost all of it working for David E. Kelley. In her last full-time position as Executive Vice President of Development, she reviewed writer submissions and targeted content for adaptation. As she has often said, she did book reports for a living. For several years she was a freelance writer for “Written By,” the magazine of the WGA West, and was adjunct faculty at USC in the writing division of the School of Cinematic Arts. Neely has been writing film and television reviews for the “Easy Reader” for more than 10 years. Her past reviews can be read on Rotten Tomatoes where she is a tomatometer-approved critic.

The post TV Now Playing—With an Emphasis on Playing | TV: Part One appeared first on Beverly Hills Courier.

“Othello,” starring Denzel Washington and Jake Gyllenhaal, has been much in the news, primarily because of ticket pricing. But that takes the focus away from what is a wonderful production with great acting. The cast of “Othello,” led by the two stars, has found a tempo and flow that makes the glorious words come alive.

In Washington’s capable hands, Othello is a relatable hero who succumbs to the “green-eyed monster” and is undone by the machinations of Iago. Jake Gyllenhaal’s Iago is formidable, one of the most evil villains in literature; his every speech and action segues neatly into Othello’s reactions making this a more evenly staged two-hander. Each of them, Washington and Gyllenhaal, is the star of this play and production. Their command of the language and its rhythms enhance every moment. At the Ethel Barrymore Theatre, running through June 8.

“Maybe Happy Ending” is the sleeper hit of the season. Directed by Michael Arden (“Spring Awakening”), it stars the incredibly charming and talented Darren Criss (“Glee”) and Helen J. Shen. “Maybe Happy Ending” is about two helperbots (AI robots), Oliver and Claire, in the relatively distant future, who have been unwillingly retired from their positions and live in adjoining apartments.Each spends endless hours worrying over their respective futures. Claire and Oliver meet “cute” when Claire’s battery malfunctions and she needs to borrow a charger. She, the more realistic of the two, sees things through the lens of disappointment with a rundown end in sight. Oliver, on the other hand, is chipper and determined that his retirement to this apartment was a mistake and that his previous owner will come for him at any time, time being relative because it’s already been a number of years. Claire and Oliver are a mismatched duo who have been moored to the same life buoy. It is a variation on the age-old boy-meets-girl scenario with a lot of twists in store for them both.

Criss, loaded with charisma and heart, is the star of this inventive and surprising musical. His robot is a jerky mechanical bundle of disconnected wires that make him all the more endearing. Shen’s Claire is the charming counterpart, willing to humor him even though she knows where this will ultimately lead.

“Maybe Happy Ending” is one of those shows that gradually envelops and hypnotizes you until you are fully engaged in the lives of these robots with skewed human emotions. You will find yourself gradually and then thoroughly embraced by this musical with lovely tunes and an ending that is both cynical and innocent, that maybe happy ending. It’s unlikely that you’ll ever look at a charger the same way again. Now playing at the Belasco Theatre.

“Operation Mincemeat” was an eagerly anticipated import from London. Based on the true, yet unbelievable, story of how the Brits used a dead body loaded with false intelligence documents to fool the Nazis into believing they would be invading Sardinia instead of Sicily at the end of World War II. The Spitlip group has created what is supposed to be a farcical musical retelling of the story. Billed as a cross between Monty Python, “The Play That Goes Wrong” and Benny Hill; it was not. Certainly, some of the audience enjoyed it. We did not. The music was sophomoric and unmemorable, the humor was hit or miss and the tone was all over the map. Now playing at the Golden Theatre.

“Buyer beware” would be my byword for expensive shows with untested casts. “Othello” was worth the risk because both Washington and Gyllenhaal are seasoned stage actors who come back to Broadway often. In the case of other untested star vehicles, I would advise that you wait to purchase tickets until the reviews come in.

Here’s a sampling of other plays of note, both on and off Broadway, some already playing and others soon to arrive.

“Good Night and Good Luck” at the Wintergarden Theatre is George Clooney’s debut on Broadway in a script that he and Grant Heslov based on their acclaimed film.  Ticket prices rival those of “Othello.”

“Glengarry Glen Ross,” a new revival starring Kieran Culkin, Bob Odenkirk and Bill Burr has just opened at the Palace Theatre, and there are hordes waiting to see Kieran Culkin, fresh off his Oscar win. What makes this worth taking a chance on is the formidable Michael McKean in a supporting role.

“Death Becomes Her,” at the Lunt Fontanne Theatre, is based on the 1992 film starring Meryl Streep and Goldie Hawn. The show was well-reviewed and has lots of buzz. Starring Megan Hilty, Christopher Sieber and Jennifer Simard, it boasts terrific acting and clever songs.

“Buena Vista Social Club,” at the Gerald Schoenfeld Theatre, is jam-packed with the music from the famous album. Most don’t notice that a plot is lacking because the music is so vibrant it makes you want to get up and dance.

“Hell’s Kitchen,” at the Shubert Theatre, is a musical featuring the music of Alicia Keys and based on her life. The show has been running for a year and that is recommendation enough.

“Oh, Mary!” at the Lyceum Theatre through June 28 is the most talked-about show on Broadway. A dark (very dark) comedy about Mary Todd Lincoln in all her misery that boasts incongruous actors playing her gayly (in all its definitions) and irreverently, often by a man in drag. Currently starring Tituss Burgess (“Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt”) as Mary, you get the picture. I truly regret not seeing this one.

“Stranger Things: The First Shadow,” another hit transferring from London with two Olivier Awards, is based on the Netflix series and has lots of buzz. Previews have started and the show opens April 22. At the Marquis Theatre.

“Just in Time” is Jonathan Groff’s return after his triumph in “Merrily We Roll Along.” This musical play about Bobby Darin transforms the Circle in the Square Theatre into a nightclub. Performances through July.

“Call Me Izzy” starts previews on May 24 and runs for 12 weeks at Studio 54. This is Jean Smart’s return to Broadway in a one-woman show set in rural Louisiana. The subject is secondary to the chance to see Smart, a truly great actress, on stage.And don’t forget about Off Broadway where Hugh Jackman will be starring in a new play called “Sexual Misconduct of the Middle Classes,” sharing the Audible Minetta Lane Theatre with “Creditors” starring Liev Schreiber. “Sexual Misconduct” runs from April 28 through June 18; “Creditors” begins May 10 and ends June 18.

“Irishtown,” the new play at the Irish Repertory Theatre, is a comic look at actors rebelling against their director. It stars the marvelous Kate Burton and Saorise-Monica Jackson of “Derry Girls,” and that alone makes it a must-see. Running from April 2-May 25.

“The Cherry Orchard” at St. Ann’s Warehouse in Brooklyn starring the incomparable Nina Hoss (“Tar” and “Phoenix”). Now through April 27.

Ticket prices for many of the shows are off the scale. It’s always worth checking for discounts. TDF.com runs the TKTSs booth at Times Square and Lincoln Center offering same-day discounts on a wide array of shows; you can also check their site at tdf.org. Today Tix (todaytix.com) offers last-minute theater tickets for many of the shows, but keep in mind, there are no refunds or exchanges because this is a third-party ticket. If the above-the-title star calls in sick, there is no refund (something that you can get when tickets have been purchased online or from the box office). Also, check out the following sites: Broadwaybox.com, Theatermania.com, nytix.com and Playbill.com/discounts. Don’t forget to check for returns at the box office or the online lotteries for some of the shows.

My advice? Go now, go later, but go see a play on Broadway or Off. It’s always an immersive experience and one that will stay with you long after the lights go up. And don’t forget to check out the wonderful offerings in Los Angeles’ small theaters. 

Neely Swanson spent most of her professional career in the television industry, almost all of it working for David E. Kelley. In her last full-time position as Executive Vice President of Development, she reviewed writer submissions and targeted content for adaptation. As she has often said, she did book reports for a living. For several years she was a freelance writer for “Written By,” the magazine of the WGA West, and was adjunct faculty at USC in the writing division of the School of Cinematic Arts. Neely has been writing film and television reviews for the “Easy Reader” for more than 10 years. Her past reviews can be read on Rotten Tomatoes where she is a tomatometer-approved critic.

The post New York, New York—It’s a Wonderful Town | New York Theatre: Part Two of Two appeared first on Beverly Hills Courier.

With careful planning, you can fill your dance card with a play every night and matinees on Wednesdays and Saturdays, making it possible to see nine plays in seven days. We were more conservative and only saw seven, one of which recently closed.

“Vanya,” the multiple award-winning one-man rendition by Andrew Scott (“Ripley”), was breathtaking. This Chekhov play was reimagined by Scott and his collaborators, Simon Stephens and director Sam Yates, telling the story about familial relationships, jealousies and disappointments. Scott was intoxicating as he wove the various characters in and out of their interactions. Minute changes in tone, use of minor props and body movement all contributed to defining the nine (yes, nine!) characters in this story set on a large, faded family estate. The chance to see the mesmerizing Scott act on stage, up close and personal in a small Off-Broadway theater is a must-see at any price. Totally sold out, your best bet might be the online lottery or digital cancellation line. It can also be seen on the National Theatre at Home streaming service (ntathome.com).

“The Picture of Dorian Gray” is another one-man, or rather one-woman performance by Sarah Snook of “Succession” fame. This Oscar Wilde masterwork is about an aimless and feckless stunning young man, Dorian Gray, who has sold his soul to the devil so that he will remain beautiful while his portrait ages, showing the outward signs of Gray’s debauched existence which the corporal body does not.

Unlike any other one-person play, Snook uses electronics, cameras and recordings to play the more than 20 different characters encountered by Gray. Stunningly achieved, you will gasp as the Dorian on stage confronts himself and others (all different permutations of Snook) as screens flash before you. There are few hidden tricks, although some of the videos have been prerecorded, as Snook is followed by an entourage of filmmakers shooting her in real time as she tells the story of the degenerate life of Gray. This must-see is at The Music Box through June 15.

“Gypsy,” one of the mainstays of American theater, has long been a favorite of some of Broadway’s greatest singers who eagerly embrace the music of Jule Styne and the lyrics of Stephen Sondheim. The character of Mama Rose has been memorably played by a string of actresses, most winning Tonys in the role. Each has left her mark on this character and now, like her Mama Rose, it’s Audra McDonald’s turn and it’s indelible.

“Gypsy” tells the story of Rose, the most horrific and controlling stage mother to grace the boards, who is determined to make Vaudeville stars of her two daughters, the talented June and the hapless Louise. To Rose’s surprise, it is Louise who gains international fame as the stripper, Gypsy Rose Lee.

Rose is a monster, no two ways about it; but each other actress has found a way to mitigate Rose’s narcissism and self-focus by infusing her with the vulnerability of a life not lived. Such is not the case with McDonald. In her operatic voice, Rose is steeped in ferocity. There is no vulnerability as best illustrated in her final number, “Rose’s Turn,” where the violence and force of her true feelings about her life break through powerfully. This is who she is and its effect is devastating. There is no redeeming humanity coming through, only a life full of disappointment. One even has to ask if she actually wanted her girls to succeed.

This is a must-see as far as I’m concerned because of the music, so well-known, and the memorable performance of Audra McDonald. I’ve seen four other “Gypsy” performances, but this one is at the top of the list. She really made it her own. Now running at the Majestic Theatre, with tickets available through August. 

To be concluded in next week’s issue. 

The post New York, New York—It’s a Wonderful Town | New York Theatre: Part One of Two appeared first on Beverly Hills Courier.

A visit to Oaxaca, Mexico, a UNESCO World Heritage Site, anytime from October to May is ideal. The temperature is always pleasant and the rains are yet to come. But if I had a preference, it would be in early November. For the adventurous, the Day of the Dead (Nov. 1-2), combining pagan and Catholic rituals, is exciting, vibrant and full of activity. For me, the perfect time is always the day after the day after the Day of the Dead. The chaos, noise and mayhem have calmed, leaving the colors, statues and joy behind. Already one of the most brilliantly glowing cities in Mexico, a country full of color and beauty, Oaxaca is bathed in the bright primary colors of its buildings and the intense ornamentation of its many churches. A very approachable city, ideally you should reserve at least four days for your visit. Besides the city itself, not-to-miss sights are Monte Albán and, time permitting, Mitla, both important archaeological sites and UNESCO World Heritage Sites, full of Zapotec and Mixtec history. 

Historically, the rugged topography of the Oaxaca region was both a curse and a blessing. The curse was in the difficulty of growing crops, but its blessing was its isolation and mineral and gemstone-rich land. The two primary Indigenous cultures, Mixtec and Zapotec, were in constant conflict, with the Mixtecs predominating until the arrival of the Aztecs in the 15th century. Their dominance was short-lived, however. Misjudging conquistador Hernán Cortés for a god, the Aztecs almost immediately lost their stronghold and influence to the Spaniards. It was an ideal location for the conquerors to set up headquarters as they stripped the region of its gold, silver and jade. It is rare to find so much history, Indigenous culture, art and craft in one location. 

Hotels of every level of luxury and sophistication are found throughout the city center. We chose the historic Quinta Real, a stone’s throw from the famous Templo de Santo Domingo and one of the many blocks with long open-air markets selling everything from jewelry to gelato. Like so much of Oaxaca, the Quinta Real is tied to the conquest by the Spanish and its post-colonial history. Originally built as the Convent of Santa Catalina de Siena by Benedictine monks, it was inhabited by Dominican nuns. Steep stone steps lead to the rooms on the upper levels, all built around courtyards, as are most buildings and houses in the area. Many of the 16th-century paintings originally belonging to the Dominican order still hang on the walls. But as tied into the religious history of the city, it is even more connected to its political profile. The Revolution of 1859 by local hero Benito Juárez changed everything, at least for a time. Juárez, the first elected Zapotec president, nationalized the church and seized its many properties, including the convent, turning it first into government offices and then a jail. Later it was a school, a warehouse and eventually a luxury hotel. The old chapel was even used as a movie theater. Yes there are more modern accommodations with greater degrees of luxury, but there is nothing to compare with the history and flower gardens that make up the Quinta Real. That, and the grasshopper omelet they serve at breakfast. 

Walking to the Templo de Santo Domingo, we were immediately immersed in the design and meaning of Baroque architecture. Almost Gothic on the outside, it has two tiled bell towers and a central fascia of tablets depicting lives of the saints with a few conquistadors and contemporaneous citizens thrown in for good measure. But it is the lavish interior that brings the definition of Baroque clearly into focus. Excessive decoration leaving no tile unturned, the Templo has a lavish gold-leafed nave with an arched ceiling of saint portraits encased in ornate gold frames, accented by arched lapis blue ceiling tiles. Each column is bejeweled with statues of saints, some known, mostly not. There is even an elaborate “Tree of Life” with various “sainted” Spanish knights occupying the branches. This is the architectural style for which more is never enough, and an empty inch is a design flaw. Dazzling when entered, it only expands in extravagance. 

Combining the sacred with the irreverent, symbols and statues of the “dead” surround the grounds of the church where vendors hawk their miniature skeletons and totemic animals. Oaxaca is a city of contrasts, historical and artistic. It is home to many churches and a cathedral, many adjacent to one another. But it is also the birthplace of Benito Juárez, who, schooled originally in a seminary to enter the priesthood, became the first democratically elected Indigenous (Zapotec) president of Mexico who established, at least for a time, a clear boundary between church and state, something the conservative party and the church were determined to recoup. Oaxaca is also home to Juárez’s acolyte and later bitter rival, Porfirio Díaz, who replaced the democracy of Juárez with his own autocratic rule, a rule that spurred the Mexican Revolution of Emiliano Zapata and Pancho Villa. In so many ways, Oaxaca is the center of everything. 

Parallel to the political history is the art history of the region. Rufino Tamayo, a contemporary of the muralists Rivera, Orozco and Siqueiros, was a modernist painter, born in Oaxaca of Zapotec origin. A Mexico City resident in adulthood, he returned to Oaxaca to build an art museum that featured his personal collection of pre-Columbian art. Choosing different colors for each room, highlighting a different era of the archaeological history of Mexico, the shades bring out nuance in the pieces that might otherwise blend into a beige or gray background. In its own approachable way, the relatively few, colorful rooms contain artifacts of the highest quality, rivaling the much larger and more famous National Museum of Anthropology in Mexico City. The Rufino Tamayo Museum of Pre-Hispanic Art is must-see. 

The artistic thread continued when Tamayo mentored his protégé Francisco Toledo, a Zapotec artist whose influence in Oaxaca may be even greater. Already an internationally recognized artist at the age of 19, he studied and worked in Paris and New York but returned to his home state where his commitment was immediately felt.  

Our first stop was Toledo’s Art Library and school (Instituto de Artes Gráficas de Oaxaca – IAGO). Built around a bougainvillea-shaded patio, rooms of art-related books, most from Toledo’s personal collection, form the body of a cultural center that includes the Manuel Álvarez Bravo Photography Center and the Eduardo Mata Music Library, all part of the art school he founded. Artwork is hung everywhere, but it was the Day of the Dead altar set up at the exit celebrating Toledo, who died in 2019, that resonated the most. Orange and red streamers hung near his portrait, with candles and celebratory bread loaves, decorated with skulls lining the shelves below his picture. We were in the perfect mood to walk some more along the avenues populated with giant skeletons in party dresses under multicolored flags that created an umbrella over the temporary “Dead” sculptures. Many of the buildings, all painted in various hues, sported skulls or ceramic animal heads. Walking toward the  Zócalo, the large courtyard in the city center, we passed the Catedral Metropolitana, Oaxaca’s only consecrated cathedral, flanked by giant, Rodinesque sculptures of downtrodden men and women carrying the load of the world. Created by Oaxacan artist Alberto Aragon Reyes, “Procession: Time of Giants” is striking in its use of metal. The poverty it portrays is, to a certain extent, an honor to the cathedral behind it, a more modest structure than many of the other churches.  

A return to the hotel meant a return to the bar and one of the excellent mezcal-laced cocktails. Tequila, in all its permutations, may be the national liquor of Mexico, but mezcal has a distinct smoky taste and is a specialty of the Oaxaca region. A cocktail is always a great beginning to one of Oaxaca’s renowned restaurants. Now a foodie paradise, Oaxaca boasts many starred restaurants, all with a distinct Mexican flavor, highlighted by molé. Fear not. Molé, a sauce made from dried chiles and any combination of various ingredients, but always chocolate, is definitely not the black, gelatinous glop so often passed off as a Oaxacan specialty. Mole comes in many flavors and colors and can range from delicate to strong, depending on the amount of spice and chocolate. Not being a fan, it took a lot to convince me to try, but after my first taste of red mole (coloradito), followed by green and then pink, I was a fan. The delicacy of the sauce enhances the flavor of the meat and does not overpower.  

Monte Albán is a must-see, regardless of the time allotted for a visit to the region. A UNESCO World Heritage Site, this pre-Columbian archaeological site is not quite an hour outside the city center. Monte Albán was the preeminent Zapotec city for almost a thousand years, founded around 500 B.C. and totally abandoned in 800 A.D. Situated on top of a plateau in the mountains above the valley floor, its elevated location provided an ideal view of invading armies. Terraces of varying levels were designated for the important religious and political leaders, with the workers, tradesmen and farmers living on the lower levels. Although rediscovered in the late 19th century, it remained almost untouched, covered with vegetation, until large-scale excavation began in 1931. A main plaza occupies the center where religious rituals were held. Temples surrounded the plaza where many stone monuments are found (Las Danzantes) depicting the brutal fate of captured soldiers. Large, monumental stairways, like those found in Teotihuacan outside Mexico City, lead to platforms, possibly sacrificial. The remains of white “plaster” can still be seen on some of the buildings. There is, of course, a ballcourt, one of two thought to have occupied the edge of the plaza. It was a game played with life-and-death consequences. Some artifacts can be found in the adjacent museum, next to the gift store selling hats (you’ll need one); but most of the artifacts discovered during the original excavations can be seen in the wonderful Museum of Oaxacan Cultures next to the Church of Santo Domingo, another must-see (but more on that later). 

While not a must-do when on a limited schedule, Mitla, the other archaeological site outside Oaxaca City, offers a look into the architecture and design of the Zapotec culture, still thriving when the Spanish invaded. Inhabited around the turn of the first millennium, Mitla was a thriving city of Mixtec and Zapotec population in an area that supported more than 500,000. Much of the site was devoted to the dead, believed to be a burial site for the rich and ennobled. The construction was very sophisticated, using blocks that fit together seamlessly like those built by the Incas in Peru. Adorned with carvings along the building cornices, creating a crown molding whose decoration was often enhanced by fresco-like painting and fretwork on the walls, these funerary properties were built around courtyards, not unlike the modern architecture of Oaxaca. Smaller and more manageable than Monte  Albán, a trip to Mitla can easily be combined with a trip to Santa Maria del Tule to visit the massive 1500-year-old Tule Tree. Its size and scope make it one of the wonders of the world. At 130 feet tall and 145 feet in circumference, it defies logic.  

Many tourist agencies encourage trips to the outskirts to visit San Bartolo Coyotepec, famous for its black pottery, made here for hundreds of years. The town of San Martín Tilcajete is famous for alebrijes, those animal figurines made from copal wood, hand painted with natural dyes and decorated in dots, stripes and geometric shapes, often sprouting spines of thin wood. Heresy, perhaps, but unless you are determined to see how these crafts are made, your time is better spent in Oaxaca City Center where literally hundreds of shops feature these arts. Be judicious, look carefully at the art, compare the products of the innumerable shops and then fill your luggage with your treasures. 

The Centro de Artes de San Agustin (CaSa), not far from the city, is an art complex started and funded by Francisco Toledo on the grounds of a huge, converted textile factory. Part art gallery, there was a fantastic comprehensive exhibit of Toledo’s art on view at the time, part workshop and part art school, it is worth the short trip to experience the campus that also includes a paper factory, again, started by Toledo.  

Another must-see in the city center is the Museum of Oaxacan Cultures, located in the former convent attached to the Templo de Santo Domingo. An incredible museum, built around a courtyard surrounded by columns and arched walkways, it is almost encyclopedic in its holdings. Many of the artifacts discovered at both Mitla and Monte  Albán found their way into these collections. Intricate jewelry in gold and jade is found next to ritualistic carvings and ceramics of the skulls of men and animals. The library of Francisco Burgoa, also part of the complex, contains over 30,000 works, including incunabula, bibles in Latin, Greek, Syriac and Hebrew, as well as 16th-century books printed in Mexico. A bronze death mask of Juárez is prominently displayed. It is here, on the grounds outside, that Francisco Toledo presented another gift to his hometown, creating the Ethnobotanical Garden on land behind the Templo de Santo Domingo. It highlights the many plant species used by the Indigenous population for cultural rituals, food and medicine. It is also because of Toledo-led protests that the garden was created when the government was trying to use the space for a parking lot. 

This just scratches the surface of a marvelous city. So much can be discovered on your own including the Mercado Benito Juárez and its endless booths of food, spices, clothes and decorations. There’s so much more to explore from the many other museums, world-class restaurants and village markets. But that’s for my next trip, and there will be one. 

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Fast forward several years, and Naveen, now a successful physician, has only recently come out to his parents. Not quite understanding the “concept” of gay, his father, always rather quiet, has become more taciturn; his mother still holds out hope that the right girl has yet to come along. His mother, however, is more able to deal with reality and wishes that he would find a partner of his choosing. But Naveen’s reality is that dark lining to a silver cloud. He traffics in sarcasm and negative self-image. But one day, that dark lining turns to silver when he meets a unicorn. A handsome, outgoing, kind, generous young man who sees his gifts. Jay Kurundkar, white, was adopted by an Indian couple and raised like any good Indian boy would have been raised.

You’ve seen this story a million times. Usually, it’s the self-deprecating girl, the one with glasses and hair in a bun, who meets a handsome young man who sees who she is even if she doesn’t. Before you know it, he’s released her bun into its naturally flowing locks, she gets contact lenses and ugly duckling, now a swan, is the love match of beautiful boy. Following the standard narrative, it would be girl meets boy, girl loses boy, girl gets boy. “A Nice Indian Boy” is that same storyline with a gender difference. This fairy tale probably goes back to the age of the Greeks, but it keeps getting repeated because it works, or frequently it works. Madhuri Shekar, the writer of the source material, based her original play on the popular Bollywood film “DDLI” about romance. Snippets of the film, “DDLI,” play a major role in the lives and courtship of Naveen and Jay and are a wonderful counterpoint to the reality they face versus the romance they dream.

Eric Randall, the screenwriter, identified with the material because he was in the midst of planning his own big gay wedding and getting to know his future in-laws. It’s easy to recognize how fraught that situation could be, even under the best of circumstances. With Jay and Naveen, culture had a big role to play, and the humor is underscored by Jay being even more inculcated into Indian culture than Naveen. Director Roshan Sethi also viewed the story through a very personal lens. A gay Indian man, he faced challenges at every turn, especially from his parents, who could not accept who he was. His own experience has not been happily ever after, but he was determined that “A Nice Indian Boy” would be. As he points out, “culture is a formidable anchor.” But an anchor can be both something that drowns you and something that grounds you. In the film, Naveen must fight one to discover the other.

“A Nice Indian Boy” is a love story like so many others. In the end, it doesn’t matter who loves whom as long as love is the tie that binds. The story is helped immensely by the charming cast. Karan Soni, Naveen, a USC graduate in film and theater and a member in good standing of the “Deadpool” universe, sells his ever-present anxiety and self-esteem issues with a furrowed brow and inquiring eyes. His Naveen is endearing while also frustratingly negative. The marvelous Jonathan Groff, Tony winner for “Merrily We Roll Along” and star of “Glee,” has a warm and empathetic screen presence. Shining eyes and an expressive smile only enhance the colors he shows as a mature young man, sure of himself and grateful for his upbringing, who tries to help his partner live his own genuine life.

Groff and Soni may be the titular stars, but the show is stolen out from under them whenever Zarna Garg, as Naveen’s mother Megha, and Harish Patel, Naveen’s father Archit, appear in a scene. Patel’s silent disapproval that morphs into bewilderment is a case study in character development. It is Garg’s glittering expressive face and efforts at acceptance that are a key to everyone else’s performance and narrative. Garg steals everything but the furniture.

“A Nice Indian Boy” gives us all the understanding that not wanting something is the fallback position of being afraid to want it.

Opening March 31 for one night at the Laemmle Royal as part of the “Real Talk with Stephen Farber” film series and April 4 at the Laemmle Glendale. 

Neely Swanson spent most of her professional career in the television industry, almost all of it working for David E. Kelley. In her last full-time position as Executive Vice President of Development, she reviewed writer submissions and targeted content for adaptation. As she has often said, she did book reports for a living. For several years she was a freelance writer for “Written By,” the magazine of the WGA West, and was adjunct faculty at USC in the writing division of the School of Cinematic Arts. Neely has been writing film and television reviews for the “Easy Reader” for more than 10 years. Her past reviews can be read on Rotten Tomatoes where she is a tomatometer-approved critic.

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By reputation, the perpetually lemon-scented Amalfi Coast is almost peerless in its stunning beauty and sophistication. Just take a dip in the languid waters of the Netflix series “Ripley.” It fully captures the slow-motion riot of the treacherous roads, the decaying decadence of the crumbling buildings and the linen-clad beautiful people who still call it home. Built into the rocky hills, the houses tumble down the cliffs, seeming to float or be attached by invisible wires holding them up like alert puppets. The white of the buildings reflects almost blindingly off the blueness of the water. When a close friend rented a villa on the Amalfi Coast and invited us to come, the answer was a very quick YES!

Our villa, actually two country houses, was on a hill in Piano di Sorrento, off the beaten track but overlooking Sorrento, the coast and Capri. We settled in comfortably, meandering around the grounds filled with trees laden with apricots, oranges and, of course, the ever-present lemons. Our tiny neighborhood was populated by two cafes and a mini market whose hours of operation were at the owner’s caprice. There was even a tiny clothing-souvenir shop specializing in homemade linen shirts, dresses and pants. The sewing machines were in constant use producing brightly colored shirts and (alas) pants with lemon motifs.

Sorrento was our first eagerly awaited foray. Devoid of some of the harrowing hairpin turns that would await us on our trips to Positano and Amalfi, it was an introduction to driving in Italy where lane markings are mere suggestions, and the game of “Chicken” seems to be embedded in the DNA of anyone with a driver’s license; truly a case of “he who hesitates” loses. If roundabouts didn’t have stop signs, tourists would wait until the inevitable two-hour lunch break before they could progress.

Sorrento, the tip of a peninsula in the Gulf of Naples, is not technically part of the Amalfi Coast but shares some of its physical beauty. From the Sorrento harbor, boats and ferries leave for the islands and the cities of the Amalfi Coast. Mount Vesuvius with its dual peaks is an easily identifiable landmark, and Pompeii is halfway between Naples and Sorrento. It’s ironic, or at least disingenuous, of a tourist to complain about tourists but Sorrento, even in May, is nigh unto unmanageable. Rife with accommodations from the five-star variety to suspect B&Bs, the shops along the main pedestrian street sell tacky souvenirs and brag of so-called handcrafted wood inlay works of art but are just factory showrooms churning out ashtrays and plaques. Contributing to the claustrophobia were the hundreds of Bermuda short-clad men, women and children lined up behind flag-waving guides dashing through the stores and monuments before being herded back to one of the megaliners (4,500 passengers and more) docked in Naples. That it was Sunday may have been a contributing factor, something we would be able to judge when we returned.

Sorrento, on Tuesday after the hordes had departed, was much more pleasant because our host treated us to a boat ride, “yachting” luxuriously from Sorrento to Amalfi with the young, charming and gorgeous Capitano Antonio, viewing all the coastal towns along the way. He skirted the working fishing villages and less-traveled harbors like Nerano, one of his favorites, and brought us into the three-island Gallos archipelago for a close view of this famous property. Craggy, lacking vegetation, it was Léonide Massine, the famed Russian choreographer and dancer of Diaghilev’s Ballets Russes, who fell in love with the island and its medieval tower, converting it into a villa and dance studio. No wonder Rudolf Nureyev felt an attachment, buying it in the early ’80s, further renovating it and living there until his death. It has since been refashioned into a luxury villa where visitors may swim in the waters but, unless they can ante up the €250,000 per week rental (including servants, cook and boat), they are forbidden to set foot on the island.

Pacing the trip perfectly, we gazed up at the road, one we would repeatedly take in the next few days, winding through the imposing mountainous rock facings on one side and the little protected cliffside leading to the water far below on the other. Built into the rock are the towns and villages that dot the coast. Colorful pebble beaches abound, accessed by stairways carved into the rocks descending unimaginable heights. The barely-clad bathers were young and hardy, unless they had arrived by one of the anchored boats.

Positano is world-famous for its beauty and rightfully so. Gazing at it from the sea, it appears like a many-layered wedding cake, elaborately iced and inviting. Many of the boats anchored off the shore were on a grander scale than ours, equipped with motorized rafts or dinghies to transport their passengers to shore where they can dine, drink and frolic. The beach is crowded and the pastel buildings overlooking the sea (they all overlook the sea) have vast terraces and balconies. The exclusive properties are either near the bottom of this cliffside town or at the very top. I must confess that in all our trips past Positano, we did not venture into the town. Theoretically, it would have been possible to traverse the tiny streets, but it appeared that the vast majority of people visiting the actual town parked haphazardly, with the emphasis on hazard, along the upper road and walked down, a rather daunting prospect at any age. Still, the pastel combinations of Positano need to be seen to be believed. It is the very definition of a jet-set hamlet where it’s easy to imagine the linen-clad visitors, cocktail in hand, trotting from party to party and then back to the yacht.

Continuing through the bay, Antonio led us into the Fiordo di Furore, a pristine beach in an inlet accessed from the tiny town by 3,000 steps. Furore is home to an 11th-century church containing frescoes by Giotto and his students. How, one must ask, did they get there in the first place, let alone why? It’s one of many puzzles to be contemplated all over the Amalfi coastline. It is the arched brick bridge, 28 meters high, traversing the fjord, from which there is a high diving contest every year, that provides its unique feel.

We were able to dock in Amalfi, larger, more bustling than any of the other towns, allowing us the time only for a purchase at the pasticceria and a few lemon-scented souvenirs. Our lunch was at the Torre Saracena, a 16th-century tower that was part of the city’s defense system. The views to the northwest are of Amalfi, and to the southeast, Atrani of “Ripley” fame. We’ll get a closer view of Atrani, Amalfi’s poor relation, when we drive to Ravello. The food was wonderful but the views were better. But then, all of the views have been panoramic and stunning. Our trip back to Sorrento was at a faster pace and we enjoyed a crisp breeze as we retraced our earlier steps, making sure to renew our sunscreen.

We would return to Amalfi the next day, taking the treacherous SS163 with its serpentine curves, hairpin turns, series of long tunnels and blind mirrored corners dreading the sound of a bus honking its arrival. The lanes, marginal under the best of circumstances, are often further constricted by parked cars along one edge or the other. Even worse are the sightseeing viewpoints where cars spill out onto the roadway waiting for a place to stop, competing with the ever-present vans selling fresh juice, lemon granita and T-shirts. The trip never got easier and the anxiety never lessened; but in each case, we lived to tell about it. Arriving again in Amalfi, our small group split up, the more intellectual choosing to climb up to the Duomo and its Byzantine facade of inlaid striped marble and stone. The 63 wide stone steps lead to a vast porch, semi-enclosed by a series of arched window-like openings giving it a Moorish flavor. Others of us, the more superficial members of the group, myself included, went in search of artisanal souvenirs. The shops closest to the harbor are crowded with the same lemon-themed souvenirs found in every other town in Southern Italy. Walking slightly off the beaten track are the more interesting stores of inlaid wood furniture, handmade paper and ceramics of more unique design. After lunching on garlic-flavored focaccia, myriad antipasto and fish, we returned to the car and wound our way slowly back across the hills and treacherous roads.

For our next excursion, we chose the small town of Nerano with its seafood restaurants on the water. Lo Scoglio was a trip to the rarefied air of the jet set. Although we arrived by car, most of the guests in this terraced restaurant were ferried from their private yachts by Lo Scoglio’s motorboat, arriving at the restaurant’s landing platform. Stanley Tucci, in his series “Searching for Italy,” declared their Spaghetti alla Nerano with zucchini and provolone to be his favorite pasta. The food was sumptuous, the service attentive and the local wine delicious. Lingering on the multicolored pebble beach for a few moments, we made a last stop at the mini market to buy vodka and crackers, indispensable for our evening cocktails. Lemon twists were in abundant supply from the villa’s trees.

We left early the next morning for our trip to Ravello, east of Amalfi and north of Salerno. It’s famous for its hilly location and view of the blue coastline to the west; and east, the grassy highlands of its rival city Scala with its vineyards and olive groves. Ravello is known for its two exquisite botanical gardens, the Villa Cimbrone and the Villa Rufolo. Villa Cimbrone is a long walk uphill, far from the city center; not the option we took. Instead, we headed straight for the Villa Ruffalo, a palace built originally in the 13th century but rescued and renovated in the 19th century by Francis Neville Reid who bought the villa in 1851 and installed the elegant gardens that can be seen today. Its pavilions are terraced such that each looks down onto the next, all with a view of the bay far below. In spring it is a riot of neon-colored flowers and green sculpted hedges. Excavations in recent years have uncovered artifacts and foundations from its 13th-century origins. Towers and courtyard columns attest to the Moorish influence of the times. One can easily see why this garden has enchanted so many over the years, including Richard Wagner and Maurits Cornelis Escher, who may have been inspired by the Torre Maggiore’s staircase.

Although Ravello is also on the list of tourist must-sees, our early start avoided most of the crowds. Much to our dismay, the restaurant we wanted was closed, but the shop owner next door suggested we try Osteria Ravello, a family-run restaurant at the far end of town. With its outdoor terrace and excellent food, we were well cared for, especially when the owner’s mother adopted one of our group showering her and us with extra attention and treats. Returning to the center and the shopkeeper who had made the original recommendation and reservation, we found lots of souvenirs to take home and even some to keep. It was now mid-afternoon; the tour groups had begun to arrive, and it was time to leave.

Our final outing to Positano was for a birthday celebration. The storied Hotel Il San Pietro is at the summit of Positano just before Praiano. It has sweeping views of the entire bay, but most importantly it has valet parking. Tiered on the hillside, there are tennis courts, a pool and deck, a spa and garden and a small private beach far below, all accessed by an elevator built into the rock. Of course, one always has the option of walking, but a glance at the stairway was one more reason to hope the elevator was operational. Cocktails were first in order at the beautiful bougainvillea-filled terrace bar where Bellinis with fresh peach almost matched the stunning views. The San Pietro’s Michelin-starred main restaurant, Zass, is open only at night so we held our celebration in the beach-adjacent Carlino, an al fresco lunch spot where they have a farm-to-table concept drawn from their garden. The pasta was as fresh as the fish, and the atmosphere was festive. Sated, we were back on the road to the villa to pack up and snack on leftovers from previous evenings.

The Amalfi Coast, land of sun and endless lemon trees—it is not surprising that each local restaurant offers its own artisanal Limoncello, and we sampled any and all put in front of us. The sharpness of the colors, the salt in the air, the hairpin turns that seem to cantilever over thin air will be memories we always keep. And to all who follow, take a boat along the coast to get the full flavor of life on those shores. So don those linens and, for a brief moment, you too can be a jet-setter. 

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Looking for a break when the school is temporarily shut down, he takes a trip to neighboring Uruguay with a fellow teacher. Taking a companion was never his idea, but the needy teacher, unaware of the concept of boundaries, insisted and Michell acquiesced. Michell strikes gold on the dance floor, and he and his conquest leave the bar for a starlit stroll on the beach. But the beach is anything but pristine. An oil slick has marred the sand and dead penguins, suffocated by the toxic oil, have washed ashore. His companion immediately notices that one small penguin seems to have survived, and she insists that they take him back to Michell’s hotel and clean him up. Not how he envisioned his evening, but they succeed in saving the penguin, just not their possible romance.

Michell, disillusioned and laden down by a waddling bird, takes the penguin back to the sea to set him free. But that was Michell’s idea and not the penguin’s. Like a duckling imprinting on his presumed mother, the penguin follows him everywhere. Soon the two of them are on their way back to Argentina where Michell hopes to unload him at the zoo. First, however, is a trip through customs where the penguin is unable to keep his beak shut. But even during an interrogation where he tries to get the border agent to relieve him of the penguin, the penguin wins, Michell loses, and they traipse back to the school.

But, as you might surmise, this isn’t about the penguin at all but about the effect he has on one and all. Living on Michell’s balcony by day and in the bathroom by night, the penguin is a poorly kept secret. All who encounter him are entranced, and this wordless beast of the wild becomes the vessel for everyone’s confessions. Michell, so taciturn at his arrival, softens, almost imperceptibly, as he recognizes in others the troubles and sadnesses he has experienced in his past. It is not Michell who makes new friends but the penguin, now named Juan Salvador, who binds him to others. As Michell becomes more open to those around him, he also begins to understand the horrific political situation that bleeds into the lives of everyone he encounters.

Michell arrived in Argentina just as the military staged a coup to remove Isabel Perón from power. When Juan Perón died in 1974, his wife Isabel took over the government. She was ineffectual on all fronts, losing her congressional majority and struggling to suppress both left- and right-wing guerrilla organizations. She was an easy target, unable to stop the violence between the factions and hampered by the runaway inflation that would continue to get worse as time went on. Michell’s easy gig became fraught with danger and anger as his eyes are opened, in great part because of his feathered companion. He begins to understand what the workers around him experience daily.

“The Penguin Lessons” benefits greatly from its two stars. Steve Coogan, Michell, transforms gradually from a taciturn curmudgeon looking to escape the world around him to an empath whose eyes are opened to pains greater than his own. He becomes a man who, when faced with dire circumstances, learns to lean in and face them, aiding others as he helps himself.

Jonathan Pryce, a master of supercilious characters, plays the headmaster as a man who has lived his life as a self-impressed impresario never seeing the forest for the trees because the forest contains dangers he’s ill prepared to face. His interactions with the powerful parents of his students are obsequious; with his employees he is a martinet, exercising power rather capriciously, taking out his frustration on those who can’t fight back.

But the true star of this tale, the one who’s in the title of the film, is the penguin. Never pass up an opportunity to interact with penguins, and this one is no different. Funny-looking, scruffy animals whose stench is unmistakable, penguins are endlessly entertaining. Their behavior is repetitive—eat, waddle, swim, squawk and repeat—and always hilarious. They are unbelievably cute and charming and, as was the case in this film, very loyal. They have individual personalities, some industrious, others lazy, some enterprising, others grifters, but they are amusing and always watchable. All the adult actors generously ceded to the actions of Juan Salvador.

This may be the first time a penguin was used to deepen character development and underscore lessons in life. Like the others in the film, I, too, would have opened up to Juan Salvador, aware, on the one hand, that he couldn’t understand what I was saying and believing, on the other hand, that he was leading me down a path to enlightenment.

W.C. Fields famously said, “Never work with children or animals” and he had a point. The penguin stole every scene and every heart both on screen and off. Don’t miss this one. Like every great British actor, it’s all in his eyes.

Opening March 28 at the AMC Century City 15, AMC Santa Monica 7 and AMC The Grove 14.

Neely Swanson spent most of her professional career in the television industry, almost all of it working for David E. Kelley. In her last full-time position as Executive Vice President of Development, she reviewed writer submissions and targeted content for adaptation. As she has often said, she did book reports for a living. For several years she was a freelance writer for “Written By,” the magazine of the WGA West, and was adjunct faculty at USC in the writing division of the School of Cinematic Arts. Neely has been writing film and television reviews for the “Easy Reader” for more than 10 years. Her past reviews can be read on Rotten Tomatoes where she is a tomatometer-approved critic.

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“A Thousand Blows” comes from the very astute pen of Steven Knight, creator of “Peaky Blinders.” Set in the late 19th century in the savage East End of London where death is sometimes a blessing, Hezekiah and best friend Alec have recently immigrated from Jamaica in search of their fortune, but the unfriendly streets of London are mired in mud not paved in gold. A lucky encounter with Mary Carr, a pretender to the throne of bandit queen, yields a place to stay. They take their chances on a boxing scheme at the local pub advertising cash prizes for anyone who can stay in the ring against the house favorites, Treacle Goodson and his brother, Sugar. Wagering their last coins, Alec goes up against Treacle and Hezekiah against Sugar. Both are cheated; both lose. Mary, liking the look of both Jamaicans, believes they can be of use to her in her audacious robbery plans.

But this is more than just a look at hardened and not-so-hardened criminals, nor is it entirely the haves vs. the have-nots. Sugar and Treacle represent the dying world of bare-knuckle boxing. A new form is emerging using specially made gloves, imported from America, the so-called sport of kings with the Marquess of Queensbury rules. “A Thousand Blows” isn’t just boxing; it’s revenge, racism, brutality, women looking forward, at least in a criminal sense; most of all, it tells a great, complicated, brutal story. The cast sets this show apart from others. Malachi Kirby plays Hezekiah with the right balance of ambition and disappointment. Erin Doherty is the ambitious criminal mastermind, Mary Carr. And then there is Stephen Graham, all fire and savage ferocity, a man being left behind whose inability to control his violent temper may be his undoing. And yet, Graham, as always, finds the humanity in this animal of a man. He has one of those, “Where have I seen him?” faces. Short, a bit squat with the face of a man who’s seen more than his share of fists to his kisser, his eyes always tell the story.  Graham infuses a touch of vulnerability into even his most evil characters allowing you a window into the complex motivation that drives the performance.

Now streaming on Hulu.

“Adolescence” was co-created and co-stars Stephen Graham in the role of a loving father drowning in circumstances beyond his control. This four-part limited series begins as police arrive at the home of the Millers. They are there to arrest 13-year-old Jamie for a crime that they refuse to specify. Terrified, Jamie is pulled away as his family, father Eddie, mother Manda and sister Lisa watch helplessly. At the police station, informed of his rights and stripped of his possessions, the interrogation begins when the court-appointed lawyer and his terrified and befuddled father, his appropriate adult, enter the room. Jamie has been accused of murdering a classmate, something he screamingly denies.

Each of the four episodes, all filmed in real time in one continuous shot, tells the story going forward, from his arrest and interrogation by the police; the effect his arrest has on his schoolmates; his interview by a psychologist; and finally, the effect on his family over almost a year’s period of time as Jamie remains in a juvenile facility. The continuous filming style lends a reality and tension to the story that is palpable. The performances are superb, led by Owen Cooper playing Jamie as he gradually reveals the complexity of his character, a complexity that was missed by all the adults around him. Erin Doherty is the sympathetic psychologist trying to learn enough about an uncooperative Jamie to mitigate what may be a harsh sentence if he is found guilty. Stephen Graham, as Jamie’s father, reveals all the colors of a man who has struggled to lift up his family, who is overwhelmed by routine circumstances, let alone the discovery that despite his efforts he may not have known or understood his son enough to help him through this difficult period. “Adolescence” is a must-see. Building slowly from the beginning, it earns your attention and the questions you will be forced to ask about who and what you may actually know about your own family. That director, Philip Barantini, successfully filmed each episode as a “one shot” added immensely to the personal rapport you feel with the characters.

Now streaming on Netflix.

“Deli Boys” is an off-the-wall, very funny take on the kind of crime family you might least expect. Always on the radar of the FBI, Pakistani magnate, Baba, has suddenly died, leaving no heir to his Philadelphia conglomerate of spicy foods and golf courses. Baba was quite a diversifier and well-connected enough that the Feds were forced to look the other way during his lifetime. With his death, they swoop in and gather up everything with even a remote connection to his kingdom. Spoiled sons Raj and Mir, totally clueless, arrive at the company board meeting to plead their case to be the new CEOs, oblivious to the raid going on all around them,

It turns out that Baba was a drug distribution kingpin and money launderer, hiding the product in jars of orange hot sauce, a recipe he brought with him from Pakistan. But the rest of his board, as hamstrung as they are at the moment, have no intention of turning over the drug business to the idiot sons until … it becomes convenient to do so. There are gangsters, rival gangs out for revenge, daughters of gangsters who want a shot at the big time or a date with Raj, the two board members, Lucky and Ahmad, who are still vying for control of the operation and the less than adept agents trying to find the drugs. Swiftly paced, each episode has more jokes that land than not and it’s a fun, absurd take on characters you rarely see on screen.

Now streaming on Hulu.

“Running Point,” borrowing heavily from the Buss family playbook, is a broad-stroke look at the Waves, a team not unlike the Lakers, and the family that runs it, the Gordons. Daddy was a sexist, racist jerk who put eldest son Cameron in charge when he died. Sons Ness and Sandy have significant roles in management, and although Ness’ skills are still being debated, Sandy is a more than competent financial exec. Left out of the mix was daughter Isla whose intimate knowledge of the sport and team was always ignored. But Cameron was paying attention, and when he is arrested and sent to rehab after crashing his car into a restaurant while swallowing pills and shooting meth, he appoints Isla to run the team, much to the surprise and consternation of Ness and Sandy.

The team is flailing; they’ve lost their sponsor, and one of their stars, Travis, is causing all sorts of mayhem and refuses to listen to a woman. Yes, Isla has her hands full. Her brothers are constantly undermining her and a new problem has entered the arena, an unknown Latino half-brother from Boyle Heights. What, they ask, is he legitimately entitled to if he’s illegitimate? Isla takes him under her wing, for better or worse (and it’s both).

A comic soap opera, whose jokes and characterizations usually descend to the lowest common denominator, it has the bones of a good comedy if it can increase the likeability of some of the characters and ground it a bit better in reality. Trying too hard to be funny, it is at its best when situations find the bullseye in the quieter moments.

Kate Hudson, as Isla, shines with her physical comedy, but it remains to be seen how close to the bone the writers will take it given that Jeannie Buss is one of the producers. It is hoped that pointed humor will be allowed to transcend the need to appease.

Now streaming on Netflix.

“Zero Day,” Robert De Niro’s first foray into series television should have been something to celebrate. There is a conspiracy theory crisis operating at the highest level of government. A cyberattack has occurred and temporarily knocked out key functions. But this is just the start, and the president must get to the bottom of this threat. Former president George Mullen is called in to lead the investigation, and the deeper he digs, the dirtier things get. People at the highest level of government may be involved and he becomes trapped in his own investigation. The next promised cyberattack will kill thousands if Mullen can’t find the perpetrators. He has the go-ahead from the president to use whatever draconian means necessary.

The plot was potentially good, but the series falls flat. There is no tension in something that should have had tension in its DNA. This is extremely surprising given the star power on display, most of whom were unable to infuse their roles with urgency. De Niro stars as former president Mullen and also starring are Joan Allen as Mullen’s wife, Matthew Modine as a congressman, Angela Bassett, as the president and Bill Camp as the CIA director. None, however, found any depth or urgency to their characters. The sole exception is Jesse Plemmons, who plays Roger Carlson, Mullen’s assistant in the investigation. Plemmons is good enough in this role to momentarily take the focus off how flat and insignificant the solution is.

Now streaming on Netflix. 

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Young Úrsula Iguarán and José Arcadio Buendía, cousins of unknown degree, are very much in love and want to marry. Her parents forbid it, saying that it would be tantamount to inbreeding and their babies would be born with pig’s tails. Undeterred, they marry, although Úrsula’s self-made chastity belt prevents its consummation, so fearful is she of her mother’s prediction. Rumors about their unusual relationship spread, and José, humiliated, kills Prudencio, the rumor monger. Haunted by Prudencio’s ghost, José Arcadio decides to leave the village with his wife and a band of followers to find a paradise far away, preferably near the sea. Cutting their way through jungle and growth that has never been tamed by man, exhausted, they settle on a great expanse near a river with enough prosperous land for everyone. It is here they start the town of Macondo, unfettered by church or state, ruled only by goodwill and the kind of honesty that friends rely on. Trading on their skills, the town soon has most of the benefits of civilization – brothels, bars, families, goods and services—managed only by good faith and the Biblical adage, “love thy neighbor as thyself,” although they left the Bible and judgmental attitudes behind as well.

They doted on their sons, young José Arcadio and Aureliano. Pilar the fortune teller remarked on young José Arcadio’s endowment, selfishly taking full advantage of it, and pronounced that Aureliano would have precognition, a dubious gift indeed. The town’s isolation is eventually disturbed by the arrival of a gypsy band and their leader, the alchemist Melquiades, who stays in Macondo to mentor the senior José Arcadio. Melquiades will be both his savior and his downfall.

People come and go, returning and leaving again. The Buendía family expands with new members, both wanted and unwanted, and the town grows more prosperous. When José Arcadio the elder retreats to his laboratory, convinced that Melquiades’s alchemical teachings will lead him to turn metal into gold, the age-old promise, Úrsula must take charge of the family. His mystical science is mundane, and her everyday household maintenance literally raises her in the air.

This sweeping tale of family, love, death, heartache, petty jealousy, friendship and rivalry mirrors, in its own way, the history of their new country, Colombia, a land of hope, prejudice, insularity, corruption and continued revolution. It will engulf you with flowers raining from the skies and have you believe that there could have been a plague of insomnia, sent to punish those who would doubt.

“One Hundred Years of Solitude” will transport you to a land imaginary, yet full of real emotion. It is where you’d like to go but be afraid to stay because the dreams and nightmares of the Buendía family are all too real. Challenge yourself not to watch more than two episodes at a time so that each action and character can stay with you overnight, allowing you to savor every minute of the magic that seems so real.

The actors, most of whom you will not have heard of, are magnificent. Listen to them in the original Spanish, rather than the dubbed version, to get the full flavor of their inflection and emotion. Too many to mention, each member of the Buendía family ages into a new actor as they grow older. It is only Pilar, the fortune teller, prolific at spreading her genes to the Buendías, who seems ageless, and maybe that’s the point.

It was apparent from the moment it appeared on the literary horizon in 1967 that “One Hundred Years of Solitude” was a masterpiece, one of the acknowledged greats of the 20th century. Márquez would be awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1982. He refused all efforts to obtain the film rights to his novel, unconvinced that his sprawling story of the Buendía family could be told in the two-to three-hour format of a film. Written in the style of magical realism, where the real is fanciful and the fanciful is real, filmmakers have long struggled to bring this kind of metaphorical storytelling to the screen successfully. Following his death, those rights were transferred to his widow, Mercedes, and his two sons, Gonzalo García Barcha, an artist, and Rodrigo García, a highly regarded writer and director of American film and television.

Presented with the possibility of telling the story over eight episodes, the family acquiesced, dependent on certain conditions. The filming must take place entirely in Colombia, capturing the beauty, culture and atmosphere of the story; the cast must be made up primarily of Colombian actors and filmed entirely in Spanish with a Colombian production team involved in making the series. With those stipulations met, Netflix obtained the rights to García Márquez’s masterpiece. Both García sons are executive producers of the series, one that they can take enormous pride in.

Cinematographers Paulo Perez and Sarasvati Herrera bring the breathtaking Colombian locations to life. Production Designers Eugenio Caballero and Barbara Enriquez created a Macondo that is real and imaginary at the same time. The colors vibrate and the sets reach into the heart of the different eras. Costuming by Catherine Rodriguez is positively tactile. The direction, divided between Alex Garcia Lopez and Laura Mora Ortega, delivers the world that the various writers presented.

All of the above-cited actors are Colombian, most with impressive experience in the world of Spanish-language filmmaking. The intensity of Marleyda Soto’s older Úrsula will warm you and make you quake at the same time. She carries the family and Macondo on her back like a beast of burden who is deadly when cornered. Diego Vásquez is the adult José Arcadia in middle and old age, lost in the stars and driven mad by the fumes of his laboratory and his crushed dreams. Claudio Cataño plays the adult Aureliano with the sadness of lost love and the passion of a cause as his importance grows with his maturity. Édgar Vittorino is all sex, tension, passion and power as José Arcadio, the son as an adult, returned from seeing the world after disappearing with Melquiades’ gypsies. Akina, Rebecca the mystery relative, raised as a Buendía is staggeringly beautiful and haunted, eating dirt as a punishment for sins she hasn’t committed. There are so many others, especially the younger versions of the Buendía family, whose depth of acting enhances the already full characters they have been given to bring to life. And that’s the point. This series has brought this magnificent book to light, allowing you to absorb the magical realism as though it occurred on a daily basis to ordinary souls like us. I, too, believe I can levitate.

Now streaming on Netflix. 

Neely Swanson spent most of her professional career in the television industry, almost all of it working for David E. Kelley. In her last full-time position as Executive Vice President of Development, she reviewed writer submissions and targeted content for adaptation. As she has often said, she did book reports for a living. For several years she was a freelance writer for “Written By,” the magazine of the WGA West, and was adjunct faculty at USC in the writing division of the School of Cinematic Arts. Neely has been writing film and television reviews for the “Easy Reader” for more than 10 years. Her past reviews can be read on Rotten Tomatoes where she is a tomatometer-approved critic.

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Sadly, Sondheim passed away before the show was little more than a concept, but Mackintosh, a true believer, has come up with an amazing array of songs performed by a very talented cast, headlined by Bernadette Peters and Lea Salonga.

Sondheim got his start at the ripe old age of 27 writing the lyrics for “West Side Story,” and Lea Salonga’s solo of “Somewhere” will send shivers. But his goal was to write the words and music and almost got that chance with “Gypsy” when Ethel Merman, its star, demanded someone more experienced for the music. Still, his lyrics for that show are amazingly smart, sharp, pungent and funny. Lea Salonga, once again, brings down the house with her rendition of “Everything’s Coming Up Roses.”

“Sondheim’s Old Friends” has an interesting and engaging structure. Performed on an essentially bare stage with risers on the right and left delineated by streamers of light and a small orchestra upstage. Even if the songs are unfamiliar to you, and some will be, they are choreographed and staged as little plays unto themselves. If you’ve never seen “Into the Woods” (and I haven’t), you will still recognize its fairy tale structure and story. “Agony” is a tale unto itself about the frustrating quest of two entitled princes longing for their lady loves (Cinderella and Rapunzel), just out of reach as Cinderella’s fella holds tightly to her glittery shoe and Rapunzel’s suitor can’t quite reach her tresses. In “I Know Things Now” and “Hello, Little Girls,” Bernadette Peters is a fetching Red Riding Hood wary of and then wooed by the unctuous, handsomely evil wolf sung by Jacob Dickey.

I had completely forgotten Sondheim’s early musical, “A Little Night Music,” based on the Ingmar Bergman movie, “Smiles of a Summer Night.” But I was transported to long-ago memories as the cast sang a clever ode to the pitfalls of “A Weekend in the Country.” It highlighted the complicated relationships the characters had with one another, but especially with the owners of the country chateau to which they were invited. It leads directly to said chateau and into Bernadette Peters singing “Send in the Clowns” as the melancholy dirge about bad timing and lost love that it is. That song has been covered so many times, most memorably, I think, by Judy Collins, that it was nice to be reminded where it came from. Although Peters has lost some of her range and her edges are occasionally rough, she makes up for it all in her amazing, poignant and dramatic delivery.

I could go on and on, parsing each and every wonderful song, but it would be better for you to see this fantastic production. Most are from shows you might recognize like “Company” and “Into the Woods.” We are treated to a veritable “Reader’s Digest” condensed version of “Sweeney Todd” that highlights the dark humor of Mrs. Lovett, the worst pie maker in London, and the steadfast murderous vengeance of Sweeney Todd, all sung stunningly by Jeremy Secomb and Lea Salonga.

Beth Leavel channels her best Elaine Stritch in a stringent delivery of  “Ladies Who Lunch,” and Bonnie Langford belts that formidable number, “I’m Still Here” from “Follies” that documents the ups and downs of a life in the theater, but really, any life lived for passion.

By taking all of these songs, some from shows that are famous and others that aren’t, most notably, the hilarious “The Boy From,” a collaboration with Mary Rogers (the daughter of Richard) for the off-Broadway show “The Mad Show,” Cameron Mackintosh hasn’t just created an ode to Sondheim but also a love letter to musical theater. And he’s done it without plot or narration. The songs speak, or rather sing for themselves and immerse you in the messages that each puts forward, whether of love lost and/or found, cynicism, joy, sadness and regret.

Directed seamlessly by Mathew Bourne, who redefined ballet with his “Swan Lake,” and choreographed by Stephen Mear, whose dance numbers seem effortless (they’re not) and contribute greatly to how the production flows. So great is the direction and choreography that it seems invisible but, like the music, it will carry you away.

It is a very large cast of 15 extraordinarily talented singers and dancers, all with multiple Broadway and West End credits under their belts. There isn’t space to mention them all, but they all deserve mention.

My advice? Get tickets while you can to this limited pre-Broadway run.

Now playing through March 9 at the Ahmanson Theatre, 135 N. Grand Ave., Los Angeles. Check with Audience Services (213-628-2772) for matinees and performance times. 

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Lloyd Dallas, company director, is determined to get his production of “Nothing On” on its feet before he goes off to mount a backwater staging of “Richard III.” “Nothing On” is led by the formidable Dotty Otley, a soap star getting up in years who is counting on this play to jumpstart her fading career. Dotty, starring as Mrs. Clackett, plays the family retainer who has been left in charge of the Brent mansion while her employers reside in Spain for tax purposes. It’s her day off, but she’s decided to stay and watch the Queen’s something or other on the telly. Her presence where she isn’t supposed to be sets off a tsunami of misunderstandings. 

Roger Tramlemain, the estate agent who is in charge of the rental while the Brents are in Spain, arrives with dim bulb bimbo Vicki who has been led to believe that Roger owns the house. She’s counting on nooky during her lunch break and he’s eager to accommodate her. Imagine his surprise when he finds Mrs. Clackett, just settling down to a plate of sardines. (Never before has the lowly sardine been so prominently featured.) With Mrs. Clackett there, he must keep Vicki hidden and soon resorts to shoving her into various upstairs rooms and closets. Soon, other surprise visitors appear. Mr. and Mrs. Brent have snuck back into the country to celebrate their anniversary, something that could have disastrous tax implications, They, too, assumed Mrs. Clackett would be away.

Act One is the technical rehearsal of “Nothing On,” and Lloyd Dallas is having a devil of a time getting the actors to remember their cues, their lines and their props. This rehearsal is an unmitigated disaster, and doors that should open don’t and doors that shouldn’t, do. Like any farce, it is a play of doors opening and closing, mistaken identities and proper timing. “Nothing On” gets nothing right, making the upcoming opening of the play rather problematic, even if it is in the tiny village of Weston-super-Mare. That this is the beginning of a roadshow of off-off-off-West End village theaters does not bode well for the tour.

Act Two, mid-tour, takes us behind the stage as the actors wait for their cues and reveal the machinations and illicit affairs of the director and several of the cast members. Their arguments and criticisms of each other are less than soto voce and can be heard not just on stage but also in the audience (the very definition of “noises off).

Act Three, at the end of the tour, is back on stage, facing the audience, where the petty jealousies, affairs and rivalries (mainly romantic) have taken a final toll and nothing goes right with the play as things come crashing down around the actors, literally and figuratively.

“Noises Off” is as much about a play (“Noises Off”) within a play (the production of “Nothing On”) within a play (“Nothing On”) as it is a tribute to all the actors and producers of small-town theater that share the same difficulties as major productions. His characters are all types, and none too subtle, and the three acts illustrate the adage that familiarity breeds contempt, open hostility, and lots and lots of sardines.

The actors are definitely having fun playing actors playing actors playing actors, and trying to keep all the mayhem moving to its inexorable end. This production, transferred almost intact from the Steppenwolf Theatre Company of Chicago, is directed by Anna D. Shapiro, a Tony winner who understands what farce is and employs her excellent cast to good effect.

Dotty Otley as Mrs. Clackett, played knowingly by Ora Jones, is the star who needs a success to reestablish her fading career. Lloyd Dallas (Rick Holmes) has pretensions of grandeur with his Cambridge literature degree and minor success directing Shakespeare in unremarkable locales. Amanda Fink as Brooke Adams/Vicki is really good at being bad, not as easy as you would think; and David Lind playing Garry Lejeune playing Roger Tramplemain is tasked with making sure his Roger and Garry roles intersect into believable jealousy and pratfalls. The rest of the cast keeps the wheels moving while the gears continue to jam. The set, designed by Todd Rosenthal, is a masterpiece of moving parts, going from front of house to backstage and back to the front of house stage in the final act.

There were plenty of laughs and the audience was definitely enjoying this production. Frayn has written a good farce but often misses the mark by piling on too many incidents and coincidences. The play within a play within a play is a novel concept and is tailor-made for farce but the plot is a bit thin, using incident upon incident to drive the play until, at the inventive end, it collapses upon itself. Noel Coward in “Present Laughter” was a master at opening and closing doors and Alan Ayckbourn, arguably the most successful and accomplished farceur of the last 50 years, made adept use of backstage shenanigans in “A Chorus of Disapproval,” about an amateur operatic society production that upends the best intentions of its local director. Interestingly, the most successful farces have an undercurrent of sadness that serves to heighten the comedy and adds necessary depth. “Noises Off” gets almost everything right, but the depth is missing, an inadequacy of the play not the actors.

“Noises Off” is meant to be enjoyed for what it is—a lot of sound and fury signifying nothing but fun.

Now playing at the Geffen Playhouse through March 9. Performances take place Wednesday through Sunday with matinees on Saturdays and Sundays. Runtime is 2 hours and 30 minutes  including two intermissions. The Geffen Playhouse is located at 10886 Le Conte Ave., Los Angeles.

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LAB, now celebrating 20 years, is composed of a talented group of young dancers, only two of whom have been with the company for as long as six years. Their skills and technique are uniformly good and they dance with feeling. Unlike many companies, the men are as good as the women, and with more experience and more challenging choreography they may be able to make the leap from a good company to a very good or even excellent one.

Barak’s interpretation of Richter’s music as a backdrop to the Holocaust was ambitious but unrealized. Costuming and lighting were an attempt to set a somber stage but the dancing was, in its own way, a bit too light and lyrical to convey a message of tragedy. Still, the dancing was very good; the dancers performed well and occasionally the choreography was inspired, allowing the dancers to shine above what was often rather mundane. The second “act,” after intermission, was a bit better and more challenging than the first.

Had Barak not chosen to try to shoehorn the music and dance into an overly ambitious throughline, one would have been able to enjoy the performances as a very good example of the combination of modern dance vocabulary integrated into a more classical format. Instead, the question that repeatedly ran through my mind was, “What does this have to do with the Holocaust?” Leaving the theater, this same question was echoed by many of the patrons. If this was an attempt at a story ballet, it was not successful.

Nevertheless, the technique and emotion shown by the dancers, some homegrown and others from around the world, all with excellent training, were so good that I would love to see them do something else. They will perform “Cinderella” at the Dolby in June and are known for their “Nutcracker,” danced at various venues around town in December. These are more classical pieces, but I would very much like to see what they could do with ballets created by contemporary artists like Christopher Wheeldon, Amy Hall Garner or Robert Garland. The “Cinderella” that they will dance this summer is choreographed by Edwaard Liang, Artistic Director of the Washington Ballet and a choreographer of interest.

Melissa Barak’s vignettes did not challenge or allow the dancers to exhibit all that they may be capable of, and that is part of the problem. An evening like this one should have challenged not only the dancers but also the audience. Instead, it was a pleasant evening overshadowed by trying to understand what any of it had to do with World War II.

Of particular note, however, was the lighting design by Nathan Scheuer who brilliantly adhered to the theme by conveying a prison, barbed wire and desolation with designs that seemed three-dimensional and opaque and were anything but. Abstract trees on the back curtain seemed to move as the lighting magic gave the impression of movement and wind. One was convinced that the walls constructed of light patterns on a scrim were unbreachable. The non-traditional costuming by Holly Hynes was interesting but, with the exception of the gray outfits meant to suggest camp “pajamas,” was not evocative of the theme.

The end of the program was abrupt, coming suddenly with the black curtain falling and then rising, revealing all of the dancers, leaving the audience no time to reflect on the last vignette entitled “Quartet Fragment.” But then, maybe that was the point.

The Wallis Dance Series will continue with A.I.M. by Kyle Abraham on April 11-12. The internationally renowned Mark Morris Dance Group will perform May 16-18. Finishing the season on June 13-14 will be “Gatherings,” a program curated by Benjamin Millepied, Founder and Artistic Director of L.A. Dance Project.

In an apparently altruistic effort at conservation, The Wallis no longer provides printed programs. Accessing a program on your phone is counterintuitive for a number of reasons. An older crowd has more difficulty manipulating QR codes, myself included, and navigating the app is not intuitive. More importantly, however, cell phones need to be turned off during the performance, making it impossible to follow the thread of dance numbers or figure out who the dancers are. Donors are also given short shrift. Their names should be front and center as supporters of the arts and an example and influence to others; if not in a printed program, at least on a welcome board giving credit and thanks to the people who support the organization. Perhaps The Wallis can find a different approach to saving trees by streamlining the written material or offering old-fashioned stapled pages produced by an in-house printer. Please, please, return to the days of old when a tangible reminder of an evening out could be kept and savored long after the event instead of digitally and quickly forgotten.

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“Emilia Pérez” was a particular favorite of mine and is a leading contender for Best Picture, among many others. There hasn’t been a story this original in quite some time, if ever, and the fact that it’s a musical, or rather a story with musical numbers, makes it even more unique. Led by trans actress and Best Actress nominee (and the less said about her the better), Karla Sofía Gascón,” this story of a drug lord who undergoes surgery to become their true self, “Emilia Pérez” boasts a great script, a terrific cast, including Selena Gomez and Zoe Saldaña, a great score and musical numbers. It has been nominated in almost every conceivable category but is hands down the creation and work of director/co-writer Jacques Audiard. It’s a Spanish-language musical set in Mexico with Latino actors directed by an audacious French director, nominated not just for Best Picture, but it’s also France’s entry for Best International Feature Film. Even if it wins nothing, and that will happen only if there is no justice in the world of cinema, Audiard has crashed through barriers we didn’t know existed. Saldaña gave a golden performance, and my hope is that she wins the Oscar for Best Supporting Actress, like she did at the Golden Globes.

“I’m Still Here,” Brazil’s entry for Best International Feature Film, is an outlier. Its release at the end of the year and the publicity surrounding its theme, a repressive government’s kidnappings of alleged political opponents, may have contributed to its surprise nomination in the Best Picture category. It’s a good movie, but not a great one. Fernanda Torres, winning the Golden Globe for Best Actress may have contributed to her Oscar nomination as Best Actress in a Leading Role. She’s quite good, but as far as I’m concerned, her performance does not rise to the level of some other more worthy actresses in films that didn’t benefit from the remarkable publicity push of this one.

“Nickel Boys” definitely deserves to be on this list, although it’s a real long shot. Based on the excellent novel by Colson Whitehead, director and co-writer RaMell Ross attempted to tell this story of juvenile detention in the segregated South through the eyes of the two incarcerated boys, literally and figuratively. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t, but the approach is original and deserves recognition.

“The Substance” was an interesting choice, helped, no doubt by Demi Moore’s win at the Golden Globes. “The Substance” is that rare horror film to cross the breach into Best Picture territory. A black comedy about Hollywood’s tendency to cast aside actresses (not actors) of a certain age and the desire to recapture the beauty of youth, “The Substance” tells the tale of an older, but still great-looking, actress who has been deaccessioned from her on-air TV job. She learns of a new process that will let her, on a shared basis, return to her youth and live life again as that sought-after commodity. What happens when her younger self refuses to share and return to her older self, as per the agreement, quickly devolves into a graphic horror story. The plot is interesting, the acting is very good, but, in the end, literally and figuratively, it is a gothic horror show. A recent Opinion piece in the “New York Times” decried the lack of recognition given to horror films at the Oscars. What the writer doesn’t acknowledge is that most horror films are heavy on the make-up and gore and light on the writing, even when the plot is good. Case in point? “Nosferatu,” this year’s remake of the Dracula story that added nothing to the canon, but had the requisite wide-eyed innocence, gore galore and enough bad dialogue to earn a Razzie.

Demi Moore in “The Substance” was good in a role that she has, no doubt, lived but it doesn’t rise to the level of great acting. If she wins, it will be a vote from all the older actresses in the Academy who have unceremoniously been cast out unfairly and recognize themselves in this role. Does it warrant an Oscar? Not in my opinion and I fully understand the unfair judgment based on age. Under the circumstances, Margaret Qualley, the actress who plays the younger self, should have been nominated for Best Actress in a Supporting Role because she is the other half of Moore’s performance.

“Wicked” is number three at the 2024 box office with $433 million in revenue so far and it only opened on Nov. 22. It is a behemoth and deserves to be on this list because it is the whole package—lights, camera, action, great actresses in Cynthia Erivo and Ariana Grande both of whom have been nominated. The only controversy is that director John Chu was left off the nominations list for the Oscars and the DGA. That is a puzzle because there are a lot of moving parts in this beloved musical and they all worked together like gears in sync. Even more surprising was that Winnie Holzman, writer of the original musical and co-writer of the screenplay, was not nominated for adapted screenplay. The biggest movie of the year and neither the director nor the writer was nominated? That’s an unfathomable puzzle.

Snubs? Many people lamented that Denzel Washington was not nominated for “Gladiators II.” I loved his tongue-in-cheek performance but being the best thing in a not very good (but entertaining) movie is as unlikely to yield a nomination as losing out as MVP when you’re the best player on a bad team.

I was very surprised that Saoirse Ronan was not nominated for her outstanding performance in “The Outrun,” a completely overlooked film about a young woman returning home to recover from alcoholism and facing the demons she left behind. And, like the film or not, Amy Adams, in the quasi-horror film “Nightbitch,” gave a multilayered take on postpartum depression and a woman’s search for identity.

And finally, if it had been up to me, I would have included “The Count of Monte Cristo” on the Best Picture list. It’s in French and didn’t have wide exposure but it had the whole package from great acting, terrific story and production design capturing that period in history.

There’s not enough space to dissect the rest of the nominations. There were and still are some terrific films out there and more to come. Go to the theater. See a movie! 

Neely Swanson spent most of her professional career in the television industry, almost all of it working for David E. Kelley. In her last full-time position as Executive Vice President of Development, she reviewed writer submissions and targeted content for adaptation. As she has often said, she did book reports for a living. For several years she was a freelance writer for “Written By,” the magazine of the WGA West, and was adjunct faculty at USC in the writing division of the School of Cinematic Arts. Neely has been writing film and television reviews for the “Easy Reader” for more than 10 years. Her past reviews can be read on Rotten Tomatoes where she is a tomatometer-approved critic.

The post The Oscars—Who Did, Who Didn’t and Who Should Have | Oscar Nominees Part Two of Two appeared first on Beverly Hills Courier.

This year, I have seen all the Best Picture nominees and, unsurprisingly, I have my own opinions on what should and shouldn’t have been on that list. There are precious few surprises in the Best Picture category.

“Anora” is a multiple award winner with accolades for the young star Mikey Madison. To some, she came out of nowhere, but for anyone who saw her in Pamela Adlon’s series “Better Things,” where she played the sullen, rebellious and disrespectful teenage daughter whose anger allowed her to submerge her vulnerability, this is no surprise. She is a definite contender for Best Actress whose performance as a lap dancer/hooker who thinks she’s hit the big time reveals depth that goes beyond the soft porn sex that is organic to her character. She is mesmerizing, and the film, a very worthy contender, reveals surprising layers of complexity unexpected in such a graphic story. It also has, arguably, the best line in any film this year: “Your son hates you so much he married [a hooker] to piss you off.” Even if you haven’t seen the movie, that line says it all.

The odds-on favorite at this point is “The Brutalist.” I dragged my feet getting to this one because, as I told anyone who would listen, “Nothing is going to get me to spend four hours with Adrien Brody.” But went I did, and I’m glad. Not only did Brody surprise me, but the slightly less than 4-hour time frame was worth it. Brody, whose vocal and physical mannerisms have always annoyed me, played the lead, a Holocaust survivor who ekes out a career in Pittsburgh as an architect. Almost soundlessly, Brody relies on his very expressive face and eyes whose depth reveals a hard life survived and a tenacity to continue regardless of the odds, developing along the way a very memorable character. He is, in fact, better than this film, which meanders off in incomplete directions. That is not to say the film isn’t good, because it is; it’s just not as great as it could have been had director/co-writer Brady Corbett developed or dropped some of the unfinished characters and minor storylines that added little, other than time, to the overall plot. Guy Pearce, very credible as the patron of the architect, has some very good moments but, again, it is a lack of development that hinders his ability to fully flesh out the character. Felicity Jones, the architect’s wife, deserves a nomination just because she found more to play in this poorly sketched character than was obviously on the page.

“A Complete Unknown,” an attempt at telling Bob Dylan’s origin story, is a revelation. Directed and co-written by James Mangold, the Bob Dylan on screen unfolds as a musician and writer of genius who was unapologetic in the way he used people and circumstances to rise above the already talented field of folk singers in the Greenwich Village of the early ‘60s. Not only is this film evocative of an era, but it also yields one of the best and most surprising performances of the year. Timothée Chalamet gives a full-throated performance that doesn’t spare the arrogance, narcissism and manipulativeness of one of our greatest living artists. For me, having revered that era since my teens, Mangold has made a masterpiece. Most surprising, however, is Chalamet, a young actor who has always looked like a strong wind would topple him and shaking his hand might break it. And on top of everything, Chalamet sings all the songs with such a verisimilitude you could often swear it was Dylan’s voice. For me, one of the minor weaknesses was Monica Barbaro, who played Joan Baez. I felt none of the fire or earthiness of Baez, and her singing, unlike Chalamet’s, didn’t approach the magic of Baez. Ed Norton, as Pete Seeger, is very good and credible, portraying the fundamental goodness and eventual perplexity of a man whose time has passed.

“Conclave” is an excellent film raising intriguing questions about the process of electing a pope. Although Nanni Moretti’s film, “We Have a Pope,” was a more complex film covering much of the same material, “Conclave” presents the factions, politics and vote-getting strategies of the College of Cardinals as the conflict between ideology and Realpolitik. What is undeniably great about the film is the performance of Ralph Fiennes as the Cardinal leading the election. Subtle, sensitive, realistic and political, Fiennes finds all the colors, and more, to excavate the depth of this character and thus raises the film above some of the less subtle elements. Isabella Rossellini is also nominated for her role as the nun who holds some of the cards. 

Neely Swanson spent most of her professional career in the television industry, almost all of it working for David E. Kelley. In her last full-time position as Executive Vice President of Development, she reviewed writer submissions and targeted content for adaptation. As she has often said, she did book reports for a living. For several years she was a freelance writer for “Written By,” the magazine of the WGA West, and was adjunct faculty at USC in the writing division of the School of Cinematic Arts. Neely has been writing film and television reviews for the “Easy Reader” for more than 10 years. Her past reviews can be read on Rotten Tomatoes where she is a tomatometer-approved critic.

The post The Oscars—Who Did, Who Didn’t and Who Should Have | Oscar Nominees: Part One of Two appeared first on Beverly Hills Courier.

“Black Doves” is a slam-bam spy thriller set in the London of today with the unlikely premise that there is a non-sanctioned sub rosa agency, unallied with any government, gathering highly confidential British security information for sale to the highest bidder. Agents who have been groomed for decades have been placed within governmental departments or, in the case of the agent we will follow closest, married to a ministerial official.

Helen (Keira Knightly), one of the Black Doves most valued assets, learns that her extramarital lover has been killed and she risks everything, her family, her friends and her secret identity as a spy to learn who is behind this murder. Nothing and no one is who they appear to be, but Reed (Sarah Lancashire), head of the secret Black Doves group, will stop at nothing to protect her organization. She calls Sam (Ben Whishaw) back from retirement to protect Helen, but mostly to protect Reed’s consortium.

The storylines are complex, some with giant holes, but it doesn’t matter because these are actors you would follow anywhere playing complex and interesting individuals who are put in or put themselves in dangerous situations from which they will need help extricating themselves. While rooting for the protagonists, you forget that in many ways, they are the bad guys subject to elimination at the drop of a hat, or rather the drop of a Glock or stiletto. Oh, and the good guys aren’t necessarily good guys. “Black Doves” rarely goes where you think it will.

Streaming now on Netflix.

“The Sticky,” a take on the audacious theft in 2011-2012 of more than 9,500 barrels of maple syrup from the main storage facility in Quebec, plays fast and loose with the actual facts in an attempt to put a humorous spin on this bizarre but lucrative heist that was worth more than $18 million CAD.

Ruth Landry is a distressed maple syrup farmer under siege by the mayor, who wants her property and will go to any extreme to force her to sell. Remy, the syrup repository security guard, is treated by all as a dullard, but it is he, and he alone, who sees that a single security guard at the regional syrup storage facility is not enough. When his suggestions fall on the deaf ears of his cheap employers, he makes mention of this vulnerability to Mike, a local collector for the Montreal mob. Mike sees this as his ticket to the big time. Ruth, in desperate need of money, is recruited to work out the details, and it’s a good thing because there are more deficits to this team than assets, primarily the volatile and dimwitted Mike.

They don’t have to break into the depository because Remy is their inside man, but getting the syrup out and finding another place to store it is the real dilemma. Mike leans toward guns; Ruth leans toward brains and a well-thought-out execution with a fence for the goods. Keeping Mike under control will be the trick because his meltdowns come more and more frequently as the day of the robbery approaches.

I wish that this series had been better because its bones were great. The “based on a true story” aspect only goes as far as the idea of the heist itself, but I would watch Margo Martindale (Ruth) read the phone book (I don’t know what the tech equivalent to that would be) and she is the reason to see this meandering series. Guillaume Cyr as Remy is fine and Guy Nadon as Leonard, the greedy bureaucrat, has his moments of hilarity as a black-hatted villain. Unfortunately, Chris Diamantopoulos, Mike, plays his character completely over-the-top and is more of a distraction than a fully developed character. The directors and writers must have decided that more was never enough with Mike and more was the pity. Watch for a special surprise guest at the end when Mike’s mob boss makes an appearance, almost single-handedly pulling the show back on track.

Now streaming on Amazon Prime.

“Man on the Inside” had the inside track from the beginning. Starring Ted Danson as Charles, recently widowed and retired, he is, as his daughter Emily suggests, in need of a project. Looking through the classifieds, he spots an ad from a private investigation firm looking for a senior citizen. Julie, a private investigator, needs someone to go undercover at a retirement home. There have been recent thefts and an outsider who can blend in is the likely choice to investigate on the sly. Charles jumps at this adventure and arrives at the Pacific View Retirement Home with his “daughter” Julie. As a single man, he is immediately accosted by all the women and disdained by the few men. Didi, the smart and compassionate director, is both suspicious and under suspicion.

There will be conflict, there will be more thefts, there will be mistaken identities, but mostly there will be a connection back to life and to his somewhat estranged daughter Emily, who is none too pleased with this new endeavor. And this, dear friends, will only be the beginning because “A Man on the Inside” has already been renewed for a second season.

Created by comedy wizard Mike Schur, the primary reason to watch this is Ted Danson who has lost none of his appeal or ease in front of a camera. There are plenty of familiar faces doing cameos as the “inmates.” No new ground is broken and the comedy is soft, not laugh-out-loud, but there are worse ways to spend an evening and it finds its footing after about the fourth episode of the eight.

Now streaming on Netflix.

“Jerry Springer: Fights, Camera, Action” is a rock ‘em sock ‘em take on the television career of a man who started out high as the mayor of Cincinnati and ended up low, but very, very rich and changed the landscape of daytime TV.

Starting as just another mundane afternoon talk show competing against the behemoth that was “The Oprah Winfrey Show,” a new producer was found for the “Jerry Springer Show” to shake things up. Richard Dominick cut his teeth in the tabloids devising can’t-miss headlines like “I was Bigfoot’s love slave.” He knew what a headline could do and was determined to turn the talk show genre upside down. He loved chaos and encouraged it. Real people, some with real problems, were booked, not knowing that the most salacious aspects of their stories would be milked for audiences who were not unlike those watching the games in the Roman Colosseum, lusting for blood. Some of his shows were “I Married a Horse,” which was, literally, about a man in love with his miniature horse. Most notorious was the episode called “Secret Mistresses Confronted.” It resulted in the murder of one of the women by the other.

Weighing in at two episodes, this docuseries flies by, giving you an up-close and personal look at a complicated man who didn’t know when enough was enough.

Now streaming on Netflix.

“No Good Deed” is something of a kitchen sink drama that takes several episodes before finding its footing. Lydia (Lisa Kudrow) and Paul (Ray Romano) have decided to sell their home in Los Feliz. There is a troubling secret that inhabits this home where their son died under mysterious circumstances that will be revealed bit by bit, morphing from one thing to another. His death has paralyzed their relationship and Lydia’s career.

It is a very desirable house in a highly sought-after neighborhood. “No Good Deed” tracks the four different families interested in the home, each with a different motivation. Margo (Linda Cardellini) and her husband, ex-Soap star JD (Luke Wilson) live next door but crave this one. Dennis (O-T Fagbenle) and his pregnant wife Carla (Tenyoah Parris) think this is the perfect home for their expanding family. Unfortunately, without his mother (Anna Maria Horsford) contributing a substantial amount to the down payment, it’s out of their range. And finally, Leslie (Abbi Jacobson) and Sara (Poppy Liu) believe this is the dream home where they can start a family.

It takes too long to engage in the story but with the entrance of Lydia’s brother Mikey (Denis Leary), a shady sort, the mystery starts to be revealed. It’s all a bit over the top, but over the top is the point. No one is who you think they are and everyone has secrets.

Now streaming on Netflix. 

Neely Swanson spent most of her professional career in the television industry, almost all of it working for David E. Kelley. In her last full-time position as Executive Vice President of Development, she reviewed writer submissions and targeted content for adaptation. As she has often said, she did book reports for a living. For several years she was a freelance writer for “Written By,” the magazine of the WGA West, and was adjunct faculty at USC in the writing division of the School of Cinematic Arts. Neely has been writing film and television reviews for the “Easy Reader” for more than 10 years. Her past reviews can be read on Rotten Tomatoes where she is a tomatometer-approved critic.

The post TV — Churning Up the New and No Longer New appeared first on Beverly Hills Courier.

It is 1971 and the Paiva family lives comfortably at the beach in Rio de Janeiro. Eunice and Rubens enjoy a quiet life of joy with each other and their five children. Brazil has been under a military dictatorship since 1964 and, for a short time after, Rubens, a congressman in the pre-junta government, had to leave Brazil. Forcibly retired from politics, he works at his architecture firm designing for others as well as the dream house he has planned for his family. But there has been an uptick in government suppression and much like, actually identical to, the “desaparecidos” (the disappeared) in Argentina, also under military control, suspected leftists, so-called agitators, long-haired students and former politicians have been arrested and sequestered from view. Many were never seen or heard from again.

Rubens’ closest friends have chosen to move to London and beg him to come with them. An optimist at heart, he refuses but allows them to take his eldest daughter with them, fashioning it as a gap year. She has been traveling in dangerous company and the Paivas see the wisdom in removing her from the scene. Unfortunately, his optimism is misplaced and he, too, is soon arrested when a group of men, none in uniform, come to the house. Declaring that he will return as soon as he answers some basic questions, they leave two thugs at the house to monitor the family’s comings and goings. Not only does he not return but more para-militarists arrive at the home to arrest Eunice, subjecting her to a surreal experience in a hidden military jail full of unknowns and the unknowing, many of whom scream in torture.

Salles builds his story gradually, introducing us to the normality of the Paivas as they play and work and live the small annoyances and joys of every close-knit family. Not ostentatious, but it is clear they are wealthy, with staff,  private schools and the leisure of bathing daily in the sea outside their front door. 

The family is feeling the loss of the patriarch in myriad ways. His interactions with them all are documented in home movies that they enjoy watching and reliving. The nightmare intensifies when Eunice is snatched away. Returning home, she is changed and determined, with a steely-eyed focus. There had been rumors for some time that people were being abducted, never to return home. All she has ever wanted, or will want, is a definitive answer. She realizes that she will never be told what his alleged crime was, but she wants, needs to know whether he is still alive and, if so, where he is being held. This, basically, is what the film is about—the search for truth.

“I’m Still Here” refers to Eunice. It is her daily invocation just to know. Her bravery in the face of defeat is a portrait of valor, fighting against the odds for truth. A woman, alone in an oppressive patriarchy, fights and we follow.

Fernanda Torres, as Eunice, effortlessly exhibits a full range of emotions, sometimes within mere moments. She makes you care about Eunice and understand the untenable situation into which she has been thrust. She ages before your eyes, and in a casting coup, her mother, the 95-year-old Fernanda Montenegro, plays Eunice in her later years. Montenegro, it should be noted, was nominated in 1999 for Best Actress at the Academy Awards for her stunning role in “Central Station.” In a fitting tribute to those two generations, Torres recently won the Best Actress in a Drama at the Golden Globes. 

Selton Mello plays Rubens Paiva. Sympathetic, empathetic, joyful, serious, he paints his character with a nuanced palette. Salles and his writers have given each of the Paiva children fully developed characters imbued with adolescent prickliness, loneliness, love and closeness.

This is a powerful story, one that affected far too many. Brazil was only one of many countries whose unelected military dictatorships disappeared their enemies, many of whom were merely exercising a long-abandoned right to dissent. In Argentina, the wives and mothers of the “desaparecidos” still maintain a vigil outside the Casa Rosada (their White House) demanding answers, answers that rarely come. “I’m Still Here” is about demanding answers.

This is a swiftly moving film that rarely flags. If there is a fault, it is an all-too-common one. Salles had too much that he wanted to say. When he focused on Eunice’s steadfast demand for answers, one that she would maintain for many years, the movie is superb. When he deviated from his focus on the wrongs inflicted on the Paiva family and its political implications, he lessened the impact that he had established. Following Eunice’s activities as she established herself independent of her search became more of a “and then she did this and then she did that” kind of narrative. Yes, Eunice Paiva was an interesting and courageous woman who broke barriers and defied expectations, but this is a movie about a search for answers. By expanding the premise he originally set out, he made the ending feel more like a coda.

This is a must-see movie if only from the standpoint that we should never forget what happened and try to make sure it doesn’t happen again, there or anywhere.

In Portuguese with English subtitles.

Opening Jan. 17 at the Laemmle Royal and AMC The Grove 14. 

The post ‘I’m Still Here’—Forever appeared first on Beverly Hills Courier.

Michael Gracey, the director, was entranced with Williams the first time he met him. The real-life Williams is a character straight out of a phantasmagoric music video, one that might have been created by Terry Gilliam or Luis Buñuel and choreographed by Bob Fosse, minus the jazz hands. In Williams, he saw a life lived at supersonic speed whose inevitable crash resulted in a fathomless crater only to rise again slowly like a phoenix out of the ashes. And who better to curate that story, a story that has been told a million times before but rarely as well or realistically, than Williams himself? And here is where maudlin reality meets surreal originality.

Williams has referred to himself on multiple occasions as a performing monkey, whether showing off for his schoolmates, dancing to the tune of record executives and managers, performing on stage, or retreating into the pain from the poking and prodding of visitors to the zoo of his existence. And this is how Williams and Gracey chose to tell his story. The character of Robbie Williams is portrayed by an ape (with prosthetic makeup that defies description) and voiced by Williams himself. The effect is stunning. It both draws attention to his bizarre reality and becomes almost normalized while heightening the reality of Robbie’s eccentric worldview from the beginning. You will be surprised how acclimatized you become to this anthropomorphic creature.

Born the son of pub owners and raised by his father on the music of Sinatra, Davis and Martin, his own personal Rat Pack touchstone, Williams, a poor student, knew that all he wanted out of life was to be famous. He didn’t think he had any particular skills, but he knew he craved the spotlight fueled by a narcissistic father with unreachable entertainment expectations and a loving grandmother, Betty, who was always there with unconditional love. “I wouldn’t change a thing about you,” was her mantra to him. He was close to flunking out of school at age 15 when he spied an ad in the classifieds for singers who could dance for a new boy band being put together; manufactured is a better description. Audacious in his choice of music for the audition with manager Nigel Martin-Smith, his sheer chutzpah wins him the gig and the 15-year-old Robert, now rechristened Robbie, is off and running. Modeled after “New Kids on the Block,” “Take That” was conceived in 1990 and built around singer/songwriter Gary Barlow, with bandmates Howard Donald, a car painter; Jason Orange, a break dancer; Mark Owen, a bank teller; and Williams, the youngest, having just turned 16.

Immature, insecure, with uncontrollable bouts of anxiety, Robbie not only finds courage in alcohol and drugs but also envy and jealousy. Wildly popular with tween girls, “Take That” is a well-choreographed, singing sensation and rises to the top of the charts. But everything is centered around Barlow with Robbie resentful of being relegated to the background. Robbie, the problem child (or in this case the problem performing monkey) becomes increasingly unpredictable, unhappy that his compositions have all been ignored in favor of Barlow. By 1995, upset by his temperamental instability and increasing drug use, the band drops him from their world tour, in effect cutting him loose, eventually leading to the breakup of the band. Now, for better or worse, they are all on their own.

Not yet 22, Williams’ solo career was a success from the beginning and continued unabated for almost 10 years despite his increasing use of drugs. Seemingly unable to stop the demons, his professional and personal relationships careen down the slope of steadily higher doses of narcotics and alcohol. Ironically, Robbie the monkey is the monkey on his own back and at some point something will give; but this is a journey for you to take and not for me to tell.

“Better Man” is precisely that, the story of a better man, or monkey if you will. Williams as a monkey at the beginning is different from the ape at the end. A genuinely affecting portrayal of mental illness hidden in the aura of the crowd’s adoration, his depression and anxiety are as heartbreaking as they are horrifying. When told that mental maturity stops at the age when one achieves greatest success, he comments that he stopped growing at 15 and has been acting out as a 15-year-old ever since.

It’s always hard to sympathize with the problems of the rich and famous, and equally hard to analyze the root causes. Certainly, success came suddenly for the boy who wanted nothing more than to be famous without the need for that fame to come from achievement. Instead of recognizing his enormous talent, he retreated deeper into narcissism, allowing his bad behavior to mask the insecurity and lack of worth that he felt. Perhaps it can be traced to the 15-year-old’s desires that never understood how to earn respect or, as is too often the case in psycho-dramas, it was daddy issues. His father, a man of little talent who left the family to chase his entertainment dreams, ignored Robbie, preferring to live in a trailer and perform in low life pubs for marginal pay. Certainly, he was willing to come back sporadically into Robbie’s life when fame hit his son and might reflect off him. It didn’t and this only seemed to magnify Robbie’s lack of self-worth. But again, these are first-world problems and if this movie weren’t so impossibly entertaining, you wouldn’t care to follow the thread. But follow it you will, and willingly, because Gracey, co-writing the script with Oliver Cole, Simon Gleeson and Robbie Williams, has produced a wildly entertaining movie that doesn’t just ask how Robbie was able to survive, but also, why haven’t I ever heard of him. His voice is magic, his music compelling and his presence magnetic. He succeeded on the world stage without any American hits.

Jonno Davies is the model for the monkey. Williams was digitally scanned and motion-captured as he sang so that his expressions and mannerisms could be incorporated into Davies’ motion-captured performance. It’s all above my pay grade, but suffice it to say, visual effects (VFX) and suits laden with LEDs played a major role in fusing Davies and Williams into the very realistic monkey.

Steve Pemberton played Robbie’s father Peter Williams who eventually went by his stage name Peter Conway. Pemberton is the very embodiment of every man (or woman) who leaves a family in the lurch because he lacks the inner stamina to address an issue. The collateral damage in this case was the needy Robbie who idolized his dad. Pemberton brings ambivalence and jealousy into his performance. Kate Mulvany plays Robbie’s mother, Janet. It was a shame that her character remained so undeveloped, because without her strong stability Robbie wouldn’t have been able to fly on his own in the first place. Alison Steadman was Betty, his beloved grandmother. Steadman has the wonderful ability to convey depth of feeling with few words. Damon Herriman is Nigel, the creator and manager of “Take That.” Herriman, an extraordinarily versatile actor known for his portrayal of Charles Manson in “Once Upon a Time in Hollywood” and as the criminally moronic redneck Dewey Crowe in “Justified,” is the very embodiment of driven and ambiguously untrustworthy. It’s all in the eyes and that tight smile. I can imagine that he feasted on that role. Raechelle Banno, an extraordinary dancer, is Nicole, Robbie’s first love whom he betrays countless times until, recognizing the depth of his damage, she gives up. Her graceful fluidity envelops him and us; her eyes tell the story of the cost.

The production values are off the scale and this film will leave you reeling from the rock footage, putting you center stage with the boys. This is also a primer in rock show production and backstage preparations and shenanigans. The choreography by Ashely Wallen is not just present in the dance sequences but in the way movement seems to blend into movement. The dance sequence on the yacht between Nicole and Robbie is a high point in the film, reminiscent of the duet between Emma Stone and Ryan Gosling in “La La Land.”

I’m in love with this movie—the singing, the dancing, the drama, the hilarity. The story is as old as Greek mythology and only goes to prove that if you tell a story well, it doesn’t matter if it’s been told before. This story is exceedingly well told. I wish the Robbie of today would tour the U.S. Alas, no.

Opening Jan. 10 at the AMC Century City 15 and The Grove 14.

Neely Swanson spent most of her professional career in the television industry, almost all of it working for David E. Kelley. In her last full-time position as Executive Vice President of Development, she reviewed writer submissions and targeted content for adaptation. As she has often said, she did book reports for a living. For several years she was a freelance writer for “Written By,” the magazine of the WGA West, and was adjunct faculty at USC in the writing division of the School of Cinematic Arts. Neely has been writing film and television reviews for the “Easy Reader” for more than 10 years. Her past reviews can be read on Rotten Tomatoes where she is a tomatometer-approved critic.

The post ‘Better Man’—And Pretty Good at That appeared first on Beverly Hills Courier.

It is the best of times and the worst of times in France. Napoleon is exiled to Elba and the royals are back in power. But that tenure is in danger because of rumors that Napoleon’s legion of followers are planning his return. 

There has been an accident at sea and a ship is on fire, its passengers lost with the exception of a woman floundering in the water. Captain Danglers has ordered his crew to charge ahead and ignore any survivors from the other ship. Sailor Edmund Dantès, ignoring the order, dives into the water and rescues the woman. Enraged that his orders were disobeyed, he restricts the woman, Angèle, to cramped quarters, commandeers her belongings, including a hidden letter, and tells Dantès that his career is over. The letter? A missive signed by Napoleon to his followers in France. The woman? A spy and anti-royalist. Danglers will find a use for that letter and will profit handsomely. As for Dantès, things don’t go as planned. The owner of the fleet is impressed by his bravery and promptly fires Danglers and replaces him with Dantès, making the 22-year-old Dantès one of the youngest captains in France. Seething, Danglers is unhinged but with a plan to even the scores.

Dantès, a man of humble origin, is thrilled that he now has the means to marry the woman of his dreams, Mercédès, the aristocratic daughter related to the owners of the estate, the Morcerfs, for whom the Dantès family has served for years. It was Mercédès’ relatives, the Morcerfs, who sent Dantès to the Naval Academy and will be thrilled with his promotion; less thrilled, perhaps, with the engagement of their daughter to the son of a servant. But love should conquer all and even Mercédès’ cousin, Fernand de Morcerf, seemingly supports him, all the while secretly fuming with jealousy.

To round out the trio of anti-Dantès schemers is Gerard de Villefort, the king’s prosecutor. Angèle, rescued from drowning by Dantès, is Villefort’s sister and a follower of Napoleon, something that would derail his promising career with the royalists. When Danglers appears with her letter, Villefort is ensnared in a trap, one where Danglers offers him a convenient out benefiting them both. Villefort must make sure that no one discovers who was carrying it, and when Danglers offers the prospect of framing Edmund Dantès with the letter, he jumps at it.

The King’s guards are sent to the church where Dantès and Mercédès are about to say their wedding vows, taking him away to the prosecutor’s offices. Proclaiming to be convinced of his innocence, Fernand rides to his rescue. Instead, Villefort convinces Fernand that bringing Dantès to trial will sully the Morcerf name. Morcerf immediately changes sides and swears in a letter that he knew Dantès to be a follower of Napoleon and a traitor to France. Rather than put him before a jury, Villefort has Dantès spirited away to the Chateau d’If, an impregnable prison fortress on an island off the coast of Marseilles, never to be seen again, or so they all assume.

Already imprisoned for four years, ragged, starving, without hope, Dantès is contemplating suicide when he hears noises behind one of his walls. A prisoner in the adjacent, seemingly impenetrable, cell has broken through, mistakenly thinking that he was about to reach the outer wall to the sea. He is the Abbé Faria, imprisoned when, as the last guardian of the fortune amassed by the Knights Templar, he refused to divulge its location. He had been digging for years to arrive at Dantès cell and, with Dantès’ help, and if they’re lucky, it might only take another 10 years to make it to the outside wall and freedom. Recognizing that Dantès is poorly schooled, he offers to teach him while they work. It will be a university of one where he will learn modern and ancient languages, philosophy, history, mathematics and science. And when they reach their goal, Faria has promised to split the hidden spoils with him, making him rich beyond measure.

But this is less than an hour into the movie because it’s not about his escape, it’s about what he does afterwards. Edmund Dantès has understood one thing perfectly. Revenge is a dish best served cold. As the mysterious Count of Monte Cristo, returning to Paris where all his targets now live, he is sought after by one and all. Wealthy, educated, sophisticated, aristocratic, what he has in store for his enemies will surprise even them. Dante’s wiles and long-range planning beg the question, how much is enough retribution or can it ever be enough?

Written by Alexandre Dumas, a prolific author of adventure novels, denigrated by academics and revered by readers of all ages, he was almost as interesting as the characters he wrote. His father, Thomas-Alexandre, was the illegitimate product of a slave and a nobleman, the Marquis de La Pailleterie. The Marquis took Thomas back to Paris to educate him, but in a parting blow to his concubine and their daughters, he sold them to another. Thomas, ineligible to inherit the estate of the marquis, was granted his freedom and sent to a military school. He started his career in the army as a lowly soldier, rising to the rank of general at the age of 31 under Napoleon. Upon his early death in 1806, Alexandre, aged 4, and his sisters would suffer greatly until he began his writing career, first as a journalist and then as a playwright. His plays and minor works, works that were written with collaborators, brought him wealth but nothing like the acclaim and fortune he received for his most important novels, “The Corsican Brothers,” “The Three Musketeers” and “The Count of Monte Cristo.” With the money he earned from the latter two, he built a country home outside Paris and called it the Château de Monte-Cristo.

Dumas wrote in an almost cinematic style. His books were page-turners with scenes that were visual, exciting and visceral, making them easy to translate to the big screen. And they have been, over and over again since 1905. De la Patellière and Delaporte have taken minor liberties with some of the characters but those changes are almost seamless in terms of the original story.

No one does period drama better than the French. The British come close and Americans get it right more often than not, usually using locations in Czechoslovakia and Hungary that double for 18th and 19th-century Western Europe; but nothing like the French who have preserved more of their landscape and architecture. This “Count of Monte Cristo” is a feast for the eyes using existing chateaux and surrounding grounds to lend an authenticity that is hard to duplicate. Employing sleight of hand, the hair and makeup department create character and plot points with wigs and masks. The costuming is period perfect befitting the wealth portrayed by the main characters and the rags of the wretched, especially those of Edmund as he suffers in the prison fortress. The cinematography by Nicolas Bolduc is peerless, capturing the lushness of the countryside and the austerity of the unlit prison.

But this is nothing without the superb actors, many of whom are stars of the Comédie Française, attesting to their theatrical experience and the subtlety they bring to their roles. Of special note are the villains. Bastien Bouillon brings an ambivalence to the evil narcissism of Fernand de Morcerf, whose betrayal of Dantès may be the greatest. Patrick Mille, as Danglers, has the self-satisfied air of a man who cheats, schemes and is unapologetic about his lack of moral compass. It is Laurent Lafitte as Villefort who brings a gravitas to the prosecutor who distrusts all and, in having the most to lose, treads more carefully around the others, always setting up a fall guy whenever possible. But there is no Count of Monte Cristo without the breathtaking performance of Pierre Niney, who brings a believability to his Edmund Dantès who uses all the colors of an emotional palette and his expressive eyes to tell a story even when there is no dialogue. He is a veritable marvel of depth, character and believability.

If you like a good story, there is none better than this must-see movie.

In French with English subtitles.

Now playing at the Laemmle Royal, opening wider on Jan. 3. 

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Arriving from Minnesota, a 19-year-old vagabond longing for a platform with a steadfast belief in his overpowering talent, Dylan did make his way back to New Jersey to the hospital where his hero, Guthrie, was incarcerated, not so much by the doctors and nurses but more by the end-stage Huntington’s disease that has him locked into palsies, slurred incomprehensible speech and immobility. It is Guthrie, the troubadour of the Depression and Dust Bowl, composer of “This Land is Your Land,” “John Henry,” “Hobo’s Lullaby” and “House of the Rising Sun,” that he sought out to pay homage to the man who has inspired him to follow in his footsteps. Auspiciously, Pete Seeger, the folk singer who popularized many of Guthrie’s songs and took over the mantle of the people’s balladeer fighting for justice, was there that evening as well. After hearing one of Dylan’s compositions, he’s moved to mentor him in the folk song clubs that dotted the Greenwich Village landscape.

Seeger gave Dylan the credibility that opened doors; Dylan’s outsize talent, immediately evident, brought him onto those stages where he interacted with the stars of the day, foremost among them a soon-to-be-smitten Joan Baez. Although his love affairs and dealings with agents, record company executives and fellow musicians are all presented, this is primarily about Dylan’s astonishing rise and evolution as his generation’s voice, one that continued to morph, over the unbelievably short span from 1961 to 1965. These were the years of “Blowin’ in the Wind,” “A Hard Rain’s A-Gonna Fall,” “Like a Rolling Stone,” “Tambourine Man” and “Times They Are A-Changing,” among too many to mention. In that short period he changed the face of music, not just folk music.

What Mangold has given us is a deep dive into the psyche of a man people thought they knew and understood but didn’t. From the outset, Dylan’s arrogance was not the arrogance of youth but the self-confidence of someone who didn’t need the approval of others. His goal was fame and recognition, but he was totally unprepared for the lack of privacy and the public’s expectations that came with it.

He knew who he was and if others, a group that would include almost his entire circle of friends, gave him their interpretation, that wasn’t his fault. He was who he was. This portrait of Dylan’s genius is also unapologetically narcissistic, manipulative and cruel. He’ll allow nothing or nobody to get in the way of his vision, and there is a body count along the way that includes Pete Seeger, Joan Baez and Sylvie Russo, a stand-in for Suze Rotolo, the girlfriend who left him.

Biopics of the living are notoriously difficult to make. Too often they are either hagiographic or disparaging. Mangold presents what seems to be a clear-eyed vision of a complicated man with singular focus. The actions speak for themselves as does the talent. Even in “No Direction Home” (2005), Martin Scorsese’s outstanding documentary of these same years in Dylan’s career and “Don’t Look Back” by D.A. Pennebaker that follows Dylan’s 1965 tour in the U.K., Dylan, the man, remains an enigma. From the moment he left home, he determined to be knowable only to himself, unknowable to others, a process that allowed him to morph fully into whatever he wanted to be whenever he chose. Most impressively, Mangold avoids those expositional passages that are meant to supply backstory, whether necessary or not. Watch Sylvie as she discovers his personal album marked Robert Zimmerman, her first clue that he hasn’t been entirely forthcoming about his background. It is further proof that he is who he creates himself to be, regardless of past lives.

Mangold has not cracked the enigma code of Dylan, but he has presented a version that operates on a more visceral level. His choice of actor to portray a Dylan who plays at being Dylan was sheer genius, completely out of left field. Timothée Chalamet’s almost translucent features intensify his Dylan’s inscrutable motivation and fluid loyalties or rather lack thereof. Unlike Dylan’s rough-hewn appearance, Chalamet has a delicate physical beauty that is used to underscore his musical talent with a faux vulnerability that projects animal magnetism. The wispy nature of his frame leaves the false impression of weakness, something that Chalamet’s Dylan uses to great advantage, lulling his supporters into viewing him as an ally rather than a competitor. Most surprising is that he has a voice and vocal range that are spot on, an audible doppelganger that knows how to deliver the emotion, anger, loss and love that resides in the lyrics to perfect effect.

Chalamet makes you want to like his character even when he manipulates others to his advantage and their failure. He plays with the likeability of his character like a cat plays with a shiny object. Does his talent, his genius, excuse some of his behavior? You’ll have to answer that question yourself, but for me, and I am nothing if not judgmental, it does. His Dylan does not hide who he is or what his motivations are; it is others who recklessly choose to view him through a different lens. He seemingly betrays so many around him, but it’s all in support of his work. That others project their own values or feelings onto him is not his problem.

Chalamet’s portrayal is the work of a master who completely and believably transformed himself into another. Certainly that is what acting is all about but rarely, very, very rarely, does anyone succeed at the level Chalamet has succeeded in this incredibly difficult role. He’s made us understand the unknowable, if not permanently, at least for a moment.

Edward Norton as Pete Seeger delivers a man so thoroughly tied to his generation that he cannot move beyond it. As his followers diminish in number, he continues on. He truly believes in Dylan’s talent but is perplexed that it leaves no room for him. Norton’s Seeger is both victim and enabler, whose sense of fair play commends and ultimately undoes him. Norton gives three dimensions to a truly good man lost in time. He was caught up in Guthrie’s depression-era mentality that was, to Seeger’s detriment, a stepping stone to the disenfranchisement of the younger generation. Norton’s Seeger didn’t understand the angry young man of the ‘60s. Norton’s marvelous rendition of “This Land is Your Land” was, in effect, the bridge between Guthrie and Dylan.

Other notables in the cast were Monica Barbaro, who was able to play the emotions of Joan Baez, but whose nice voice was not good enough to illustrate how much brighter her star shone for a time. It is, perhaps, unfair to hold her singing to such a high standard, but it is a standard already set by Chalamet’s vocal interpretations. Elle Fanning plays Sylvie with possibly a bit too much co-dependence considering that she should have been seen as independent of her boyfriend’s self-focus. Whether this was in the writing or directing, Fanning’s Sylvie feels slightly less complete. Scoot McNairy as Woody Guthrie has the unenviable task of embodying a horrible disease that locks him into spasms and incomprehensibility. His eyes, however, are his weapon and the non-verbal communication between the young Dylan and the dying Guthrie are some of the most resonant moments in the film.

Using downtown Jersey Avenue, production designer François Audouy transformed this Jersey City street into MacDougal Street of the early ‘60s in exhaustive, realistic detail from the garbage in the streets to the overflowing ashtrays in the bars. His New York becomes a defined character in this film. The hair, makeup and costume design subtly but effectively transformed Chalamet’s delicacy into Dylan without mimicking the man.

“A Complete Unknown” is a must-see triumph. James Mangold has always been a force to reckon with but never more so than now. See it in a theater and be prepared to be swept up by this master work.

Now playing at AMC Theaters throughout L.A. including the AMC Century City15 and the Santa Monica 7. 

Neely Swanson spent most of her professional career in the television industry, almost all of it working for David E. Kelley. In her last full-time position as Executive Vice President of Development, she reviewed writer submissions and targeted content for adaptation. As she has often said, she did book reports for a living. For several years she was a freelance writer for “Written By,” the magazine of the WGA West, and was adjunct faculty at USC in the writing division of the School of Cinematic Arts. Neely has been writing film and television reviews for the “Easy Reader” for more than 10 years. Her past reviews can be read on Rotten Tomatoes where she is a tomatometer-approved critic.

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Briefly, Martha and Ingrid are close friends who reconnect after an absence of many years. Martha is a famed photojournalist, and Ingrid is an author whose most recent book is about her aversion to the concept of death. Martha is in the middle of an unsuccessful treatment for terminal cancer. The treatment, which the doctors want to continue, is painful and only gives her another few months at best. Over coffee and pastries with Ingrid, she discusses what she really wants. She wants to choose her own moment to die in a setting of her choice with a friend close by, the proverbial room next door, to be a witness to the aftermath and report it. She has a pill, obtained illegally, and has rented a spectacular vacation home in the countryside for a month, but what she needs is the friend to stay in the room next to hers. She won’t announce the time or date, but there will be a code. Ingrid, needless to say, is shocked and more than reluctant. She wasn’t Martha’s first choice, but two others turned her down. Martha rather enjoys the irony of having her close friend Ingrid, who is death-phobic, be that person. Ingrid eventually accepts.

There are no spoilers here. Martha will die; Ingrid will be there. No action, no conflict, no story, the end. It’s not that there couldn’t be a story here. The right to die on one’s own terms has been done before, and in most cases, much better (e.g., “Amour,” “Me Before You” and “Whose Life Is It Anyway?”). Almodóvar, like him or not, has had moments of brilliant storytelling in the past, often equally laced with humor and horror. Here, he has neither. Forgetting that film is a visual medium, he tells this story expositionally. Writing the script himself, the dialogue is stiff and unnatural. Rarely does a movie succeed when the entire story is told as a conversation between two people where emotion, conflict and character take a back seat. “My Dinner with André” is the only film I can think of where the entire action is set at a table for two in a restaurant where André Gregory and Wallace Shawn trade anecdotes and world views. To date, I don’t know why it worked, but it did. Maybe it was the director, Louis Malle, someone I admired immensely, and maybe it was the skill of the writers, Gregory and Shawn, who knew how to make it all look improvisational.

But “The Room Next Door” is all expositional and therein lies the problem. Rule one: tell it in a book; show it in a movie (this was based on a book by Sigrid Nunez called “What Are You Going Through?”). Worse, however, is how bad and stilted the dialogue is, like a poor translation from a different language (too on the nose?). Episodes in Martha’s life that were used to illustrate earlier conflicts are told in flashbacks that look edited in at the last moment before final cut. That she has an estranged daughter, discussed in any number of conversations, is a conflict that is left dangling. If any of this comes off at all is due to the skill of the actors he chose to read (not act) his words, like a preproduction table read. Julianne Moore as Ingrid and Tilda Swinton as Martha try their best, and if the movie is bearable at all, it is because of them. John Turturro, Damian, a mutual friend and former lover of both, comes off worse because his character is a lecturer on climate change who harangues anyone who will listen about impending doom. Lucky for him, he has at least one or two nice, rather natural moments with Moore. Expositional, yes, but there is an easier flow between the two of them. Alessandro Nivola, as a policeman who interviews Ingrid, has the advantage of generating conflict that makes his scene move more quickly.

Eduard Grau’s cinematography is a plus because the setting outside Woodstock, N.Y., is gorgeous and looks like a picture postcard. The same is true for the exquisite wood and glass modern house that Martha has chosen as her shroud. Lying on the primary-colored chaise lounges overlooking an infinity pool gives you something to envy. Costume Designer Bina Daigeler knew just how to take advantage of Tilda Swinton’s innumerable angles, swathing her in colorful knits and asymmetrical designs. Moore, whose attire is commonplace, cannot compete with the elegance of Swinton, nor was she meant to.

It is inconceivable that this film was the Golden Lion winner at the Venice Film Festival. Maybe the subtitles in Italian were better than the actual dialogue in English. If you are a fan of his films or these two great actresses, this might work for you. For me, “The Room Next Door” didn’t resonate from the very beginning. I had originally planned on all sorts of clever ways to let you understand how painful it was to watch this film. Instead, I’ll state merely that if you enjoy watching paint dry, even if Swinton and Moore are the painters, then this is the movie for you.

Now playing at the Laemmle Royal and the AMC at The Grove. 

Neely Swanson spent most of her professional career in the television industry, almost all of it working for David E. Kelley. In her last full-time position as Executive Vice President of Development, she reviewed writer submissions and targeted content for adaptation. As she has often said, she did book reports for a living. For several years she was a freelance writer for “Written By,” the magazine of the WGA West, and was adjunct faculty at USC in the writing division of the School of Cinematic Arts. Neely has been writing film and television reviews for the “Easy Reader” for more than 10 years. Her past reviews can be read on Rotten Tomatoes where she is a tomato-approved critic.

The post ‘The Room Next Door’— Kill Me Now appeared first on Beverly Hills Courier.

Have you ever wondered what Vaudeville was like at its height when Buster Keaton, Mae West, Fanny Brice, W.C. Fields, Burns and Allen and the Marx Brothers ruled the stage? “Once Upon a Mattress,” which started life as a fleshed-out sketch at an adult camp in the Poconos, will give you that shiver of recognition. Improvisation is the very skeleton of this show; it’s built into its DNA. It’s all controlled chaos and silly plot points. At any moment you expect a red nosed clown to appear, honk his horn and spray the audience with water from a squirt gun and you wouldn’t be far wrong.

The Jester opens the show singing “Many Moons Ago,” serving as a narrative to the history of this medieval kingdom prior to the current time in 1432. Little has changed. The kingdom is ruled by King Sextimus, muted by a curse, and his domineering wife Queen Aggravain, a fitting name if ever there was one. A bride must be found for their son Prince Dauntless, a misnomer because there is nothing that doesn’t daunt him. Mommy will not allow him to marry anything but a true princess, as determined by the tests she administers. Think Final “Jeopardy” with a question that even Ken Jennings can’t answer. Dauntless, clueless to Mommy’s machinations, is frustrated to say the least. Making matters worse, no one in the kingdom is allowed to marry until he does, something that presents a problem to the lovely Lady Larken and her dimwitted but handsome beau Sir Harry. She’s pregnant and unless Harry can find a viable princess she is doomed to disgrace. Off he goes and when he returns, with said real princess, all hell breaks loose and the story takes off into the stratosphere. Unable to wait for the slower moving Harry (it’s not just his movements that are slow), the princess, Winifred the Woebegone of the Marshlands Kingdom, has swum the moat, eager to meet her future betrothed. Looking much like the creature from the black lagoon, Aggravain is in shock. “She swam the moat?!”

Of course, it’s love at first sight between the eternally hamstrung Dauntless and the very take-charge, crude princess whose farts and burps and overall filth make them opposites destined to attract. She is the antithesis of his mother and that is already appeal enough. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you the rest of the fairy tale, but Aggravain and the Wizard will devise the perfect test that will reveal Winnifred, Fred to her friends, as a false princess, yet another to lose the derby.

The songs were written when Broadway tunes were hummable. I had to restrain myself from singing along because this has always been one of my favorite musicals and I play the soundtrack from the original recording often. That original production was made famous because of a show-stopping performance in 1959 by a Broadway newcomer named Carol Burnett. Burnett set the standard and no replacement or, up until now, revival has fully succeeded because of comparisons to her performance, real or imagined. The show is dependent on a star with charisma, comedic chops, and a vocal range that plays on that very comedic timing. Luckily, this production has just such a star Winnifred in Sutton Foster whose arrival on the scene in muddy, stinky raggedy clothes and ratty hair, literally and figuratively, stops the show and turns the pleasant little tale on its ear. Watching this wild-eyed fish out of water take in her surroundings and the royals is jarring, made more so by her virtuosic scene of gorging on grapes, obviously an unknown commodity to the girl from the land of mud and filth, that reveals her comic bona fides. Unafraid to be disgusting, it’s like an orchestrated fart joke that keeps on giving.

Sutton Foster, the multi-Tony award-winning musical actress, shows herself to be a rare combination of Mary Tyler Moore with her smile and lithe balletic leg extensions combined with the physical comedy that Lucille Ball made famous. Her comedic range is as breathtaking as her pratfalls. She’s the effortless front and center of every scene. Think Lucille Ball stomping those grapes or, even more aptly, stuffing those chocolates into her already full mouth. Who wouldn’t fall in love with her?

Well, maybe not Queen Aggravain, played by the hilariously evil Ana Gasteyer, whose Broadway and television credits are testaments to her believable over-the-top performance as the mother from hell.

Michael Urie, last seen at the Ahmanson in “Buyer and Cellar,” is perfect as the clueless Dauntless who is finally willing to risk the wrath of his domineering Mommy Dearest. Daniel Breaker, with his melodic tenor, is the Jester, the narrator who liltingly sings the expositional narration while being the link to the various heroic characters. Oyoyo Joi is a perfect ingénue as Lady Larkin. Her song to her dullard of a lover, Sir Harry, entitled “In a Little While,” announcing their impending event is as clever and melodic an announcement as you will ever hear. It’s unimaginable that no one has seized on this song as part of the playlist for a gender reveal party. Her beloved, Sir Harry, is played by Ben Davis whose double takes, cluelessness and purity of heart goes hand in hand with his marvelous singing, pushing the comedy of this hilarious show even farther.

From the tight-fitting bodice of Aggravain to the snug little tights on Dauntless, to those dirty rags and slippers designed to make Fred’s feet look ginormous are by costume designer Andrea Hood, further enhanced by the inventive wig and makeup design of J. Jared Janas. The minimalist scenic design, necessary because the stage is shared with the orchestra, sequestered behind the so-called moat wall, adds to the improvisational feel that allows the viewer to fill in the details. Directed by Lear deBessonet and choreographed by Lorin Latarro, they keep things moving at a feverish pace.

Hie thee hence to the Ahmanson before “Once Upon a Mattress” leaves the realm.

Now playing through Jan. 5 at the Ahmanson Theatre, 135 N. Grand Ave. Los Angeles. Check with Audience Services (213-628-2772) for matinees and performance times. 

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The innovative first piece, a world premiere, was called “Mayday,” choreographed to the music of Buddy Holly, the rock ‘n’ roller who led the way in the rockabilly style with hits like “That’ll Be the Day” and “Peggy Sue,” just a few of the songs choreographed by Trey McIntyre. Both a playful homage to Holly’s music and an ominous reminder of his death in a plane crash at the age of 22, McIntyre makes full use of the company’s strengths. In unisex croptop gray suits, Holly nerdy horn-rimmed glasses, slapping rhythm on their bare stomachs, they moved in sync, flowingly to the music as they undulated in and out of formation, constantly followed by a toy airplane, manned by each dancer at various points in the piece, as a constant reminder of what will come. The smooth back-and-forth movements of elbows, legs, heads, arms, perfectly matched to the beats of the various songs, has you smiling from the beginning until the climax. This is choreography that highlights the range and training of the various dancers, with Chandler Davidson and his blonde buzzcut leaping and pirouetting gracefully with his seamless athleticism. Joan Rodriguez, ballet-trained in Cuba, was another standout. His extension and leaps were breathtaking. Katie Garcia, easily melds the worlds of ballet and modern, capturing the stage in her solos. Choreographer McIntyre made full use of each dancer’s specialized training. 

“I Forgot the Start,” choreographed by Matthew Neenan, was a poetic ode to love using the music of Sinéad O’Connor among others. The dancers were very good, coupling and uncoupling as the music by the various artists suggested, and that was, to a certain extent, the point of the piece with its theme of love and the loss thereof.

“Incense Burning on a Saturday Morning: The Maestro,” the final performance of the evening, sent the company out on a high note. It wasn’t so much the choreography by Juel D. Lane that excelled but, instead, it was the design of the composition that set it apart from almost anything you have seen or will see in the future. Lane was attempting to portray artist Ernie Barnes, a Los Angeleno, in his studio and it was the innovative lighting and video design that propelled this piece off the stage and into the audience. Opening on a single dancer, Ty Morrison as Barnes, in his studio, wielding a brush as he feigns painting on a canvas. As his hands move across that canvas, the glass-like scrim between the audience and him fills with the brushstrokes he is making to breathtaking effect. He continues filling the canvas and concurrently the scrim as his muse arrives in the form of dancer Alana Jones, voguing for the painter. Enter the corps, portraying both the wildly primary-colored paints and, eventually, the vibrant dancers swirling, leaping and surrounding the two as the artist’s vision is realized and we see Barnes’ most famous painting, “The Sugar Shack” take shape with the model and the paints becoming one with the characters on the canvas. The wildly free, yet coordinated undulating motions of the “paints” energizes the choreography and helps tell an enrapturing story.

This night was particularly celebratory as Artistic Director Tina Finkelman Berkett introduced each choreographer, sitting in the audience among those who would soon become their rabid fans. The enthusiasm of this crowd, many of whom had never before heard of BodyTraffic, built with each number, ending with standing ovations for the dancers and the choreographer, brought to the stage for a bow with the performers. 

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In the makeshift control room, the crew and producers banter back and forth as they watch Mark Spitz on screen winning his unprecedented 7th Gold medal as the German competitor cowered in a corner, crestfallen to have lost his favored event. Comments go back and forth about whether this so-called new Germany on display is only a thin veneer over its Nazi past. Bader’s comments are especially sharp as he’s from a generation where parents and siblings fought and other relatives died in camps. Taking offense is Marianne Gebhardt, their German interpreter, who says that much has changed. “Do your parents still say they knew nothing about what went on?” Bader remarks sarcastically. “We are not our parents’ generation,” she retorts. What starts out looking like a behind-the-scenes story about a sports broadcast will soon become something else entirely, an event that anyone old enough to watch the games that year will remember in an instant.

The scene is set, the players are in place. This unprecedented live-action coup is about to begin when shots are heard; not by everyone so they can’t yet be verified. But then they are and all hell breaks loose. Unconfirmed rumors start circulating that an incident has occurred somewhere in the Olympic Village, specifically in the rooms assigned to the Israeli contingent. Marianne is called on to translate what she is hearing from a police bandwidth. Soon, the worst news imaginable will be confirmed by a coach of the Israeli team who was able to escape. Terrorists have taken the team hostage, vowing to kill one person per hour if Israel doesn’t release 200 prisoners held in Israeli jails.

And so begins the action, where, ironically, the plight of the hostage athletes takes a back seat to getting the story. The German police had not secured the village and now, too late, they were flooding the grounds like gulls fighting over a single crumb. It is apparent they have no idea what they are doing or how to negotiate with the terrorists, a splinter group of the PLO (Palestinian Liberation Organization) called Black September. The German military, trained in sniper actions and containment, are forbidden by their post-war Constitution from taking part in a civilian operation and can only give instructions to the helpless, incompetent and overwhelmed local police.

Knowing that the police will soon sweep all the press from the village, Bader and Mason assess the situation and bring Arledge back from his break to lead them. He tells Jennings to hide from the police, gets the crew to move cameras and sound equipment outside the building to try to angle their shots toward the occupied building and apprises ABC News at headquarters what is happening, telling them in no uncertain terms that he will not relinquish coverage to a news team reporting from the U.S. His sports team, working with Jennings, is in charge and will handle everything. He lets McKay know the situation and tells him to stay stationed in his chair and report what they feed him. It is what so many who lived through that broadcast remember: Jim McKay empathetically reporting on the news as it was happening.

The events occurring moment by moment are orchestrated behind the scenes by Arledge and his team. A cool head, one might almost say icy, Arledge is well aware of what is transpiring, but his primary focus seems to be on delivering the story as those around him, especially Bader, debate the ethics and morality of giving Black September unalloyed attention on screen. It had never occurred to any of them that the terrorists might be watching themselves and the reactions of others on the television in the athletes’ room.

And this is where “September 5” excels, in the moral and ethical gray area. Where does the responsibility for reporting the news and the responsibility for not making things worse intersect or in this case, collide? While telling this story in a straightforward manner, none of those questions are answered. What do you think about their actions? What might you have done differently in hindsight because hindsight is always misleadingly relied on. I have no answers and neither does the film. Did they break barriers? Of course. Was it worth it? There may be no one answer, but after September 5 there was no going back.

Directed by Tim Fehlbaum, who wrote the script with Maritz Binder and Alex David, “September 5” is a gut-wrenching film that flies towards its foregone conclusion. Fehlbaum’s opening on the machinery of production is an unusual sequence that builds speed before any of the main characters are introduced and continues moving forward at a lightning pace as the backstage crew moves the equipment into place and the producers begin interacting with the crew. With the exceptions of Peter Jennings and Roone Arledge, you will be unacquainted with the rest of the players, some of whom existed, Bader and Mason, and some of whom are realistic depictions of who would have been there at the time.

The cinematography by Markus Förderer captures Julian R. Wagner’s claustrophobic production design perfectly. Working in a cramped space, Förderer puts you in the center of the action at all times. Peter Sarsgaard as Roone Arledge captures the quiet intensity of a man who would one day lead ABC News, not just ABC Sports. Looking not at all like Arledge, he still maintains that aura of authority that would lead a team under siege with the sangfroid necessary to go forward as others were questioning the rationale. Leonie Benesch as translator Marianne Gebhardt expresses the ambivalence of what the team is doing ethically as she tries to make sure they are aware of what is being said. Ben Chaplin as Marvin Bader has the gravitas of an elder statesman and the burden of being the moral center during the time the news is being broadcast, seemingly unfiltered, to the world. John Magaro, Geoffrey Mason, is fascinating as he handles the board and gives the orders to a crew working so quickly that they have no time to think about the right and wrong of their actions. Arledge is aware that there will be no going back after this broadcast; Mason, new at his job, doesn’t have the bandwidth to think past the next time cut. The real coup, however, is that Fehlbaum was able to use the actual footage of Jim McKay reporting from the Olympics in 1972. Artfully cut and interspersed, it is the footage of the actual McKay that gives this film its basis in reality, elevating the performers “interacting” with the onscreen McKay to material substance.

The Olympic Games have been filmed and covered for many decades. Leni Riefenstahl’s “Olympiad” chronicled the games held in 1936 Berlin as Hitler stood in the stands to cheer on his chosen Aryans, only to be subverted by the otherworldly feats of American sprinter Jesse Owens. The 1968 Olympics, held in Mexico City, are most remembered for the defiant stance of Tommy Smith and John Carlos who raised black-gloved fists on the winners’ podium to protest discrimination. “September 5” commemorates the games at a very low point in history. It is worth remembering; we should never forget. Already a Golden Globes nominee for Best Motion Picture-Drama, this movie is an unfortunate record that the more things change, the more they remain the same.

Opening Dec. 13 at the AMC Century City 15. 

Neely Swanson spent most of her professional career in the television industry, almost all of it working for David E. Kelley. In her last full-time position as Executive Vice President of Development, she reviewed writer submissions and targeted content for adaptation. As she has often said, she did book reports for a living. For several years she was a freelance writer for “Written By,” the magazine of the WGA West, and was adjunct faculty at USC in the writing division of the School of Cinematic Arts. Neely has been writing film and television reviews for the “Easy Reader” for more than 10 years. Her past reviews can be read on Rotten Tomatoes where she is a tomato-approved critic.

The post ‘September 5’—More Than a Date appeared first on Beverly Hills Courier.

Mother had been a rising artist and gallerist, but when she had her baby she hopped on the stay-at-home bandwagon when she had trouble managing both, something that was eagerly embraced by Husband. Son, now 2 years old, is an adorable munchkin whose moments of temper are rare and to be expected. Children hate to go to sleep, especially when Mother and Father have blurred the lines of independence, allowing him to sleep with them. Father is engrossed in a job that often takes him out of town, so almost all the heavy lifting is left to Mother. She does everything the books say the perfect mother should do. Their routine is jam-packed with trips to the playground, walks in the park, baby yoga and book babies with other moms. But this life is starting to close in on her, and her dreams become nightmares where she becomes a canine predator, losing her human appearance and descending into a magical world where she is the leader of the pack.

Overflowing with scenes of magical realism, this sometimes grounded and sometimes bizarre tale isn’t about dogs or babies or the inability to conform. Mother has lost her identity, one that used to be tied up in the art she created and no longer has time for. It was her self-awareness as an independent woman capable of carrying on adult, multisyllabic conversations with her peers, peers she lost when she left the workforce. There is no overt blame anywhere, but that doesn’t mean that Mother isn’t profoundly affected by the unspoken. Her artist cohorts have left her behind, not understanding why she can’t do both. The other moms she meets seem supremely happy and satisfied in their stay-at-home roles, so reminiscent of the competitive games played by others. “My child slept through the night immediately.” “My child was speaking in complete sentences at nine months.” “How many words in his vocabulary?” Truly, this competition is real. Think back. Only perspective or the realization that everyone lies will keep you grounded.

Father is confused by the unrelenting sadness of Mother. After all, it was she who chose this path. His mother and grandmother were both stay-at-home moms and happy about it. Didn’t Mother’s mother stay at home? But it’s complicated. Mother knows full well that she chose this life; she knows that she willingly succumbed to motherhood over painting. But why? Where’s the time? Why is she unable to do both? Why is she having these dreams and are they more real than she’ll admit? Accompanying those animal dreams are snippets of her cloistered childhood and an inexplicably distant mother.

The layers of “Nightbitch” can be peeled in almost infinite ways. Superficially, this is a horror story of a woman becoming a predatory animal, menacing those she should be loving. Dig a little deeper and it is an exquisite portrait of a woman descending into the madness of dissatisfaction caused by postpartum depression, one felt by far too many. Why can’t she do it all? Why can’t she have it all? Society reveres the stay-at-home mom as a one-size-fits-all. Wisely, “Nightbitch” is not casting blame, only introspection. That Mother feels she is failing because she is unfulfilled in this role makes it so much sadder that she recognizes that Son is wonderful. She loves him unconditionally; it’s herself that she doesn’t love.

What Heller has given us is a very nuanced view of postpartum depression, an illness suffered by many and recognized by too few. Postpartum changes the brain chemistry, which may be miring her in a vicious circle of self-loathing and hallucinations. Her hormones are unchecked and may be leading to actual body changes, perhaps not into a dog, but it might account for the growth of external hair and soft tissue tenderness, hair color or sexual drive (positive and/or negative); or not. Mother, in her own eyes, was a someone but now she is only an appendage to Son and Father. Where is she? Why can’t she enjoy this stage of her life, one that she deliberately chose? Or did she? Did her mother, long dead, suffer as she does? Her mother gave up a flourishing singing career to raise her children in a restrictive religious environment. Why didn’t Mother recognize her mother’s pain? Why hasn’t she thought of her mother in years?

Everyone reacts to motherhood differently, something that Mother doesn’t recognize. Spiritual and psychological needs are not one-size-fits-all. When there are no overt villains in her pain, she turns inward, blaming herself.

There are so many moments of joy that serve to underscore Mother’s unhappiness. Son is a delight and a pleasure; the other moms find her interesting. Descending into the madness of her nightmares is frightening. A gentle dog becomes a killer.

Selling such a surreal take on motherhood and the real depression faced by so many lands squarely in the lap of the extraordinary star, Amy Adams. Adams, a six-time Academy Award nominee, has amazing range, constantly pulling the viewer into her madness that is in direct opposition to the loving mother she tries so hard to be. Always unsettling, she has put a face on this depression that is seemingly shameful—the inability to glory in the raising of another human being. Funny, sad, depressing, dissatisfied, happy, with a self-awareness that leads directly into self-hate, these are aspects of Mother’s personality and life that Adams conveys convincingly.

Scoot McNairy is Husband, the loving yet clueless mate whose confusion heightens his complicity in his wife’s depression as well as his earnest desire to “fix things.” He is as necessarily sympathetic as he is blind to her needs.

The other women that fill the screen add to the complexity of Mother’s dissatisfaction. Foremost among them is Jessica Harper, the librarian, who is both real and a figment of Mother’s imagination, pulling her into her dreams. Kerry O’Malley plays Mother’s mother with grace and ambiguity.

Cinematographer Brandon Trust perfectly captures the night scenes that blur into the surreal.

Complicated, complex, obtuse, ambiguous, “Nightbitch” is all of these and more. Heller has found all the colors, depth and character development that make this an extraordinary experience and a probable Oscar contender.

Opening Dec. 6 at the AMC Century City 15. 

Neely Swanson spent most of her professional career in the television industry, almost all of it working for David E. Kelley. In her last full-time position as Executive Vice President of Development, she reviewed writer submissions and targeted content for adaptation. As she has often said, she did book reports for a living. For several years she was a freelance writer for “Written By,” the magazine of the WGA West, and was adjunct faculty at USC in the writing division of the School of Cinematic Arts. Neely has been writing film and television reviews for the “Easy Reader” for more than 10 years. Her past reviews can be read on Rotten Tomatoes where she is a tomato-approved critic.

The post ‘Nightbitch’—Trouble in Paradise appeared first on Beverly Hills Courier.

Educated at a one-size-fits-all facility for handicapping conditions, Melody, confined to a wheelchair, is clearly misplaced in this classroom of least resistance. When a local graduate student observes Melody in her class and views her test scores, she is immediately struck with what a perfect fit she would be in a pilot program placing disabled students in the regular classroom. With the full support of her parents, despite the lack of enthusiasm from her program advisors, she is wheeled into her local sixth grade class, much to the consternation of the uninformed teacher.

Viewed as a hindrance, neither the teacher nor her new classmates are welcoming. Undeterred, despite her protective mother’s instinct to immediately throw in the towel, Melody perseveres. Bullying she can handle; lack of opportunity she can’t. Melody is insistent and motivated to keep going even if she can’t win over her peers. When a new speaking device comes on the market, Diane and Chuck go to the mat against the insurance company that refuses to provide the device. That company had no idea with whom they were dealing.

Melody’s road is not an easy one and this is not an entirely happily-ever-after story about the acceptance of others. No. It’s more realistic than that. The teacher remains clueless and her peers, for the most part, are mean. It’s a story of grit, optimism, hard work and perseverance on the part of Melody and her parents. But neither is this a crash-and-burn story. This narrative is about Melody, what she faces, and what she is willing to face. It is a primer on the obstacles that others put in the way and how hard it is to bring them around.

Melody’s story resonated with me. My early career was spent working to integrate kids like Melody in what is euphemistically called “the least restrictive environment.” For most, this means a public school classroom with additional help from trained teachers. It is, as you may not know, part of the Individuals with Disabilities Education Act that requires that students be educated in the least restricted environment. Whether it is a deaf child in need of an interpreter or one with a visual impairment needing additional equipment, the law states that they should be taught in a regular classroom whenever possible. Schools fight this tooth and nail because of the additional costs, but when taken to court, they invariably lose. It is the law, and it is highly beneficial to the affected students. Unfortunately, neither the states nor the federal government allocate the funds to keep the program in place. Teachers and students who share a classroom with a disabled student benefit also in expanding their worldview. There is nothing more advantageous to society in general than a well-educated, socially adapted student who can spread his or her wings rather than be restricted to the narrow confines of caged learning and a future totally dependent on others. “Out of My Mind” is just such a story with an extremely engaging heroine.

Although the storytelling is a bit pat at times, this is, after all, a Disney+ movie aiming for that “After School Special” crowd, it succeeds more than it stumbles. This is thanks to a delightful star, Phoebe-Rae Taylor, who has overcome many of the hurdles of CP, just like Melody does. Her parents, Diane and Chuck, are played by the charismatic Rosemarie DeWitt and Luke Kirby. Both are excellent, empathetic and realistic as parents of a handicapped child who is longing to fly but whose body won’t let her. Judith Light has a nice role as an eccentric neighbor who pushes Melody to want more. In an amusing coup, the inner thoughts of Melody are voiced by Jennifer Aniston because, as Melody says, she should be able to choose whoever she wants to say her words, and Aniston it was. So good is she that oftentimes you are no longer hearing the actress but only Melody.

Amber Sealey has directed this film with an easy touch, making everything flow smoothly. The script by Daniel Stiepleman captures the sensibility of Sharon M. Draper’s original novel. But, in the end, it all depended on Phoebe as Melody to make this sing.

Now streaming on Disney+. 

Neely Swanson spent most of her professional career in the television industry, almost all of it working for David E. Kelley. In her last full-time position as Executive Vice President of Development, she reviewed writer submissions and targeted content for adaptation. As she has often said, she did book reports for a living. For several years she was a freelance writer for “Written By,” the magazine of the WGA West, and was adjunct faculty at USC in the writing division of the School of Cinematic Arts. Neely has been writing film and television reviews for the “Easy Reader” for more than 10 years. Her past reviews can be read on Rotten Tomatoes where she is a tomato-approved critic.

The post ‘Out of My Mind’—But Fully Engaged appeared first on Beverly Hills Courier.

The precious sacred fig is born from another tree. The seed, slowly growing and nurtured by its host, spreads its roots and eventually strangles its parent. This is the hope and basis of Rasoulof’s amazing allegorical film taking place in 2022 during protests over the killing of Mahsa Jina Amini for not wearing her hijab in public.

Iman, head of household and much-admired lawyer of integrity and honesty, has just been promoted to investigating judge of the revolutionary court. His wife, Najmeh, is thrilled with the advance in status but also that they will soon be eligible for a bigger apartment in a more prestigious and protected part of town. Their daughters, teenage Sana and college student Rezvan, are more circumspect about what his promotion might mean to them because they rarely see their father.

It is the investigating judge who looks for the evidence necessary to convict those arrested for crimes, real or suspected. If the evidence doesn’t sustain the charge, the arrestee is released; if it does, the prisoner is sentenced by the revolutionary court. Although not the judgeship he aspired to, he is informed by his colleague and friend in the office that he was not viewed as a favorable ally to his new boss and he will have to prove himself. His first test is immediate. The prosecutor has demanded he attest that a prisoner is guilty of the crimes he is accused of committing. But what were the crimes? Confused and horrified, Iman explains that first he must investigate. No. His colleague informs him that his predecessor was fired for not doing as the prosecutor asked and he, too, will be fired if he doesn’t sign the paperwork for what will be a probable death sentence. There will be more prosecutions. 

Students are protesting in the streets against the repressive hijab laws, against the premise of theocracy and strict patriarchy as represented by the government and its so-called revolutionary court.

The protests on the outside are becoming more and more violent and, by virtue of taking this job, he will be in danger. His family will, in time, be moved to more secure quarters but, in the meantime, he is given a gun for protection. Iman is frightened by what the gun represents and equally frightened by the reasons he must carry it. Aggression and self-protection are incompatible issues that inevitably will resolve in one direction. In a sense, that direction is what fuels the film.

Iman, returning home, hides the gun, and attempts to reestablish a normalcy that will never return because of his new position. He has acquiesced and will continue acquiescing to the wishes of the prosecutor and the state. Even his family is no longer a safe haven. The riots and protests are outside his door. Banners held by the students rail against the judicial system. Iman is now “them”; the daughters he rarely sees may be the “us”; his wife unsuccessfully straddles the two. 

His job demands that new rules be established and the girls must remove themselves from all social media. His identity must be kept secret to ensure his safety and strangers may not enter the home. Despite this, Rezvan implores her mother to allow her only friend, Sadaf, to spend the night before the dorms open. Not pleased with a stranger in their midst, Najmeh insists that Sadaf be hidden, leave in the morning and not return. But complications ensue when all the schools and universities are shuttered. The protests become more volatile.

Iman becomes increasingly more paranoid, except it’s not really paranoia if they are out to get him. And soon he discovers that his gun is missing. The house is torn apart and still no gun. Has the increased pressure on him caused him to lose track of it? The consequences are enormous. If he reports the gun missing, he will lose his job and be sentenced to a minimum of three years in prison. Everyone is a suspect and the protests are coming closer and closer, louder and louder.

Rezvan and Sana, seemingly above the fray at home and on the street, discover that Sadaf has been shot by the police and is in desperate need of assistance; they cannot deny her. Bringing her back home, away from the presence of their increasingly distant and paranoid father, they patch up Sadaf, only to see her arrested, possibly to be killed in custody. Even Najmeh has a hard time seeing the value of assaulting a girl without sufficient cause. Iman becomes increasingly abusive as he becomes more distraught over the missing gun.

Rasoulof has cleverly, subtly positioned Iman as a representative of the patriarchy of his country. Benign neglect, banal evil, a ruler without an ear for the emotional and physical needs of his family, we follow his descent into the corruption bred of autocracy and fear of dissent. The missing gun and the search for it becomes his only focus, a metaphoric parallel to the regime and its insistence on condemning dissenters to death on the specious premise of crimes against God, a religion that is, by now, so perverted as to represent only the revolutionary hierarchy, a false idol.

“The Seed of the Sacred Fig” is a metaphor for the nascent, by now smothered, hijab rebellion against the patriarchy told using the family unit of Iman as a metaphor for descent into the insanity of that very patriarchy. As depressing and soul-crushing as the movie is at first glance, it is ultimately a film of great optimism. No matter how hard an autocracy, in this case also a theocracy, tries to kill dissent (and dissenters), the center will not hold, cannot hold. It will eventually crater to the needs of the people as the rules become almost nonsensical in an effort to quash even the most mundane opposition.

The cast, almost all of whom will be unknown to an American audience, is superb. Most notable is Missagh Zareh who portrays Iman as a man who viewed his integrity and honesty as his hallmark who descends all too quickly into the corruption that came with abandoning his values for the money, status and prestige of a job from which there was no escape. He changes before your eyes from confused citizen and father to petty, dangerous martinet. Mahsa Rostami as Rezvan plays the benign catalyst who sets much in motion by just trying to do good. Setareh Maleki (Sana) coyly plays into the background until she comes acutely into focus. Soheila Golestani is a conflicted Najmeh, blindly obedient to her husband as society demands until she must choose between him and her daughters. The cinematographer, Pooyan Aghababaei, captures the contradictory beauty of Iran with the ugliness of the police state, incorporating phone footage from the actual protests as they were occurring.

Banned in Iran and filmed in secret, “The Seed of the Sacred Fig” is Germany’s submission for Best International Feature Film at the 97th Academy Awards. Certainly a wild stretch of the rules on what constitutes an entry in that category, Germany is the country to which Rasoulof fled in secret, hours before the police came to take him to prison. It is hoped that the actors and crew of the film were also able to find asylum, although Zareh and Golestani have been detained in Iran. Whether entered as an international film or as a “Best Picture” candidate, there is no doubt that this is one of the very best and most significant films of this or any other year. Its 168 minutes flies by as you are gripped by the action of this psychological thriller.

In Farsi with English subtitles.

Opening Nov. 27 at the AMC Century City. 

Neely Swanson spent most of her professional career in the television industry, almost all of it working for David E. Kelley. In her last full-time position as Executive Vice President of Development, she reviewed writer submissions and targeted content for adaptation. As she has often said, she did book reports for a living. For several years she was a freelance writer for “Written By,” the magazine of the WGA West, and was adjunct faculty at USC in the writing division of the School of Cinematic Arts. Neely has been writing film and television reviews for the “Easy Reader” for more than 10 years. Her past reviews can be read on Rotten Tomatoes where she is a tomato-approved critic.

The post ‘The Seed of the Sacred Fig’—Spreading Hope appeared first on Beverly Hills Courier.

“The Diplomat”

Finally season two is here and just in time. The further adventures of our reluctant U.S. Ambassador to Great Britain, Kate Wyler (Keri Russell), and her unpredictable husband, Hal (Rufus Sewell), continue with the stakes ramped up even higher. Instead of recapping the first season, I exhort you to watch it again; you won’t be bored. You’ll need to watch at least the last couple of episodes if only to put the first season finale shocker together with the touch-and-go emotions of season two.

Kate and Hal, career diplomats specializing in the Middle East and Central Asia, found themselves in London when Kate was tapped to be the Ambassador to Great Britain, traditionally a post given to mega political donors with no work experience. What Kate doesn’t know, and Hal does, is that she is being groomed as a possible replacement for the current Vice President, who has been embroiled in her husband’s financial chicanery. As is so often the case, Kate is the last to know. But her vast experience will serve her well in this new position that is more fraught than she imagined. Her marriage to Hal is complicated and she is constantly on the verge of divorce, one that is repeatedly sidetracked by the ever-resourceful Hal. Charming to a fault, he feels sidelined and underused, something his ego can’t handle. Trust is definitely an issue, but she needs his navigational skills. The British Prime Minister is cagey, probably corrupt and, she suspects, is the actual perpetrator of a crime of international scope. Her alliance with the British Foreign Minister, fraught with sexual tension, has shored up her defenses.

Basically, anything revealed about what that crime is, how Hal is affected and who the responsible party is would be gigantic spoilers. As Kate grows into her job and begins to earn the respect of all around her, she comes face to face with the woman she is slated to replace—the U.S. Vice President, a stunningly chilling Allison Janney. Keeping as vague as possible, the shocking season one finale segues into season two with a death, breakups, betrayal, and investigations that lead where no one was prepared for them to go. Each episode is more breathtaking than the one that preceded it, making this series impossible not to binge. And it all leads up to a finale more shocking than the last one; one that will mutate, almost metastasize, into what is sure to be an exciting season three. All of the supporting players are terrific including the ever-interesting Celia Imrie as Margaret Roylin, an insider who has burrowed deep; Rory Kinnear as slimy Prime Minister Nicol Trowbridge; and David Gyasi as the Foreign Secretary who exudes pheromones. The level of authenticity is enhanced by the incredible locations, including the actual U.S. Embassy and the Louvre in Paris. Season three can’t come too soon.

Now streaming on Netflix.

“Simone Biles Rising”

Simone Biles, recognized as the greatest gymnast of all time, gave unprecedented access to documentarian and director Katie Walsh, and it pays off in so many ways. Billed as a two-season series, it is, in actuality, a documentary told in four thrilling, sympathetic, revealing and insightful episodes, the first two of which were already playing on Netflix and the second two, primarily focused on the Paris Olympics, premiered on Oct. 25. Watch all of them sequentially, and you have an intimate and exhilarating portrait of a phenomenal athlete who comes off as a delightful, embracing, down to earth, charismatic and introspective young woman who just happens to have skills heretofore unimagined.

“And still I rise” is her touchstone. A lyrical poem by Maya Angelou, she had those words tattooed on her collarbone. It is a reminder to her that no matter what anyone else thinks or says about her, especially after the Tokyo Olympics, she will rise above it. The first episode focused on the leadup to the Tokyo Olympics and the so-called disaster when she withdrew. Her withdrawal called attention to something called “the twisties.” In gymnastics, and in life generally speaking, the body must be in sync with the brain for motor activities to go smoothly. If, in the case of “the twisties,” you lose track of where you are while performing an aerial feat, you risk severe injury because you’ve lost your sense of where you are in the rotation or how to land. Biles described it as being “lost in the air.”

The second episode focuses on her decision to rise above what happened at the Olympics and her determination to rise again. She shows us the preparation and diligent work it took to get back to where she felt she needed to be. The third and fourth episodes are focused on the lead up to Paris, with the World Championships and her continued work in the gym. The footage from the Paris Olympics, some of which was part of the NBC coverage and some of it not, is nothing short of stunning.

Interspersed throughout the episodes are home movies starting when she was 6, and interviews with experts, the team physician, her coaches, Olympians past and present, and her fabulous parents. Simone and her three siblings were abandoned by their drug-addicted mother. After spending time in the foster care system, her grandparents adopted her and one of her sisters. Her other sister and brother were adopted by her aunt and uncle. This is as much a portrait of a brilliant athlete as it is the extraordinary love that surrounded her and contributed so much to her self-confidence as an athlete and an individual. She’s now 27 years old, married to a professional football player, and well on her way to inventing herself outside of her sport. But really, if you’re like me, you’ll thrill to her untethered leaps in the air. There can never be enough gymnastics, and there definitely can never be enough Simone Biles, a hero and role model for this and the generations to come.

Now streaming on Netflix.

“Cross”

Based on the James Patterson series of novels, “Cross” follows Alex Cross, an African American Washington, D.C. police detective, still reeling from the murder of his wife. He tries to make his family a priority, but police business always intervenes. A Ph.D. in psychology, Cross establishes his superior skills in the first few minutes when interviewing a racist murder suspect who enjoys taunting his Black jailers.

What the D.C. Metropolitan Police have not yet noticed is that a serial killer is on the loose. One of his victims was a former criminal, now a leader in his community, whose death was staged as a drug overdose. The community is convinced that, at the very least, this is a police cover up. Certainly, the chief is behaving that way in trying to close the case with a minimal investigation. If that’s what she wanted, however, she should never have assigned Cross to the case. It will be up to him to unravel what happened and why. He knew the victim and admired his transformation. A simple interview of the victim’s hostile friends and family reveal contradictory evidence. The higher-ups may want to close this case post haste but Cross doesn’t play that game. When other bodies start turning up, he realizes that something else is going on.

What should be a thrilling series with twists and turns aplenty is rather flat. The timing seems off. Aldis Hodge as Alex Cross is quite good but the support is weak and the dialogue, which should crackle, fizzles. The characters are wooden, and that is a directorial problem because, presumably, capable actors were hired in the first place. It’s a shame because Patterson’s books are always page-turners and one would hope for the same in the television equivalent. This should have been good or, at the very least, better.

Streaming Nov. 14 on Amazon Prime.

“Interior Chinatown”

This is an inventive series, if rather confusing, about a young Chinese American man, an aspirational actor always relegated to “third guy on the right,” who steps into a fantasy world where he is the hero of his story. Willis Wu, waiting tables at his uncle’s restaurant in Chinatown, inadvertently witnesses what may be an abduction. It is here where the lines blur and his so-called storyline intersects with that of a TV procedural called “Black & White,” starring, you guessed it, a beautiful white woman detective and her handsome, suave Black partner. Willis, seemingly entering the procedural playing on the restaurant’s television, is invisible to all except the new, woefully inexperienced but assertive diversity hire, Detective Lee, who is their “Chinatown expert.” It is Lee who picks up on Willis’ intel and tries to use it to elevate her status. But she faces her own invisibility issue. Willis has his own problems, not just the job he hates at his uncle’s restaurant, but also with his separated parents, each of whom stifles his dreams and any forward progress he attempts. And again, with an eye to destabilizing the real vs. unreal scenarios, Willis’s brother, Kung-Fu guy, has been missing for several years. Willis discovers that he was working undercover for the task force in Chinatown, but did he really exist? In the minds of Willis and his parents, who may or may not be part of this TV show, he existed and he is sorely missed. He was the handsome, talented one.

Confused? So am I. But it’s still worth at least a couple of episodes because it will probably immerse you in its quicksand approach to storytelling. It might not need to be reality-based or even separate the real from the fiction because the characters are engaging. In its own way, it blurs the lines even further because that is what television storytellers are always trying to do—make you part of the narrative.

Streaming on Hulu Nov. 19. 

Neely Swanson spent most of her professional career in the television industry, almost all of it working for David E. Kelley. In her last full-time position as Executive Vice President of Development, she reviewed writer submissions and targeted content for adaptation. As she has often said, she did book reports for a living. For several years she was a freelance writer for “Written By,” the magazine of the WGA West, and was adjunct faculty at USC in the writing division of the School of Cinematic Arts. Neely has been writing film and television reviews for the “Easy Reader” for more than 10 years. Her past reviews can be read on Rotten Tomatoes where she is a tomato-approved critic.

The post Late Fall TV appeared first on Beverly Hills Courier.

Many, if not most films that aim for an end-of-year release have Oscar aspirations. Although there have been many Oscar-quality films that opened earlier in the year, too many are forgotten when nominations come around; hence, the desire for a late fall opening. To qualify for an Oscar, films must have a run of seven days in a commercial theater in a qualifying U.S. metropolitan area. They may, however, open simultaneously in a theater and on a streaming network. A streaming release prior to commercial theatrical release disqualifies the film from Oscar consideration. More and more, stars have been demanding a theatrical release of their films, even if they are ultimately meant to be streamed.

Opening dates for the late fall were in constant flux as distributors were still picking up films from festivals, the Toronto International Film Festival being the most influential. I’m definitely bullish on the upcoming movies. So, on with the show:

Nov. 15

“All We Imagine as Light” won the Grand Prix at the Cannes Film Festival. It is a poetic ode to the lives of two nurses and roommates from Mumbai, one of whom is estranged from her husband and the other in a forbidden romance with a Muslim, as they explore their lives, loves and disappointments. Ironically, India has chosen a different movie as their Oscar submission, something almost guaranteed to backfire.

“Red One” is Santa, and Santa has been kidnapped. Getting him back will be the trick as the security staff at the North Pole must battle monsters, bad guys and themselves to succeed or, gasp, there will be no Christmas. Full to brimming with comedy stars like Dwayne Johnson and Chris Evans, this Jake Kasdan-directed holiday film is sure to be a family pleaser.

Nov. 22

“Gladiator II” is Ridley Scott’s return to the arena, this time with the nephew of Maximus out to avenge his father’s death and return glory to Rome. Starring Paul Mescal, Denzel Washington and Pedro Pascal, there will be blood and some unlikely fighting animals.

“Wicked Part I” finally makes its way to the big screen after years as a hit on Broadway, with no end in sight. Divided into two parts, this novel take on the “Wizard of Oz” stars Ariana Grande as Glinda and Cynthia Erivo as Elphaba. Part II premieres on Nov. 26, making it a total Thanksgiving experience.

Nov. 27

“September 5” follows the massacre of Israeli athletes by the Palestinian terrorist group, Black September, at the 1972 Munich Olympics as covered by the ABC sports correspondents who were there broadcasting the games. It is a heart-stopping reminder of an event seen through the prism of the sportscasters with Peter Sarsgaard starring as Roone Arledge.

“Moana 2” is a journey across the seas and Moana, accompanied by Maui, must answer a call from her ancestors. There are rifts to heal and people to bring together. The animation shines in this sequel.

“Maria” is director Pablo Larain’s biopic of Maria Callas in her final years in Paris. Angelina Jolie stars.

“Queer” has made almost as many waves for its story as it has for its star. It is based on a semi-autobiographical novel by William S. Burroughs, part of the Beat Generation of poets and novelists in the 1950s. Lee, a gay man in thrall to drugs and younger conquests, finds love, romance and sex in Mexico City in the 1940s. Daniel Craig stars as Lee in a much-talked-about performance.

Dec. 6

“Hard Truths” is a return to form for Mike Leigh, here reuniting with the superb Marie Jean-Baptiste as a bitter dysfunctional British Jamaican who lashes out at everyone and everything including her preternaturally optimistic sister, her exact opposite.

“The Order” is a stunning depiction of a true 1983-84 drama about a white supremacist who decides to take action and foment a rebellion and the FBI agent on his trail. Starring Nicholas Hoult and Jude Law, the events are reenacted chillingly, a harbinger of what happened on Jan. 6.

“The Return” is director Uberto Pasolini’s take on Homer’s tale of the Odyssey with Ralph Fiennes as Odysseus and Juliette Binoche as his long-suffering wife, Penelope. Expect Pasolini to exhibit the quiet depth he showed earlier this year in his masterpiece, “Nowhere Special.” This film marks the first time Fiennes and Binoche have acted together since their breakout roles in “The English Patient.”

“The Six Triple Eights” gives us the story of the Black women who joined the war and were assigned the task of sorting, delivering and tracking the mail sent to soldiers during World War II. Directed by Tyler Perry and starring Kerry Washington, this is the story told by Romay Johnson Davis in “Black Uniform,” the outstanding documentary made by Beverly Hills’ own Robert Darwell. As Davis pointed out and Perry’s film emphasizes, mail is communication, hope and information, something supplied by this all-female, all-Black and all-disregarded unit who played the major role that everyone seems to have forgotten. Streaming on Netflix on Dec. 20.

“Nightbitch” is a horror/black comedy starring Amy Adams as a stay-at-home mother whose frustrations manifest themselves at nighttime when she turns into a dog, or does she? Motherhood is complicated.

In “Oh Canada,” based on the book by Russell Banks, director Paul Schrader reunites with “American Gigolo” Richard Gere to tell the story about a man who fled to Canada to avoid the draft and now wants to tell his story.

“Get Away” has it all—remote island location, dysfunctional family vacation, serial killer—what could possibly go wrong? Billed as horror, but with British funnyman Nick Frost in the lead, black humor has to be on the menu.

Dec. 13

“Kraven the Hunter,” plucked from the Spiderverse, is the villain with daddy issues. Kraven follows his ruthless father down a path of vengeance and mayhem against his purported enemies. Starring Aaron Taylor-Johnson, Ariana DeBose and Russell Crowe, it won’t be pretty, and there will be blood.

“Lord of the Rings: The War of the Rohirrim” is a stylish anime film based on the characters from the J.R.R. Tolkien fantasy novels. A prequel to the trilogy, it tells the tale of the King of Rohan.

“The Last Showgirl” has created buzz both for the subject and its stars, particularly Pamela Anderson, starring as Shelley. Having been a showgirl for over 30 years in Vegas, she and the other dancers are rocked when the closing show is announced. Shelley and her friends, including Annette, played by Jamie Lee Curtis, are upended. What is left for these women, all over 50, when the only life they knew as dancers has now ended? Directed by Gia Coppola, granddaughter of Francis Ford, this signals the arrival of another talented member of that family.

Dec. 20

“The Room Next Door” is Pedro Almodóvar’s first English-language film and stars Julianne Moore and Tilda Swinton. After being estranged for many years, a daughter reconnects with her mother, trying hard to piece together what pulled them apart. It won the Golden Lion at the Venice International Film Festival.

“Mufasa: The Lion King” is both a prequel and sequel to “The Lion King,” telling the origin story of Mufasa and Prince Taka. Using photorealistic animation, this film, with its amazing voice cast, will be a sight to behold —a family film to unwrap during the holidays and savor.

“Sonic the Hedgehog 3,” based on the video game series, is the box office gift that keeps on giving. Like “Despicable Me 4,” this year’s hit rerun, “Sonic” should appeal to families looking for fun during the holidays as the furry creatures combine with their human friends to battle the evil Shadow.

Dec. 25

“The Fire Inside” was originally scheduled to open last summer. It is the inspirational story based on the journey of Claressa “T-Rex” Shields who wants to be the first American woman to win a gold medal in boxing at the Olympics. Directed by Rachel Morrison and written by Barry Jenkins, the Oscar-winning writer/director of “Moonlight,” it features a very strong cast led by Brian Tyree Henry.

“A Complete Unknown” is the highly anticipated biopic of Bob Dylan starring Timothée Chalamet. Focusing on the moment at the Newport Folk Festival in 1965 when Dylan decided to go electric, Chalamet will sing. Directed and written by James Mangold who knows his way around biography, having directed “Ford v Ferrari” and “Walk the Line” about Johnny Cash, this is one of the most anticipated films of the season.

“Babygirl” is a story of a powerful CEO who embarks on a passionate affair with an intern. But in this erotic story, the CEO is a woman (Nicole Kidman) and the intern is a young man. Kidman won the Best Actress Award at the Venice International Film Festival, and she has turned heads everywhere the film has been shown.

“Nosferatu” is a starry revisit of the legend of Dracula. A remake of the famous and still scary German Expressionist silent film made in 1922, it is the story of a young woman’s hypnotic obsession with Count Orlok who turns into a vampire at night, searching for blood to keep him alive. Many will try to save her from his spell. It stars Bill Skarsgård, Nicholas Hoult and Lily-Rose Depp. Hoult is fast becoming the villain you love to hate. The magnetism of this story seems to be limitless.

“Wallace & Gromit: Vengeance Most Fowl” brings back that favorite stop-motion, animated duo. This time around it’s up to Gromit to save his master from an evil figure from his past, who may just have been released through Wallace’s latest invention. 

Happy Holidays and Happy Viewing. 

The post STYLE’s Fall/Winter Film Preview appeared first on Beverly Hills Courier.

Fearing for the children living in London, an evacuation was hastily put together to send youngsters out of the big city and transport them by train to safer villages away from the bombing targets. Rita, a factory worker and single mom, lives with her father and her 9-year-old biracial son, George, who could not be more loved or supported by his mother and grandfather. They have raised him to be strong and fair and independent; to stand up to bullies and defend himself when necessary. As his grandfather tells him, “Bullies are all mouth and no trousers.” Torn between her need to have George with her, she is, nevertheless, insistent that he join the evacuation, something he does not want. She unclasped her St. Christopher’s necklace, the last vestige of her long-gone husband and George’s father and puts it around his neck. Yelling, crying, and shouting he hates her, Rita drags him to the train and makes sure he gets on. George wants none of it. The strangers are unfriendly; he’s different; he wants his family. As the train pulls away, you are as wrenched as George is.

Rita is a factory worker. Surrounded by friends, they commiserate about the dangers around them but all are eager to find fun and companionship in the turmoil. Rita is conflicted. Reluctant to be pulled from her shell, all her thoughts are with George and his last hateful words to her. Her guilt and ambivalence are playing havoc with her psyche. Life will soon become more complicated and amidst the constant threat of destruction and paltry number of shelters, Rita tries to help those in need. She is unaware that she could soon be one of them.

Faced with bullies ridiculing him because of his race and a support system not designed for people like him, George, a truly intrepid soul, makes a daring escape from the train, determined to make his way back to his mother and grandfather. He cannot let his last words to his mother be “I hate you.” During his Quixotic trip, he will face an amazing array of dangers, learning that sometimes it’s difficult to tell the bad guys from the good as he starts on his incredible journey. When Rita is informed that George did not disembark with the other children and that one child reported his heroic jump from the moving train, she is hysterical. Walking out on her job, dropping everything, she begins her impossible quest to rescue George. He knows where he must end up but may not have the means to do so, other than his dogged determination. She, on the other hand, is at a marked disadvantage, searching for a needle in a massive haystack.

McQueen, both as writer and director, gives us a thrilling mother-son love story couched within the horrors of war, perfectly illustrating the concept that joy can be found even within the most profound tragedies. It is certainly an excellent depiction of the so-called British “stiff upper lip” personality while also showing the subliminal racism and misogyny that continued to flourish even while most were trying to pull together.

That at times McQueen inserts too many side issues or minor plotlines is forgivable considering the overall emotional impact of the film. His depiction of the patronizing attitude of men in power over women in the factory, women on whose labor the defense machine must rely, is subtle but effective. He becomes a bit more heavy-handed when it comes to issues of racial prejudice, painting with black and white and neglecting nuance and shades of gray, forgetting, perhaps, that it is those shades of gray that are the most dangerous. The audience is intelligent enough to make the connection between a color-based slight as directed at George by his peers and what he and others face day to day. Racism is everywhere. He is most effective with a line of dialogue here or a nasty look there, and less effective when illustrating prejudice with physical assaults against victims of color.

McQueen’s brilliance is evidenced in the way he envelopes you in the terrifying sounds and randomness of the bombing. Juxtaposed by the tender love story he tells of George and Rita; the audience immediately understands the stakes. The randomness of the bombing only heightens the probability of loss.

McQueen won the Turner Prize for Visual Art in 1999 and an Academy Award for “Twelve Years a Slave” in 2014. His cinematographer, Yorick Le Saux, boldly brings that artistry to life as he paints his picture of London. The superb cast is the successful handmaiden to the director and his vision and artistry. Paul Weller as George’s grandfather is quietly effective as one of the roots of George’s backbone. Benjamin Clémentine is a breath of hope as Ife, the air raid warden who briefly takes George under his wing. Stephen Graham, Albert, adds this role to his many other scene-stealing villains, this time a bad guy of Dickensian proportions. He makes an indelible impression not just for the danger he represents but for the randomness of his insertion into George’s life.

There are few accolades that Saoirse Ronan (Rita) hasn’t rightfully received. Here, her mother is so realistically portrayed that you live with her as she follows the well-worn path in the life she has accepted. It is not until she realizes that her child is missing and she breaks down that you begin to understand how thoroughly she has wrapped you in her life. She is us and we are her as she faces a terror for which she was unprepared.

“Blitz,” however, rises or falls on the performance of Elliott Heffernan, the extraordinary child who is George. Discovered in a nationwide open casting call, Heffernan is quiet, effective, effortless and real in a role that calls for him to be brave, hurt, mentally and physically, and lovingly show the unbreakable bond he has with his mother and grandfather. There is nothing showy about his George. This is a real kid. He could be yours or mine, and that’s what makes his dilemma so personally agonizing. He makes you care; he makes you root for him; he makes you afraid for what may happen. Surrounded by professionals, it is on him, nevertheless, that the whole film hinges and its success depends. Gloriously, he’s terrific and the film succeeds beyond what anyone has a right to hope for. “Blitz” is the must-see film of the season.

Now playing at the Landmark Sunset and the Laemmle Town Center and streaming on Apple Nov. 22. 

Neely Swanson spent most of her professional career in the television industry, almost all of it working for David E. Kelley. In her last full-time position as Executive Vice President of Development, she reviewed writer submissions and targeted content for adaptation. As she has often said, she did book reports for a living. For several years she was a freelance writer for “Written By,” the magazine of the WGA West, and was adjunct faculty at USC in the writing division of the School of Cinematic Arts. Neely has been writing film and television reviews for the “Easy Reader” for more than 10 years. Her past reviews can be read on Rotten Tomatoes where she is a tomato-approved critic.

The post ‘Blitz’—Loud and Clear appeared first on Beverly Hills Courier.

David and Benji are on a mission together. They were left money by their cherished grandmother to visit the Poland of her youth, the home where she was happy until the Holocaust upended her life. She survived and had a fulfilling life in New York, bonding with her two grandsons, especially Benji, who benefitted from her tough love and attention and feels her loss more acutely. They have spent that money on a tour of Poland focusing on Jewish heritage. Their ultimate goal is to find their grandmother’s house.

The dynamic between the two men is established immediately. David has texted Benji repeatedly, dozens and dozens of times, about meeting at the airport. Benji responded to none of them, fully confident that they’d find each other before they boarded. When, on the plane, Benji convinces David to take the middle seat, it is immediately noted that Benji knows how to get what he wants and David is missing the self-protection gene. Meeting up with their tour group in Warsaw, Benji quickly establishes himself as a friendly antagonist. He is a flag planter and it’s usually on top of David that he plants it. But he’s also a charmer, and even when he inconveniences the group or directs unnecessary criticism at their amiable guide, he is forgiven. David is clearly annoyed at these antics, but he is also envious because he has never been able to confront anything directly. That he has lived his life avoiding conflict is more than apparent.

Both Benji and David are very disapproving and envious of each other. Disapproving because Benji says whatever comes into his head at the time without a filter; disapproving because David is unable to tap into any emotions that the tour should bring out, even during the tour of a concentration camp; envious for similar reasons just because Benji reacts on a visceral level and David, holds back, allowing his observations to color his response. They each express and feel pain in direct proportion to their abilities to feel emotions—Benji feels everything and David, seemingly, little. But, of course, it’s not as simple as that.

Emotional pain is experienced in different ways. Just because Benji is an unfiltered jerk, both to his cousin and the other members of the group, doesn’t negate his positive qualities. Those positive qualities are very tied to his negative ones, making him almost impossible to be around and impossible not. David is so bottled up that he is almost incapable of opening himself up to the past. His empathy for the suffering of others is almost rote. David is a here and now kind of person. He lives for his wife and child; he loved his grandmother as a person who cared for him. He finds it difficult to relate to past events in anything but a historical context. Benji improvises through life; David follows a script. Each man is a pain to the other, each suffering his own brand of pain.

This could have been a great character study of two men who are different sides of the same coin. On the positive side, Culkin and Eisenberg are playing characters they know so well. On the negative side, Culkin and Eisenberg are playing characters they know so well and have done repeatedly, right down to the identifiable speech cadences. Culkin has channeled Roman Roy from “Succession” at his best and worst. Although not exhibiting any new dimension, he makes it hard not to focus on his character and the ways in which he unsuccessfully hides his difficulties. Jesse Eisenberg stays within his already well-established wheelhouse of the repressed, almost OCD personage whose brain is constantly whirling in facts and numbers but not in emotions. Both men reveal their shortcomings, but it’s Culkin who gives us a more fully developed character.

Eisenberg’s intention was not just to explore the differences and ultimate love the cousins have for each other but to do it in the context of spiritual identity against the backdrop of today’s Poland. Unintended, but the locations were only settings for the two men’s interactions with no insight into the significance of these sites. He has, instead, made a scenic travelogue with little insight into the country.

Neither has much in common with the members of their group, although both bond with Eloge (Kurt Egyiawan), a convert to Judaism and a refugee from the Rwandan genocide who found a new home in Canada where he felt embraced by the grace, empathy and faith of the Jewish community. His quiet humility allowed both men, at least briefly, to contemplate what it means to find community in the aftermath of tragedy, bringing their grandmother’s suffering and survival into focus. All of the other actors portraying the tour group members are only along for the ride, including Jennifer Grey, who portrays Marsha, the L.A. divorcee trying to discover her roots. Even Will Sharpe as James, the amiable tour guide leader, has little to do other than provide narrative for the sites, much like you might get on a Hop-On Hop-Off bus. They are wallpaper for the leads. Although Eisenberg based this film on his own travels, searching for his family’s history in Poland, the personal touch seems missing.

Cinematographer. Michal Cymek, an award winner for the enchanting “EO,” filmed his native Poland lovingly. It is significant, however, that Eisenberg steered clear of Poland’s ever-present antisemitic history, avoiding most of Poland’s past and present.

Opening Nov. 1 at AMC Century City 15 with a Q&A with Jesse Eisenberg and Kieran Culkin; Nov. 2 with a Q&A with Jesse Eisenberg. 

Neely Swanson spent most of her professional career in the television industry, almost all of it working for David E. Kelley. In her last full-time position as Executive Vice President of Development, she reviewed writer submissions and targeted content for adaptation. As she has often said, she did book reports for a living. For several years she was a freelance writer for “Written By,” the magazine of the WGA West, and was adjunct faculty at USC in the writing division of the School of Cinematic Arts. Neely has been writing film and television reviews for the “Easy Reader” for more than 10 years. Her past reviews can be read on Rotten Tomatoes where she is a tomato-approved critic.

The post ‘A Real Pain’—In So Many Ways appeared first on Beverly Hills Courier.

In one form or another, the E Street Band has been accompanying Springsteen for almost 50 years. The configuration has changed, sometimes larger, sometimes smaller, a different drummer here, a new guitarist there, backup singers, horns, no horns, a violin, but it always works and many of the members of the ensemble have been there almost since the beginning. This is the group he tours with, much more than just a backing ensemble. Sometimes when Springsteen embarked on solo work, he disbanded the band, but it never lasted long. This is a family and they celebrate their victories together and mourn their losses, particularly the loss of keyboardist Danny Federici to cancer and saxophonist Clarence Clemons from a stroke in 2011. Clemons’ nephew Jake took over his position and his uncle’s sax in 2012.

He originally thought they’d tour in 2019 and then 2021, but life and the pandemic messed with his original plans. But it’s 2024, and they’ve decided to bring down the house. Unlike other rock ‘n’ roll groups over the decades, there have been no meltdowns, no drug overdoses, no headline grabbing sex scandals (not counting Springsteen’s affair with band member Patti Scialfa before his divorce was final; not a passing fling, they’ve been married over 30 years). Steve Van Zandt, an on and off again member of the band since 1976, although he played with Springsteen in groups before fame overtook them, is quoted as saying that Bruce Springsteen is the only person (not performer but person) he knows who has never (underline never) done drugs. Van Zandt, who has come and gone many times for his own career, both in acting and music, is now the Musical Director of the band and shares his vast knowledge of the Boss and the Band in many of the onscreen interviews. For this tour the band is bigger than ever, but still a close-knit family. The concert will end, as they always end, Bruce, on stage alone, performing an acoustic solo.

“Road Diary” is not a tell-all or a bio in the sense of the recent documentaries profiling Linda Ronstadt or Gordon Lightfoot. “Road Diary” is just that—an up close and personal look at the preparation, rehearsal and ensuing concerts that Springsteen took on the road. Interviews with band members and associates give you a bird’s eye view of what it takes to get the show on the road. No gossip, no tsouris, just roll up your sleeves and get back into the groove.

Springsteen is incredibly disciplined. Unbelievably charismatic, he’s still true to his blue-collar origins with appeal that crosses all age groups, ethnicities and economic demographics. His shows are personal. He knows exactly who he is. He’s the maestro.

Preparing for that first show of the new tour, Springsteen intensely circles the stage. The tempos are a bit too slow. What he wants is rock; 1976 rock. This is a bigger band and Van Zandt must pull them together, incorporating new members into the group. Think Big Band but playing rock ‘n’ roll. Springsteen stays only for a short rehearsal that first day, warming up his voice and pulling the arrangements. Choosing the set list, he explains that he has a specific narrative in mind. There will be no “greatest hits.” The songs he’s selected will tell the story he wants to tell. Leaving the run-through early, he lets them know he has full confidence in them. They know what’s expected. Van Zandt will keep the rehearsal going and get the “wow” factor Bruce is looking for.

Key musicians, all of whom have been with the band off and on for 40 or so years, reminisce about past tours. Only the colors of their neatly pressed shirts or drummer Max Weinberg’s sports coats have changed over time. Patti is still by his side but won’t make all the tour dates; she’s in treatment for multiple myeloma. To a man (and woman) they reiterate the family theme. It doesn’t work as an autocracy, regardless of Bruce’s preeminence. They are well aware that the fans are coming to see Bruce, but it is the band that Bruce relies on and listens to.

This tour will also take them to Europe, first stop Madrid. A great deal of time, actually too much, is spent asking various Italian, Scandinavian and Spanish fans “what Bruce means to me.” I suppose that is to emphasize the universality of his appeal, but personally I’d rather see more Bruce and the Band and less fan segments.

Bruce Springsteen is truly the last man standing. He still has the passions he followed as a kid and clings to the friendships he’s made over the years, but especially those of the long-serving members of the E Street Band. Federici and Clemons were there at the very beginning in 1972, as was Garry Tallent who is still the bassist. The year 1974 saw the inclusion of Roy Bittan on keyboards and Max Weinberg on drums. Van Zandt officially joined in 1975, with other musicians in the 1980s. Even when members left to do their own thing, they were welcomed back to the family. Even when Springsteen broke up the band for his solo career it was more a formal separation than a divorce because he probably never intended to remain a solo forever.

He lives by this quote from Jim Morrison. “O great creator of being, grant us one more hour to perform our art and perfect our lives.”

He’s found a way for universal appeal in the message, not just the music. Amid screaming fans, a journalist foolishly asks him if he’s ready to retire. Laughing, he points to the adulation of the fans and says simply, “Give that up?”

Premiering Oct. 25 on Hulu. 

Neely Swanson spent most of her professional career in the television industry, almost all of it working for David E. Kelley. In her last full-time position as Executive Vice President of Development, she reviewed writer submissions and targeted content for adaptation. As she has often said, she did book reports for a living. For several years she was a freelance writer for “Written By,” the magazine of the WGA West, and was adjunct faculty at USC in the writing division of the School of Cinematic Arts. Neely has been writing film and television reviews for the “Easy Reader” for more than 10 years. Her past reviews can be read on Rotten Tomatoes where she is a tomato-approved critic.

The post ‘Road Diary’: Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band appeared first on Beverly Hills Courier.

“Chef’s Table” has released a new season, and it fits right into the Courier’s latest Wine + Dine magazine. This season’s four episodes celebrate noodles and lead off with a profile of Evan Funke and his restaurants. Following Funke to Italy and the female chefs who taught him everything he knows about pasta, you’ll be dying to scare up a reservation to his Beverly Hills namesake. We learned a great deal about him from the Wine + Dine cover profile; this episode fills in the cooking blanks. There is nothing mechanical about this profile as it emphasizes the painstaking ways he uses and teaches hand-rolled and cut pasta. His ability to twirl a piece of dough into a tiny spiral is nothing short of stunning. The follow-up episodes are equally enchanting. Chinese noodles are made by chef Guong Wei for her London restaurants serving the cuisine of Xi’an; Peppe Guida, the Pope of Pasta, creates amazing dishes centered around dried pasta that he serves in his restaurants on the Sorrento coast; and finally, Nite Yun, inspired by her heritage, serves amazing noodle-centric meals from Cambodia. So loosen your belts and dig in. “Chef’s Table” has some delights in store for you.

Now streaming on Netflix.

“Rivals” is a pure, nasty delight. Set in the 1980s, “Rivals” is a battle of the titans as billionaire Tony Baddingham launches his new commercial television network. His first move is to poach the BBC’s leading talk show host, Declan O’Hara, with the promise of editorial freedom and oodles of cash. His purchase of a mansion in the countryside is a plus and a minus. On the plus side, it’s a mansion. On the minus side, it’s in the countryside. Everyone but his wife Maud, who is easily bored and takes her marriage vows with a grain of salt and a lot of vodka, is thrilled with the new digs. Not satisfied with what he has achieved, Baddingham strives for more, jealously eyeing his neighbor Rupert Campbell-Black, an aristocrat, wealthy and a former Olympian to boot. A rogue of the first order, Campbell-Black has bedded almost every woman in the surrounding area. His refusal to join Baddingham’s Board of Directors and disdain of Baddingham has only heightened their animosity. “Rivals” is a wonderfully skewed look at wealth, both nouveau and ancient, fidelity, and the news, especially the “get” and the “getting.” Everything is personal and vicious and hilarious.

The cast is superb, led by the infinitely versatile David Tenant (“Dr. Who,” “Broadchurch”) as Tony Baddingham. Aidan Turner (“Poldark”) is a very sympathetic and darkly ambitious Declan O’Hara, and Alex Hassell (“Violent Night”) is the unbelievably sexy bad boy Campbell-Black. Peppering the outskirts are Katherine Parkinson (“IT”), Claire Rushback (“A Very Royal Scandal”), Oliver Chris (“My Lady Jane”) and Victoria Smurfit, perfect as the restless wife (although in one way or another all the wives are restless). This is an absolute must-see. I was devastated that only four of the eight episodes were released because I wanted the immediate satisfaction that only the end (which I hope is not the end) would bring. I suspect that all the bad guys and dolls (and almost all of them are) will get a comeuppance of one sort or another. Can’t wait.

Streaming Oct. 18 on Hulu.

“La Máquina” (“The Machine”) is a genuinely compelling Spanish language series about a boxer at a crossroads. Esteban “La Máquina” Osuna is nearing 40, having spent almost his entire life in the ring. He has always relied heavily, probably too heavily, on his childhood best friend and manager, Andy. He’s won all the championships available to him but he’s old, battling sobriety and he has one more critical fight against a new and much younger rival. When he loses in a quick knockout, that’s it. Sponsors are abandoning ship, a rematch is out of reach and his old cravings are returning. He loves his kids and his ex-wife, but he’s lost. Andy pulls a rabbit out of a hat and gets Osuna that rematch; but there are conditions, ones he doesn’t disclose to his friend. Unknown to Osuna, his career has been controlled by unseen forces since the beginning and they are now demanding payback. His ex, a journalist, is on to something even though no one is talking, and her investigation is endangering Osuna, her children and almost everyone around them. When Osuna finds out the extent of Andy’s machinations, he knows that only he can fix things. But can he? These are the complications explored in this fabulous series full of twists and brimming with character development.

The casting is outstanding, reuniting Gael Garcia Bernal (Osuna) with his actual childhood best friend Diego Luna (Andy). Both of them shot to fame in Alfonso Cuarón’s “Y Tu Mamá También” and have gone on to star in many English-language films and series. Luna is the star of “Andor” and Bernal was “Mozart in the Jungle.” “La Máquina” is a nail-biter and moves at the speed of light. Having only released 5 of the 6 episodes, I’ll have to wait to find out what happens just like you.

Now streaming on Hulu. In Spanish with English subtitles.

“The Pradeeps of Pittsburgh” showed some initial promise. The Pradeeps, a family recently emigrated from India, have arrived in their new home outside Pittsburgh where father Mahesh has a contract to build rocket components. None too pleased are his wife Sudha, a physician awaiting her license to practice in the U.S., and children Kamal, a teen so on the spectrum that his issues have issues, Vinod, who wants to grow up to be a garbage man, and Bhanu, a hot high schooler who likes bad boys. The overall framework is a police investigation into the feud between the Pradeeps, primarily started by Sudha, against their very Christian and cluelessly but benignly (it’s still wincing) racist neighbors Jimbo and Janice Mills, when daughter Bhanu hooked up with their idiot son Stu. Somewhere along the way a crime has occurred involving both families, and it is up to two not-so-intrepid police detectives to solve the case by interviewing (repeatedly) every member of each family and unrelated neighbors and school officials. The series, of which eight out of the 11 episodes were released for review, rolled out much like a Bell curve. Starting slowly, it peaked with the middle three episodes and then proceeded to crash and burn when plausibility went off the rails.

The cast is outstanding so it’s a pity that the tone and premise didn’t sustain. Led by International British star Naveen Andrews (“The Dropout”) as Mahesh, with talented Broadway actress Megan Hilty (“Smash”) playing Janice Mills with a great deal of wide-eyed faux innocence and Ethan Suplee as Jimbo, nice as can be and dumb as a bag of hammers. Pete Holmes and Romy Rosemont ground (and grind) the series as the two detectives. There is definitely a series in there, but somehow the writers lost sight of how to keep it real enough so that the “fish-out-of-water drowns in middle America semi-good intentions” scenario stayed the course.

Streaming now on Amazon Freevee.

“Matlock” is only a titular remake of the 1980s favorite starring Andy Griffith as a sharp attorney disguised as a cornpone lawyer prone to solving mysteries. This “Matlock” stars Kathy Bates as a sharp attorney disguising herself as an “aw shucks” rusty lawyer returning to the fold after a bad marriage. In this case, all is not as it seems. She has wormed her way into the firm that represented an opioid pharma company that produced the drugs on which her daughter OD’d and she’s determined to find the evidence they hid. Mattie Matlock, no relation to Andy’s character, promotes lies, including her nom de plume, subterfuge and enlists her grandson to hack into the firm’s files all in the name of righteous indignation and Machiavellian “the end justifies the means.” While she is on the path to uncover dirty deeds and wrong doers, she also ingratiates herself to her co-workers and helps them win cases. There is only one reason to watch this show, and it is Kathy Bates, but even she has a hard time selling the old lady undone by a cheating husband whose real husband is a sweetie. Still, it’s a pleasure to see her at work, so take a look. One look will probably suffice.

On CBS. 

Neely Swanson spent most of her professional career in the television industry, almost all of it working for David E. Kelley. In her last full-time position as Executive Vice President of Development, she reviewed writer submissions and targeted content for adaptation. As she has often said, she did book reports for a living. For several years she was a freelance writer for “Written By,” the magazine of the WGA West, and was adjunct faculty at USC in the writing division of the School of Cinematic Arts. Neely has been writing film and television reviews for the “Easy Reader” for more than 10 years. Her past reviews can be read on Rotten Tomatoes where she is a tomato-approved critic.

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“The Silent Hour”

“The Silent Hour,” director Brad Anderson’s new thriller, has been done many times before, sometimes better, sometimes not. Working from a script by Dan Hall, the basic premise is about being outnumbered and outgunned and trying to survive a siege. This is generally the plot of almost any Bruce Willis “Die Hard” film, but particularly the Richard Donner-directed “16 Blocks” where a cop (Willis) past his expiration date is assigned to take a witness from police custody to the courthouse where he will testify against some bad guys. Both the cop and witness are considered expendable.

Detective Frank Shaw was a catastrophe waiting to happen. Running on too much testosterone, Shaw was in an avoidable accident while chasing a bad guy. A year later, he returns to work with a permanent hearing loss that affects his ability to function in the field. Tired of it all and hating his desk assignment, he is on the verge of retiring but first he has one last task. He and his former partner, now a member of the Vice Squad, are sent to take the statement of a witness to a gang killing of drug dealers. The hook? She’s deaf and the official interpreter is unavailable. The best they have to offer is Shaw who has been taking sign language classes (reluctantly and sporadically) but is far from fluent or at ease. But, as his partner explains, he’s all they have.

Arriving at the condemned and essentially empty building where Ava, the witness, lives, she reveals to them that she recorded the killing. Problem solved; or is it? The detectives go their separate ways and that’s when it gets dicey because Shaw has forgotten his phone in her apartment and must return. Arriving at her apartment, he discovers that she is under siege by the bad guys. Now it’s Ava and Shaw, relying on a combination of Ava’s lip reading and Shaw’s bad sign language against a whole team of bad guys. No cell service, no landlines, no access to help, all played out on screen in real time.

Yes, this has been done before but the stars of this film make it work. Joel Kinnaman as Shaw is not quite enough of a commanding presence, but he garners your sympathy. Deaf actress Sandra Mae Frank as Ava has enough presence to carry the two of them. Her strength as an actress makes you wonder why we see so few deaf actors on screen. Mark Strong as Shaw’s partner is always a welcome addition to any film as he is here. His brilliant support in movies as diverse as “1917” and the “Kingsman” franchise makes them stronger and more interesting. Mekhi Phifer as the chief bad guy proves once again that he is convincing on any side of the fence.

No, it’s not terribly original but it moves fast and works and that is better than most.

Opening Oct. 11 at the Laemmle Monica in Santa Monica and on digital platforms.

“Bad Genius”

“Bad Genius” is a difficult movie to categorize. It encompasses the tropes of entitlement, unlevel playing fields, revenge, cheating, coming of age and disloyalty, all within the backdrop of immorality with an “end justifies the means” rationalization. This film will mean different things to different people, but in the end it’s all about cheating and who wins and who loses. If you grab the power through illicit means, can you hold it?

Lynn is the daughter of a Chinese laundromat owner drowning in debt (literally and figuratively). Her mother, deceased, and father immigrated from China to find a better life. Lynn is a dazzlingly brilliant student who is offered a full scholarship to the best prep school in Seattle. The school needs diversity and she needs access to everything the school has to offer. She and fellow scholarship student Bank, from Nigeria, view the deal as win-win. The school gets to pretend it’s something other than what it is, the repository of the sons and daughters of the obscenely wealthy, and Lynn and Bank get a foot in the door to the very best universities where they might not have had access otherwise.

Soon Lynn is befriended by all the cool kids with grade problems. Because her father is suffering financially, she feels pressure to help him, even though it’s the last thing he would ever have wanted. Her new, very entitled friends, beg her for help on their homework and exams. She rationalizes the price of her services as a necessary college trust fund provided by those with actual college trust funds. Incredibly inventive, her grade enhancement programs, cheating schemes by any other name, are brilliant and attract enough subscribers to fund her Julliard auditions, eventually enlisting the help of the other brainiac scholarship student, Bank.

Although somewhat repetitive from scene to scene, the underlying rationale is amoral, something the director J.C. Lee ignores. Based on the Thai film of the same name, “Bad Genius” does illustrate so many of the ways the system is fixed against the poor but worthy; but, one might add, cheating isn’t the way out. The students are all stereotypes, the brilliant Asian girl, the poor Nigerian boy supported by a single mother, the cool girl, the cool girl’s lunk head of a boyfriend who has to get into Columbia at all costs or his father will take away his trust fund, and on and on it goes with the other rich students living in mansions with swimming pools and servants, I mean staff.

But, and this is an important “but,” as stereotypical as the dilemmas are and as immoral as the actions by the poor but justified may be, “Bad Genius” is worth a view, if only for its killer (no, no one gets killed) ending.

The cast is outstanding, making the most of their stereotypical characters, led by Callina Liang as Lynn. Somehow Liang is able to pull the viewer back to her side of the equation. Her character wants to go to Julliard and her father is insistent that she go to MIT. Liang is able to make her calculating character straddle both sides of that fence successfully. The ringer in the cast is the always amazing Benedict Wong as her father Meng Kang. Wong has a resumé as long as your arm, running the gamut from “The Personal History of David Copperfield,” “Doctor Strange” and “The Martian.” He delicately reveals the conflicts of a man who wants more for his child than he can possibly provide. Jabri Banks as Bank is the moral high ground of the film until he slips, briefly, into the mud. Taylor Hickson plays Grace, Lynn’s erstwhile best friend, and Samuel Braun as Grace’s rich boyfriend Pat, never rise above the stereotypes of the dim, supposedly well-intentioned narcissists that you’ve seen before.

Even without much character development and a tendency to hammer home plot lines to the point of headaches, the film works. There is tension, risk, stakes and, again, that killer ending.

“Bad Genius,” at slightly over 90 minutes, is worth a view.

Opening Oct. 11 at the Lumiere Music Hall in Beverly Hills with a day and date streaming release on digital platforms.

Neely Swanson spent most of her professional career in the television industry, almost all of it working for David E. Kelley. In her last full-time position as Executive Vice President of Development, she reviewed writer submissions and targeted content for adaptation. As she has often said, she did book reports for a living. For several years she was a freelance writer for “Written By,” the magazine of the WGA West, and was adjunct faculty at USC in the writing division of the School of Cinematic Arts. Neely has been writing film and television reviews for the “Easy Reader” for more than 10 years. Her past reviews can be read on Rotten Tomatoes where she is a tomato-approved critic.

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“Land of Women,” led by the incomparable and unfairly gorgeous Eva Longoria, is a guilty pleasure all the way. You’ve seen this one before. Beautiful, hard-working woman is deserted by [fill in the blank] husband who absconds with all their cash. But this is 2024 and Gala (Longoria) is not your typical lady in distress.

On the cusp of opening her chic wine store in Manhattan, Gala, a stunning, rich socialite, is in the limo with husband Fred when he suddenly remembers he forgot something and he’ll meet her at the store. Gala’s gala is a big success but there’s no sign of Fred. What there is a sign of is two thugs who pressure her about his whereabouts. He’s stiffed their boss of $15 million, and that just isn’t done. If they don’t find Fred, they’ll come after her, her mother and her daughter.

Terrified, Gala is on the flight side of the fight-or-flight scale and moves to gather up whatever resources she can and skedaddle. Packing up what little of value is left, she drives to her mother’s retirement home. Julia (Carmen Maura, one of Pedro Almodóvar’s muses) is an expert con woman; she’s got a million scams going and doesn’t want to leave. She’s also on the slow descent into dementia, so she remembers little of what has just been said. Off they go. Next stop, pick up daughter Kate at college. Kate (Victoria Bazua) is having a grand old time with her girlfriend and wants to stay put. Gala thinks quickly and whispers to Kate that Julia is dying and this is a last girls’ trip to Julia’s village in Spain.

One step ahead of the bad guys, they make it to the tiny, middle of nowhere village, but not until Gala creates an international incident with her reckless driving, upending a tractor pulling the town’s harvest. Gala’s natural elitism kicks in and she makes things worse for all of them and then has to eat a fair dose of humble pie when they are forced to hitch a ride with tractor driver Amat (Santiago Cabrera) into town. He tries to direct them to a B&B in the next village, but she’s having none of that. Her mother owns a house in town, or at least she shares ownership with her sister, and that is where they’ll be staying. But they haven’t hit rock bottom yet. They discover that the house they thought was hers now belongs to Amat, who bought it from Julia’s sister, the aunt Gala didn’t know she had.

So there you have it, damsel on the run, duplicitous missing husband, chased by bad guys and runs into (literally and figuratively) an incredibly handsome man who she repeatedly alienates in the tiny village where she should be keeping a low profile. The characters, situation and premise are all there, right in the first episode, with each subsequent episode full of surprises. This is a trip you definitely want to take. Every subsequent episode brings with it new and interesting twists, each of which, if mentioned, would be a spoiler. So my advice is, watch this show.

In Spanish and English with English subtitles.

Now playing on Apple TV+ with new episodes dropping on Wednesdays.

“Mastermind: To Think Like a Killer” is a three-part documentary series about someone you have probably never heard of. Ann Burgess, Ph.D., psychiatric nursing professor and prolific author, is an unintentional superstar and groundbreaker. Her book entitled “Rape: Victims of Crisis,” published in 1974, looked at rape from the standpoint of the victims, an unusual perspective at a time when most victims were blamed for the attacks, either because they dressed provocatively, walked alone at night or traveled in bad company. The courts allowed victim shaming and police often didn’t treat rape as a crime. Burgess’ book began to change that perspective because soon the FBI came calling. They were interested in her approach of looking not just at the crime but also at the victim. She gave seminars to agents, trying to change their mindset. Law enforcement officers, the majority of whom were men, needed to understand the severity of this crime from the victim’s standpoint. Her presentations, enhanced with graphic visual evidence, started to do just that.

In her long study, she was able to discover general patterns of behavior by rapists and this was immediately applicable to the work of the nascent Behavioral Science Unit (BSU) at the FBI headed by John Douglas and Robert Ressler. Ressler recognized that Burgess’ methods of analysis and the patterns she saw could apply to the interviews they wanted to conduct with serial killers. She eventually became part of the interview team and spearheaded the team’s outreach. Her analysis of patterned behavior was instrumental to the new art of profiling criminal behavior. She and the members of the BSU knew they needed to teach profiling techniques to a wider base of law enforcement. And yet, as fundamental to their work as she was, she was never an acknowledged part of the team. She continued because the work was important and a great deal of profiling methodology was thanks to her.

The excellent Netflix series, “Mindhunter” explores the FBI’s BSU and the profilers who changed the hunt for serial killers. In the second season a woman, Wendy Carr, a Ph.D. in psychology, is introduced to aid in their interviews. Although the names were changed for this docudrama, their real-world counterparts were John Douglas (Holden Ford played by Jonathan Groff), Rob Ressler (Bill Tench played by Holt McCallany) and Wendy Carr (Ann Burgess played by Anna Torv). “Mastermind,” an actual documentary, is an excellent counterpart to the “Mindhunter” docudrama. I found myself asking, however, why the writers of “Mindhunter” portrayed the Ressler and Douglas characters so close to their real-life personae but found it necessary to make the Burgess counterpart a confrontational psychologist who was often in conflict with “the boys.” Nothing could have been farther from the truth, a blot on this otherwise outstanding docudrama series.

While working with the FBI in Quantico, VA., Burgess wrote prolifically on the subject of rape, victimology and homicide. “Mastermind” is a thrilling, must-see series with a down-to-earth relatable protagonist who is, in reality, larger than life. And as a final note, this 87-year-old superstar continues to teach at Boston College.

Now playing on Hulu. 

Neely Swanson spent most of her professional career in the television industry, almost all of it working for David E. Kelley. In her last full-time position as Executive Vice President of Development, she reviewed writer submissions and targeted content for adaptation. As she has often said, she did book reports for a living. For several years she was a freelance writer for “Written By,” the magazine of the WGA West, and was adjunct faculty at USC in the writing division of the School of Cinematic Arts. Neely has been writing film and television reviews for the “Easy Reader” for more than 10 years. Her past reviews can be read on Rotten Tomatoes where she is a tomato-approved critic.

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It’s 1991 and the beginning of summer vacation when we meet Lacy as she sneaks out of her camp cabin to make a 911 call to her mother. “If you don’t come get me, I’ll kill myself” or words to that effect expressing her extreme displeasure at having to endure one more Kum Ba Yah moment. Lacy, an awkward pre-teen with glasses, freckles and a pubescent nose too large for her face, is convinced that no one likes her and that she doesn’t fit in. Janet, her mother, knowing her daughter all too well, disengages temporarily from current boyfriend Wayne and heads out to the camp. False alarm. Lacy has found friends and wants to stay. Nope. She made her bed and will have to sleep in it at home, with Janet and Wayne.

Lacy is in the pre-adolescent or possibly the beginning of a long quest to find herself. Mom, on the other hand, is still searching. “Janet Planet” is broken up into three parts, all Janet-related. The first concerns Wayne, part of Janet’s never-ending stream of inappropriate or barely viable partners who last only long enough for Lacy to pass judgment. As disposable as a tissue, his only real value, as fleeting as could be, was his daughter Sequoia, Lacy’s age and totally engaging. The one afternoon Lacy spends mall-grazing with Sequoia is the sum total of her interest in Wayne. Soon, like so many before him, he’s out the door.

Taking Lacy to a quasi-Renaissance Fair production, Janet is surprised and happy to run into an old friend, Regina. Regina’s and Janet’s orbits intersected long ago. Regina, an actress, is now attached to a quasi-hippie commune, having followed its leader, Avi, into romance, enlightenment and, now, disengagement. As exuberant as Janet is cautious, she soon moves into their lovely abode in the woods, bringing excitement, creativity and fresh air into Lacy’s stuffy environment. Lacy’s inner world, as exemplified by the mini-puppet theater she arranges and rearranges in her room, is happily expanded as she trades solitude for imagination. That her mother soon tires of Regina’s energy, critical observations and spirit was an inevitability. It is, perhaps, this rupture that opens Lacy’s eyes to her mother’s inability to couple introspection with action. Certainly, their personalities were polar opposites but Janet, possibly fearing a connection, sends Regina on her way, ironically trading her in for Avi, leader of the commune and Regina’s former lover.

In a moment of self-awareness, Janet reveals that she has one formidable but counterproductive talent. She can make men fall in love with her. As Lacy comes to realize, this does not seem to yield positive results as Janet’s choices generally produce nothing of substance; certainly not for Lacy.

The more things change, the more they remain the same. Janet, somnolently falling in and out of love, still cocoons Lacy in her limited solar system. Lacy, entering a new phase of life that will include middle school and puberty, slowly begins to carve out her own universe, but always keeping her mother tethered to her as a lifeline. Transiency has obviously always been a part of their lives and, based on this particular summer, will continue to be so.

Baker has made a pleasant little film about mother-daughter relationships with quiet, engaging characters. The movie may be entitled “Janet Planet,” but it is more “Lacy’s Universe.” Nothing major happens; the chapters all elucidate the strengths and weaknesses of Janet as seen through Lacy’s prism. It is an especially good dissection of the pre-pubescent period in a young, introspective, intelligent and insecure 11-year-old. Although Janet constantly proclaims herself to be rather plain, this only highlights her insecurities and need to have constant male companionship to give the lie to her self-image. Janet is a lovely if not stunning beauty, and her seeming ability to deemphasize the physical is a positive aspect of her parenting. Lacy is plain, a plainness that shows no sign of improving with age. Her creativity and self-confidence will be her lifesaver as she enters the hell awaiting her in middle school. Her 11th summer has highlighted both her mother’s strengths and weaknesses and gradually allowed Lacy to carve out her own space.

Baker feels the story is “about falling out of love with your mother.” I would disagree. Over the summer, Lacy has been able to see her mother in a more clear-eyed manner. Lacy leads the way in the strengthening of some bonds and the loosening of others. She matures over time, forgiving Janet her co-dependencies and appreciating the focus she still has for her daughter. Janet and Lacy undergo a reversal of roles, in a manner of speaking. Lacy, thanks to her mother’s benign neglect in some cases, is able to sever the ties of childhood and enter into a different relationship that is based on mutual need.

This is a very cast-dependent film and Baker was very lucky in the actors she chose. The men, Will Patton as Wayne and Elias Koteas as Avi, brought a necessary blandness to their roles. Ordinarily this might seem to be a criticism, but in this case it’s not. They effectively highlighted the needs and weaknesses of Janet’s personality. Neither brings anything to the relationship and that is strictly by design. They are exemplars of Janet’s constant need for a placeholder. As Regina, the remarkable Sophie Okonedo lights up the screen with her exuberance and joyful smile. Entrancing and opening up Lacy to more possibilities, it’s clear that her association with Janet was doomed from the start. Her chapter in the film is the most interesting and engaging. Banishing her from their lives said more about Janet than her gravitation toward uninteresting men. Losing Regina was an important step in Lacy’s development and view of her mother.

Julianne Nicholson as Janet was pitch-
perfect. Playing down her natural beauty, she uses inner silence to define her character. Her preternatural calm washes over her personality, yielding an earthiness that establishes who she is or, even, who she’d like to be. It is possible, but unspoken, that her acceptance of her daughter’s needs may actually be part of her own narcissism. Regardless, Nicholson inhabits Janet so that we can see the good while accepting the not so good (there is, actually, no bad here).

But it is the extraordinary Zoe Ziegler as Lacy who is the very personification of adolescence in all its neediness, selfishness, self-awareness, insecurity, hidden secrets and closeted creativity. Ziegler is the engine of this film; “Janet Planet” is, or should be “Lacy Sun” because it is around Lacy that everything revolves. Ziegler, in her feature debut, shows amazing range and an ability to display emotion without histrionics. The very definition of watchable, she steals her scenes quietly, drawing you closer and closer into her realm.

“Janet Planet’ could have used more judicious pruning, something that writers/directors often resist. As it is, this is a good film that could have been a much better one.

Now playing at the Laemmle Royal. 

Neely Swanson spent most of her professional career in the television industry, almost all of it working for David E. Kelley. In her last full-time position as Executive Vice President of Development, she reviewed writer submissions and targeted content for adaptation. As she has often said, she did book reports for a living. For several years she was a freelance writer for “Written By,” the magazine of the WGA West, and was adjunct faculty at USC in the writing division of the School of Cinematic Arts. Neely has been writing film and television reviews for the “Easy Reader” for more than 10 years. Her past reviews can be read on Rotten Tomatoes where she is a tomato-approved critic.

The post ‘Janet Planet’ – A Universe Apart appeared first on Beverly Hills Courier.

Part I, entitled “RMF is Dying,” follows Robert (Jesse Plemmons), a seemingly successful businessman who works for Raymond (Willem Dafoe). But this is more than a boss-employee relationship. Robert’s entire life has been controlled by the dictates of Raymond. When, for the first time, Robert exercises choice, refusing the odious task assigned him, the consequences are dire. He is brought to his knees as he loses everything in his life.

Part II, entitled “RMF is Flying,” follows Daniel (Plemmons), a blandly nice policeman, who is at wit’s end because his wife, Liz (Emma Stone), an intrepid scientific researcher, is missing and presumed dead in a boating accident while on a research trip. When she reappears, he is convinced that she is a substitute, sent to betray him. Continually reassured by his friends and her colleagues that she is, in fact, the original and not a doppelganger, he remains unconvinced and descends into a paranoid frenzy that doesn’t end well, at least not for the alleged “substitute” wife.

Part III, “RMF Eats a Sandwich,” revolves around Emily (Stone) who, along with fellow acolyte Andrew (Plemmons), follows the dictates of cult leader Omi (Dafoe). Emily and Andrew are on a quest to find a woman who can heal the dead. Emily, single minded of focus, is distracted when she is confronted by her husband and child. She has long since abandoned a life of domesticity, but her husband has other intentions, plans that will get her expelled from the cult. Finding the woman with the magic touch becomes paramount to Emily’s existence and
readmission to Omi’s circle.

Lanthimos is not really interested in telling a story, which works in his favor because the stories he tells are very slight. He is, however, interested in dissecting human nature, exploring the extremes of the human condition, most effectively in “RMF Is Dying” where the idea of free will is questioned. Does it really exist? Robert, who follows Raymond’s every command, still believes that he can exercise a choice. He never has in the past but is convinced that each and every action and reaction were his to make. By refusing Raymond, he triggers a series of events that upend his life and force him to reassess what is permissible. Has he exercised free will or fallen into a sinister trap that tests him as God tested Job?

It is apparent that Lanthimos has given his actors great latitude to improvise and explore their characters. Good for the actors; not so good for us. I like a good plot; actually, I’ll settle for any plot. Nevertheless, the concept of character as an exercise in creativity, freed from story, is not without interest. The outward trappings are subtle but telling. Robert in Part I is ostensibly a successful businessman. But look closely at his “tailored” suit and you will note that it doesn’t quite fit; it’s loose where it should be tight and snug where it should flow. Compare his attire with that of Raymond’s and it becomes more obvious because Raymond, impeccably attired, would look at ease on the pages of “GQ.” The imperceptibly ill-fitting suit goes along with the forced ease with which Robert carries himself. It’s a short distance between the successful, admired Robert and the increasingly distraught Robert who witnesses his entire life vanishing before his eyes.

The benignly threatening aspect of Omi in Part III is expressed primarily in the cadence of his speech and sureness of foot. Emily’s poorly fitting outfit, reminiscent of a traveling Seventh Day Adventist’s work attire, and wide-eyed astonishment identify her insecurities and neediness. But costume designer Jennifer Johnson must have loved working with Plemmons because his outfit is hilariously pitch perfect. Even before knowing the details of Omi’s beliefs, Andrew, with his buzz cut, empty gaze, few spoken words, cheesy T-shirts and high-water khaki pants, can be nothing but the blind follower of a cult, especially one that believes that the dead can be reanimated. He brought to mind a follower of Heaven’s Gate ready to be beamed up to the heavens on the word of his leader.

It’s not always easy to see the humor that Lanthimos is aiming for. Much of the film would fit into the larger category of theater of the absurd, although this is not Samuel Becket-worthy by any stretch of the imagination. There are some laugh-out-loud moments, although, for me, they were few and far between. It is easier to recognize them from afar, after the film has been experienced. I say experienced because without discernible plots, many of the strengths of “Kinds of Kindness” are not immediately apparent. If one approaches it from the standpoint of an exercise in improv without the expectation of plot and story, then there is a brilliance within it. There is a very unscripted aspect to each part dependent almost entirely on the actors’/characters’ reaction to situation. Emma Stone, Lanthimos’s muse, is most at ease with this type of storytelling and shines. Plemmons, who won Best Actor at the Cannes Film Festival, gives the most anchored performance of the group. Dafoe, viewed as a straight man, propels forward whatever story is present. The other members of the repertory cast are also very good. Margaret Qualley lends an ethereal presence to all of her characters; Hong Chau and Mamoudou Athie anchor the various “storylines” with some semblance of verisimilitude. Joe Alwyn, the last member of the group, seems to have a thankless place-holder role with the exception of Part III, where he is the antagonist.

Did I like the film? No, not particularly. It’s long, obtuse and forced. Even the so-called RMF is an abstract concept. But, and this is a big but, it does have a genius for absurdity. The acting is outstanding but at more than 2 hours and 40 minutes, this, like much of the movie, will be relegated to cult status—more talked about than seen.

Opening June 21 at the AMC Century City 15, AMC Grove 14, AMC Burbank 16 and AMC Media Plaza. 

Neely Swanson spent most of her professional career in the television industry, almost all of it working for David E. Kelley. In her last full-time position as Executive Vice President of Development, she reviewed writer submissions and targeted content for adaptation. As she has often said, she did book reports for a living. For several years she was a freelance writer for “Written By,” the magazine of the WGA West, and was adjunct faculty at USC in the writing division of the School of Cinematic Arts. Neely has been writing film and television reviews for the “Easy Reader” for more than 10 years. Her past reviews can be read on Rotten Tomatoes where she is a tomato-approved critic.

The post ‘Kinds of Kindness’ appeared first on Beverly Hills Courier.

Expect sequels of your favorites, remakes and reimaginings of stories from the past.

There are video game adaptations, with starry casts and fun, snarky scripts; family-friendly fare; and imaginative sequels to franchises of yesteryear like “Beverly Hills Cop,” only now Axel has a daughter! Horror is intermingled with thrills in the latest installment of “A Quiet Place.” There are some enticing originals featuring an array of topics, both dramatic and comedic, some with spies, lots with thrills, and what is a summer without superheroes? There’s even an epic Western, presented in two parts, each premiering several weeks apart. For me, I’m looking forward to “Hitman,” premiering exclusively on Netflix, and “Thelma” because who isn’t enchanted by the feisty nonagenarian June Squibb? Lots of movie stars, old and new, from Sean Penn, Kevin Costner and Michel Keaton to Austin Butler and Glen Powell. And there’s a plethora of M. Night Shyamalan. They’re all waiting for you at the box office. (Dates may change.)  

Without further ado, here they are:

June 6

“Hitman,” sure to be action packed and loaded with humor, is directed by Richard Linklater dipping into the well of his Texas roots. The venerable “Texas Monthly” magazine is the source of this material about an undercover policeman posing as a hitman who goes off book. Glen Powell, the breakout star from “Top Gun: Maverick,” leads the cast. (Streaming on Netflix)

 June 14

“Bad Boys 4” reunites Martin Lawrence, who hasn’t been seen in too much lately, and Will Smith, who’s been spreading himself a bit too thin for audience tastes. Still, the supporting cast is surprisingly interesting with Ioan Gruffudd, Eric Dane and Vanessa Hudgens. 

“Inside Out 2” returns us to the brain of Riley, who is facing new and treacherous pathways as her teenage emotions place a stranglehold on her as she tries to negotiate her way through college. Count on Amy Poehler to lead us through her limbic system. 

“Treasure” stars Lena Dunham as the journalist daughter of a Holocaust survivor played by Steven Fry who takes her to the Poland of his youth. The memories of his treatment are still fresh, and there are places he won’t go so he deliberately sabotages those visits. (Limited release)

“The Watchers” is an M. Night Shyamalan-produced film, directed by his daughter Ishana. Stranded in the forest, a young woman is stalked by creatures and surrounded by strangers. “You can’t see them, but they see everything.” Starring Dakota Fanning, there will be shivers. 

July 12

“Long Legs” stars Nicolas Cage, Maika Monroe and Blair Underwood. Director Osgood Perkins gives us a serial killer thriller with a little bit of the occult thrown in for good measure. The FBI heroine must find the killer before he strikes again…sound familiar?

“Touch,” a romantic drama, comes from Iceland and is based on a book of the same name. After his wife dies, a man is determined to find his long-ago first love before he dies; a woman who disappeared 50 years before.

“Twisters” is a sequel or reimagining of the 1996 disaster movie “Twister.” There are high winds a-comin’ for stars Daisy Edgar-Jones, Maura Tierney and Glen Powell (who’s having quite a summer).

July 19

“Thelma” stars the always fun, feisty and fabulous June Squibb as a (very) old lady who has been duped out of her savings. She’s on a mission to get it back and will stop at nothing. The supporting cast includes Malcolm McDowell and the late Richard Roundtree in his last role. This Thelma needs no Louise. (Limited release)

 July 26

“Deadpool & Wolverine” (title as of press time, it may change) unites Ryan Reynolds’ snarky mutant mercenary Deadpool and Hugh Jackman’s long-clawed, alpha Wolverine. Who or what is their common enemy or purpose remains under wraps but be assured, there will be mayhem. Directed by Shawn Levy, this unlikely bromance also stars Matthew MacFadyen hot off his run on HBO’s hit “Succession.”

August 2

“Harold and the Purple Crayon” is a live-action movie based on the much-loved children’s book that explores sibling rivalry through fantasy, heroics and a magical purple crayon. Among the very starry cast are Zooey Deschanel, Zachary Levi and Lil Rel Howery. 

“Trap” is another M. Night Shyamalan family production, this time with him directing and his daughter Saleka as one of the stars. He has not divulged much information about the film other than that it is a psychological thriller set at a concert. Among the cast is Josh Harnett and the rarely seen and much-missed Hayley Mills. 

“My Old Ass” is a comedy about how the future impinges on the present when a young girl is visited by her future self and advised against falling in love, especially with someone who spells trouble. You guessed it, the years pass and she falls in love with the one she was warned about. The delightful Aubrey Plaza stars. (Limited release)

August 9 

“Borderlands” is an arcade to big screen transition of the popular video game of the same name, written and directed by horror meister Eli Roth. Video game series, especially those involving first-person, role-playing, fantasy, science fiction and Westerns would seem daunting. Nevertheless, he has a starry cast to back him up led by Cate Blanchett (always looking to expand her range) with support including Jamie Lee Curtis, Jack Black, Kevin Hart and a delicious villain played by Edgar Ramirez. This is a built-in series ready for sequels. Although animated films have fared better overall than live-action video game movies, this one seems to be played tongue in cheek.

“It Ends with Us” is based on the bestseller by Colleen Hoover where main character Lily is forced to make some hard choices when her high school sweetheart comes back into her life. Blake Lively stars in this very romantic film co-starring, written and directed by the hunky Justin Baldoni.   

“Speak No Evil,” an English language remake of a very popular Danish film, is a cautionary tale. One nice family meets another, seemingly nice family on vacation and accepts their invitation to come visit. Directed by James Watkins who made “Eden Lake,” all is not what it seems and danger lurks around every corner in this psychological thriller. 

“Flint Strong” is based on the true story of Claressa “T-Rex” Shields who wants to be the first American woman to win a gold medal in boxing at the Olympics. Directed by Rachel Morrison and written by Barry Jenkins, the Oscar-winning writer/director of “Moonlight,” it features a very strong cast led by Brian Tyree Henry. 

August 16

“Alien: Romulus,” directed by Fede Alvarez, is theoretically a sequel to the other “Alien” movies. A group of young people face an evil force, but this time there’s no Sigourney Weaver to rescue them or Jean-Pierre Jeunet, David Fincher or Ridley Scott at the helm. 

“The Union” is an action comedy/thriller starring Mark Wahlberg as an ordinary Joe roped into spy shenanigans by his ex-girlfriend played by Halle Berry. The supporting cast includes J.K. Simmons, Mike Colter and Jackie Earle Haley. 

“Horizon: An American Saga Chapter 2” is a continuation of “Chapter 1,” which opened on June 28. 

August 23

“Blink Twice” marks Zoe Kravitz’s directorial debut in a story about a cocktail waitress who succumbs to a tech mogul’s advances and takes an ill-advised vacation with him and his friends to a private island. Strange things begin to happen, and she has to figure out how to get out alive. This strong cast includes Kyle MacLachlan, Geena Davis, Channing Tatum, Haley Joel Osment and Christian Slater. 

“Slingshot” stars Casey Affleck as an astronaut on a mission to Saturn’s moon, Titan. The flight may be compromised, and he’s in a battle with his consciousness as he tries to maintain a grip on reality. Able support is provided by Laurence Fishburne and David Morrissey

“The Crow” uses the character as a starting point, and Eric Draven, the Crow, has a new look. Still based on the graphic novel series, it has gothic director Rupert Sanders (“Snow White and the Huntsman”) at the helm and horror stalwart Bill Skarsgård (of the famous acting family, Stellan is his father and Alexander, his brother) and Danny Huston in support. It remains to be seen if it can escape the curse that followed when Brandon Lee (son of Bruce) was accidentally killed on the set of the original film. 

September 6

“Beetlejuice Beetlejuice” is a sequel to the original 1988 movie. Once again, Tim Burton has brought the ghost back to life with Michael Keaton reprising his role as the scarier version of Casper the Friendly Ghost, Winona Ryder returning as Lydia Deetz, the formerly goth teenager who lived in the haunted house all those years ago, and Catherine O’Hara is still her mother, Delia Deetz. New additions are Jenna Ortega as Lydia’s daughter Astrid, and Monica Bellucci as Beetlejuice’s wife. 

Whether you see it as a feast or famine, there’s definitely something here for you. So make a trip to a multiplex near you, load up on popcorn and soda and get ready for some summer entertainment. 

The post Sizzling Summer Releases appeared first on Beverly Hills Courier.

Having reached out to veterans’ groups across the country, Darwell was able to assemble a sympathetic, engaging and diverse group. He was fortunate to find two amazing soldiers who served in World War II, a conflict where the remaining survivors are now well into their later 90s; the last war when the armed services were “legally” segregated. There was very little interaction between the troops with the exception of white officers chosen to supervise and run many of the Black divisions. Every effort was made to keep whites and Blacks separate, from the facilities to the kinds of assignments that were given out to the execution of those jobs.

Romay Johnson Davis, now 104 years old, served in the Women’s Army Corps (WAC) in the postal battalion, an all Black division. She and her fellow WACs were responsible for making sure the mail to and from the soldiers was properly distributed. Thinking about the work she did, there was little that was more important, outside of combat, because the postal workers represented a lifeline for loved ones on both sides of the ocean. For the soldiers, it was their only attachment to family and could not be underestimated. Mail call, as shown in so many movies about the era, brought joy and hope to those receiving letters and disappointment to those who didn’t.

Dr. Eugene Richardson is one of the last remaining famed and vaunted members of the Tuskegee Airmen. Facing the camera in the comfort of his living room, he explains that even as a child he wanted to fly, to be a pilot.  The armed forces did not feel that Blacks had the kind of skills that were necessary to become pilots but despite this almost impenetrable wall, a Black division of the Army Air Corps was founded, named after Tuskegee University where many of the pilots trained. The Tuskegee Airmen gave coverage to their all white counterparts in the bomber squads, protecting them from the German air force. Those fighter pilots had no idea that their coverage was from an elite group of Black pilots, pilots whose coverage was highly sought after because of their skill and bravery.

The representatives from the Korean War are both individuals who should be recognizable, at least for anyone over the age of 60. Both men, now in their 90s, have lived most of their lives in the public eye.

Representative Charles Rangel (U.S. representative of New York’s 13th District from 1971-2017), a high school dropout, was raised by a single mother. Economics played a major role in his enrollment in the army. With limited prospects back home, the lure of an income and possible educational and training benefits after his service was a major factor in his enlistment. He still remembers the feeling of despair as the commanding officers abandoned their primarily Black troops as they were being attacked on all sides by the enemy. Although President Truman desegregated the military by Executive Order, Rangel recalls that his experience was of a distinctly segregated Army.

James McEachin went on to become that rarest of rare creatures, a working actor, recognizable from his supporting work in innumerable television shows, including his own short-lived series called “Tenafly.” McEachin defied the odds in the Army and continued to be a groundbreaker in his personal life. And like everyone else profiled in this documentary, none of it was easy but he was up for the challenge. He eloquently voices the importance of serving. “No veterans, no democracy. No democracy, no America.”

The very unpopular Vietnam War created its own problems, not just in Southeast Asia but also at home where veterans were accorded none of the respect of those who served in previous wars or the ones that came after. The profiled “survivors” of that war had very different experiences.

Ty Martin had the harder row to hoe in a manner of speaking. A sailor in the Navy, he was gay in the era before “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell.” He faced danger around every corner, particularly as a necessarily in-the-closet gay man. He thought that the Navy would make him a man,” that he would no longer be gay.” But it also gave him the opportunity to travel, see the world, and wear those white bell bottoms, things his naive 17-year-old self couldn’t resist. Successfully hiding his sexual orientation, he remembers the camaraderie he felt with his fellow sailors. Now a senior and still handsome, he speaks to us from his apartment in Harlem, surrounded by the African masks he has collected over the years. His overall warmth shines through.

Norvell Ballard enlisted in the Air Force at the age of 17 and soon found himself in the jungle. Seated, not entirely ironically, in front of coffins on display as part of his funeral home business, it is Ballard who talks convincingly and strongly about the benefits that all recruits in the armed forces are entitled to and yet are distributed inequitably. His experience was that the treatment of white and Black soldiers was entirely different. Blacks were expelled for the same actions that resulted in no reprimands for whites.

Roy Wilkins was drafted by the Army at the tail end of the Vietnam War. He was on the cusp of going to college and the military made him an enticing offer. Sign up for eight years and they’d pay for his education. He eventually served in Vietnam and Iraq in the Special Forces. Outgoing and proud, Wilkins has had other battles to fight that were more challenging, as you will see. But even today he’d still recommend joining.

The rest of the veterans profiled served in one or both of the Iraq Wars. Their experiences are as alike as they are different.

Robert Dabney, Jr. also served in the Army. During his 11 years as a medic, he saw action in Saudi Arabia, Kosovo and Iraq, areas he calls the triangle of death. Joining at 17, he was looking for new opportunities that would benefit him and his family. Like Rangel, his motivation was economic, an outcome that was both positive and negative.

Eric Howze, an Army survivor of the Iraq War, has found his most challenging battles at home. Fighting PTSD and depression, he accurately expressed what happens to so many when they are discharged. “Even though you made it home, there’s still a war going on.” A proponent of therapy, he belongs to a group called “No Hero Left Behind” that was fundamental to his healing process. Telling his story of survival and how he has been giving back is inspirational.

Phoebe Jeter is one of the outliers. Career Army all the way, she retired as a Major, having served in both Desert Shield and Desert Storm. She experienced the highs and the lows but is very proud to have been a groundbreaker. She discusses gender politics and the effect it had on her because, as she points out, so many of the best opportunities were offered to men and not women; opportunities that had a clear promotion path like becoming an aide to a general. Her positive and spiritual outlook set her apart.

Julia Robison, who I would describe as a survivor of the Army, had a very different experience. One of 13 children, the Army was an opportunity to find her independence and honor her father who served in Vietnam. She viewed the military as a way to escape the sorrows and suffering she saw around her. As she will eventually explain, what she had to endure in the Army was worse than what she was determined to escape.

And finally, there is Janina Simmons, a groundbreaker in every sense of the term. She was the first African American woman to graduate from the U.S. Army Ranger Corps. Rightly proud of her accomplishments, she is aiming for the top and it’s unlikely that anything will get in her way. Enlisting was pragmatic. She needed the money to continue her education. For her, what matters most was always to try as hard as she could. Out of 370 in her Ranger class, only 80 graduated. An example, at least theoretically, of how far the military has come, she, a gay woman, has been supported all the way in her endeavors.

These are just thumbnail sketches of each individual; the movie offers a more complete and engrossing portrait of each of them. The film highlights the diversity of experience and illustrates how far things have come, although it is also an example of the adage, “the more things change, the more they remain the same.” Darwell has done an excellent job of bringing these stories to life and allowing you, the viewer, to draw your own conclusions. This is engrossing and fulfilling cinema at its best.

Now streaming on Amazon Prime VOD. 

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Directors Bradford Thomason and Brett Whitcomb, also acting as editor and cinematographer, respectively, have assembled a cast of creators, directors, producers, executives and participants that make you happy the show happened in the first place and sad that it ever ended. And leading the charge? LeVar Burton, host for all the episodes, who aged more gracefully than anyone has a right to, is still enthusiastic and warm; an advocate for the mission of “Reading Rainbow,” he is the very definition of a mensch.

Twila Liggett loved teaching but when success became an algorithm (they may not have called it that in the late ‘70s, but that’s what it was) of teaching to the test, it took away the joy she found in the profession. Children learn at different rates in different ways, something that standardized tests couldn’t predict. When the tests encroached on her ability to modify curricula to adjust to those differences, she left the profession but not teaching. Although television was viewed as the “enemy” in many circles, maybe, she thought, there was a way to make it work for what she wanted to convey. Nebraska ETV connected with her vision as did Tony Buttino at WNED in Buffalo, NY. At the end of the day, all television is education. The question is, “What are we teaching?” Their mission? Get children excited about reading. Tony assembled a team of directors and producers, among them the newlywed team of Larry Lancit and Cecily Truett Lancit who were with the show almost until the end.

Even with the success of PBS shows “Sesame Street,” “Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood” and “The Electric Company,” there remained a skepticism at the Corporation for Public Television (CPB). No one seemed to understand that the creators weren’t trying to teach reading. They were concerned about the so-called summer loss phenomenon where children, viewing reading as a task, not a pleasure, never picked up a book during those months, leaving them behind when school resumed. What would happen if reading became a cherished activity?

Reluctantly, the CPB gave them the seed money for a pilot and they were off to the races. The first hurdle? They needed a Mr. Rogers-type; someone who could relate to the children and never talk down to them. Children have an unerring instinct about condescension. Obviously, Fred Rogers was taken, so who could they get to host this show? Ideally, a celebrity would capture attention and they composed a list of potential actors for the lead role. At the top of their wish list was LeVar Burton, relatively fresh off his exploding star turn as the young Kunte Kinte in “Roots.” There was something approachable and captivating about this young man who was plucked from college (USC) to be one of the leads in what became that era’s most important and viewed
miniseries.  Little more than a kid himself, he still retained a wide-eyed innocence and enthusiasm that was exactly what they were looking for. Against the odds, this rising star, in love with the concept, said yes.

The pilot that was produced convinced the CPB executives to fund this program that immersed its audience in the world of books. Burton would introduce a book per episode; it would be read out loud, often by a celebrity; and then he would take the viewers on a voyage into the world of that book, traveling to various relatable locales and talking to youngsters about how their lives related to the stories. Children from all ethnicities, socioeconomic levels and areas of the country participated on screen. The kids watching were, in some cases, seeing others on the television who were just like themselves for the first time. And so started a revolution in love, the love of reading.

“Reading Rainbow” had a cast of 8 and 9-year-olds, the target audience, who presented their own reviews of books that they personally chose to recommend. They wrote their own copy and delivered their book reports as they chose—no adult rewriting, no interference. It was those raw, charming presentations that gave the show a reality that was often lacking in other children’s programming. Particularly charming are the interviews with some of the now-grown former child critics on what the show meant to them and how important it was for some of them to see and be seen as representatives of the underrepresented. They talk about the joy they still have for their past participation. It was a point of pride that the producers made an effort to have kids from all backgrounds and “colors” as their ambassadors. It was built into the DNA of the series.

Amazingly, the producers faced difficulties from publishers who didn’t understand the concept and were less than enthusiastic about having their books featured. I can’t even imagine the lack of vision behind such a stand. How could they not have immediately seen the marketing possibilities?

Remarkably, the show always struggled for funding. Too often, CPB was threatened with a funding cut off by a Congress that didn’t seem to understand the greater benefit to the general public. Nothing could possibly have been less partisan than “Reading Rainbow.” Although CPB usually escaped the ax, the threat was always there and they were looking for outside monetary sources, sources that were greater than “viewers like you.” “Sesame Street” was a marketing juggernaut, a veritable licensing dream machine with Cookie Monster clothing and stuffed animals of all the characters. “Reading Rainbow” had books and no merchandising. It was the publishers, now recognizing the value of free publicity, who benefited in a big way. They flooded the producers with books for inclusion, but it was the kids who chose. All books under consideration were tested in classrooms by the targeted age range. The students were involved in discussions about the pros, cons and viability of the various books. The adults producing the shows ended up with the greatest respect for the intelligence and understanding of children who understood from the beginning that we all learn through stories.

“Reading Rainbow” may have ended too soon, although 23 years is a nice run, but, in the end, all that counts is the generations who benefited from a show where reading and books were king.

Now streaming on Prime Video and iTunes. 

Neely Swanson spent most of her professional career in the television industry, almost all of it working for David E. Kelley. In her last full-time position as Executive Vice President of Development, she reviewed writer submissions and targeted content for adaptation. As she has often said, she did book reports for a living. For several years she was a freelance writer for “Written By,” the magazine of the WGA West, and was adjunct faculty at USC in the writing division of the School of Cinematic Arts. Neely has been writing film and television reviews for the “Easy Reader” for more than 10 years. Her past reviews can be read on Rotten Tomatoes where she is a tomato-approved critic.

The post ‘Butterfly in the Sky’ – The Story of Reading Rainbow appeared first on Beverly Hills Courier.

The Venice Biennale has been one of the most important art shows in the world featuring modern art. Winning the Grand Prize could be the launch of a new career or the underscore of an established one. Founded in 1895, it was suspended during the two world wars. Following World War II, it resumed in 1948. 

The emphasis was supposed to be on contemporary art although one could argue that the winners from 1948 through 1956 were no longer on the cutting edge. George Braque, Henri Matisse, Raoul Dufy, Max Ernst and Jacques Villon were no longer part of the current avant-garde movement. Those wins did, however, serve to emphasize the preeminence of France as the center of the art world.

International in scope, exhibiting countries, most financially supported by their national governments, had longstanding invitations to build pavilions to exhibit their entries in a space allocated by the Biennale committee in the Giardini or in the park. The United States, barely an also ran, had a very small building representative of its minuscule offerings over the years. There was no government funding to support U.S. artists. But that changed dramatically in 1964 when the government, under the auspices of the USIA (United States Information Agency), decided that a strong American presence at the world’s most important art show could be used as a weapon in the Cold War.

This is more than a movie about an international art competition; it is an investigation into longstanding rumors that the United States allegedly “fixed” the Biennale so their artist, Robert Rauschenberg, could win the Grand Prize. Despite the fact that there has never been any proof that there were payoffs or skullduggery, those rumors persisted. That Robert Rauschenberg was one of the leaders in the new contemporary art movement and more than worthy of recognition seemed to be beside the point. Other national governments supported their representatives, but the fact that, for the first time, the U.S. was providing financial support to a slate of artists entered as part of its delegation seemed to be suspicious. The who, the why and the how is the meat of this film and it’s a great history that is entrancing. It never once occurred to me that Rauschenberg should have been controversial. This was, after all, a competition in the arena of contemporary art, and by 1964 Rauschenberg was well established in New York circles.

Robert Rauschenberg caused an upheaval in the New York art scene almost from the time he arrived with his paintings full of “found objects,” silk-screened images and painted abstracts. Because he straddled the line between painting and sculpture, he coined the phrase “combine” to illustrate more clearly what he was doing with both media. An encounter at Black Mountain College in 1948 with the composer John Cage and Cage’s partner, Merce Cunningham, led to an artistic collaboration with Cunningham’s dance company. Rauschenberg would go on to create scenic and costume designs for the dancers, something that would influence the judges years later at the Biennale.

Rauschenberg would work with and have relationships with many of the emerging artists of the day, Cy Twombly and Jasper Johns, in particular. Their new art movement began slowly to gain traction as the Abstract Expressionists ceded precedence. But Rauschenberg refused to be categorized and critics had a difficult time placing him within a context. Nevertheless, by the end of the 1950s, he had arrived at an important juncture. He was represented by Leo Castelli, a gallerist who had become and would remain the leading purveyor of the new art forms. Not only did Castelli represent important Abstract Expressionists like Jackson Pollock, Willem de Kooning and Rauschenberg’s former partner Cy Twombly, but he also had literally everyone who was anyone in the new contemporary art movement including Jasper Johns, Donald Judd, Frank Stella, James Rosenquist and a whole roster of what would become the Pop Art movement, including Claes Oldenburg, Andy Warhol, Roy Lictenstein and Ed Ruscha.

Castelli, working with Alan Solomon, the progressive curator at the Jewish Museum in New York, determined that Rauschenberg deserved to win the Biennale, and be the first American to do so. (Technically he wasn’t because an American artist named Mark Tobey won in 1958.) Working with Washington insider Alice Denney whose husband worked for the USIA (but in a more nefarious branch), they set about getting the funding to take a show of the leading contemporary artists (not coincidentally represented by Castelli) to Venice. With Denney’s help, they did just that, enlisting Air Force transports and barges to transport these massively scaled paintings.

“Taking Venice” is remarkable not just for the story about Rauschenberg’s eventual win but also for all the background information on many of the players. Documentaries could be made just about Castelli and Solomon who shaped contemporary art forever. Alice Denney, now in her 90s, gives insight into the USIA sponsorship and the work that went into mounting the show. Archival and present-day footage show Castelli and his ex-wife Ileana Sonnabend reveling in the details of a politically rife journey. Sonnabend would go on to represent all the Castelli artists when she opened her own gallery in Paris. A more amicable divorced couple you will never find.

There were several factors fighting, in some cases battling hard, against the Americans. Lobbying for an American juror was treated as suspicious. Nevertheless, one was found who fit in seamlessly. But the real snag was the exhibition space. Because the American pavilion was so tiny, Denney, Castelli and Solomon requested that they be able to use the empty American Consulate building to show the works of the artists they had brought. The Biennale committee agreed to the use of the Consulate. Denney, on her way back home, reminded Solomon and Castelli to get that agreement in writing. They did not and when a new Biennale president arrived, he refused to honor the gentlemen’s agreement. This was but another obstacle for the Americans to overcome and Wallach does an excellent job of laying out the minefield that was still to be crossed.

After all these years, it’s difficult to fathom the extent of the controversy, so much of it political and not artistic. Although not internationally known at the time, the show set up at the Consulate exhibited not just Rauschenberg, but also Jasper Johns, Jim Dine, Claes Oldenburg, Frank Stella and John Chamberlain, all now household names and no longer of the avant-garde. How the American team overcame the interdiction of the American Consulate as a viable space is inventive and created yet more controversy. It’s no spoiler to reveal that Rauschenberg did, eventually after much ado (really about nothing), win. But it was a win that, for him, was tainted because it made him question his right to the prize. It was a monumental moment that seemed to be diminished to a footnote for him, much like the asterisk after Roger Maris’s home run record. Wallach gifts us with much footage, both archival and contemporary, of Rauschenberg both pre and post the Biennale.

You don’t have to love art to love this movie, although I do love both; but as a thriller with a known ending it also works on an entirely different level. The cast of characters are all interesting and the significance of the win turned the art world upside down, not because of who Rauschenberg was but because it spelled the end of Paris as the capital of the art world and marked the beginning of New York as that center. I’m sure the Parisians felt the same way the New Yorkers did when the center shifted to Los Angeles a few years ago.

How do you steal such a prize? Beats me. He didn’t, but it’s still a meaty discussion.

Opening May 24 at the Laemmle Royal. 

Neely Swanson spent most of her professional career in the television industry, almost all of it working for David E. Kelley. In her last full-time position as Executive Vice President of Development, she reviewed writer submissions and targeted content for adaptation. As she has often said, she did book reports for a living. For several years she was a freelance writer for “Written By,” the magazine of the WGA West, and was adjunct faculty at USC in the writing division of the School of Cinematic Arts. Neely has been writing film and television reviews for the “Easy Reader” for more than 10 years. Her past reviews can be read on Rotten Tomatoes where she is a tomato-approved critic.

The post ‘Taking Venice’— An American First appeared first on Beverly Hills Courier.

“Haven of Grace” is an almost ran. Set in present day Le Havre in Northern France, it follows a long-time longshoreman and union organizer, Pierre Leprieur, whose mission has been to curb drug trafficking on the docks. It has been a losing proposition and one with no winners, only losers. Workers are pitted against workers, everyone is a suspect and time will show that no one is innocent. Pierre’s oldest son is a self-made businessman whose success is ignored by the family. He has a wife and children but because his past life involved drugs, his parents disdain his efforts. They are much more accommodating to their youngest son Jean who is a petty drug dealer still living with them. When the cops inevitably come calling, his mother, who has always known his every move, finds his stash and flushes it. Saved from the police, he is less than happy because now he has nothing to repay his supplier.

“Haven of Grace” is an old fashioned pot boiler and melodrama jazzed up with drugs, adultery, human trafficking and complex characters. A very conflicted Pierre is at the center of it all. Even after he is murdered he continues to be the voiceover narration. Although there are many loose ends and, spoiler alert, no one comes out for the better, it is engaging and worth a try. Now streaming on MHz Choice.

“Under the Bridge” is a limited true crime series based on the book by Rebecca Godfrey, telling the story about the murder of 14 year old Reena Virk in Victoria, Canada. Showing the seamy side of this idyllic seaside town, the power politics exercised by the juvie queen bees who run the high school are examined as the crime is dissected by Rebecca Godfrey who grew up in this environment. She’s returned to write a book about living in a backwater as a teen. She gets caught up in the affairs of Josephine, a bad girl in foster care with a fixation on John Gotti. Josephine has an entourage including Kelly, a girl with questionable values from the “right side of the tracks” and Briana, locked up in care when she held a knife to the throat of one of her young cousins. In other words, these are bad players. The murder victim, Reena, was miserable in every imaginable way. Of South Asian origin, raised by Jehovah’s Witness parents (the family converted years ago) who are clueless to her difficulties, Reena has never fit in and desperately wants to. She longs to be a bad girl but every step is wrong. She is the quintessential outsider who is willing to go to enormous lengths to fit in with Josephine’s group.

This is all fodder for Godfrey whose return to town has stirred up emotions on another front. Her high school bestie, Cam Bentland, is now a local cop itching for Vancouver, the big city. She followed her adopted father into the force and he has been quietly trying to guide her. There is history between Rebecca and Cam that is not being addressed.

As you can see, there is definitely a story here between the past history, the murder, the adolescent psychopathology and the mystery. Not only are two very good actors wasted, Riley Keough as Rebecca Godfrey and Lily Gladstone as Cam Bentland, but the writer’s insistence on going backwards and forwards in time, telling the stories of Reena and her family only muddies an already muddled story. This is a tale that could have been told effectively and well in a maximum of three or four episodes (we didn’t need to know how Reena’s parents met), instead it was told in a confusing and bloated eight episodes. Here, in essence, is what might have worked: Reena is a lonely teen with no common sense who hooks up with the wrong crowd, betrays them and is murdered. The cops, following a trail alive with clues and wrong doers who weren’t silent about their complicity, solve the case after many missteps and bring it to trial where everyone turns on everyone else. An arrogant Rebecca gets swept up in the case and takes the wrong side, making it more difficult for Cam. I hope Rebecca’s book was better than the series. Streaming on Hulu.

“Sight Unseen” should remain as such. It would appear that the “C” in CW now stands for Canada because “Sight Unseen” is yet another import. Det. Tess Avery (Dolly Lewis) is a Vancouver detective who slowly realizes that she is losing her vision. It becomes crystal clear (I really can’t help using those obvious allusions) when she was too unsure of her target to take a shot at a bad guy, endangering her partner. Unknown to him, he’d have been in danger either way. She continues on the police force trying to hide her affliction until she no longer can. Who knew that there was actually an app that could help; in essence, a seeing eye guide, Sunny, with whom she connects over the internet. Using the camera on her phone to show Sunny the environment, Sunny leads her to safety every time and helps her solve crimes even after Tess has resigned her position as an active duty cop. Preposterous? Absolutely. Amazingly this isn’t the first time such a scenario has been tried.

No less than Steven Bochco, in “Blind Justice” (2005) explored how an NYPD cop, blinded in the line of duty, could solve crimes and remain an ace detective. Even with an accomplished star like Ron Eldard, he never got beyond incredulity. Better yet, and still not effective, was an early series starring Clive Owen called “Second Sight.” His detective was losing his sight but covering it up so he could maintain his status as the head of an elite Murder squad. Of course he uses all his other senses to solve the seemingly insoluble, but it was still too much of a stretch. More realistic were the characters Dana Elcar played (as a series regular on “MacGuyver” and a guest appearance on “Law & Order”) as he was going blind from glaucoma. In his case, his affliction was written realistically into the script.

I never thought I would long for the days of the superhero shows on the old CW, but series like “Sight Unseen” are pushing me there. Episodes play on Wednesdays.

“Dinner with the Parents” is a throwback to the sitcoms that Network television produced (and still does). It’s a launch pad for Amazon and their new ad-based model. Even with known quantities in the cast, Michaela Watkins (“SNL”), Dan Bakkedahl (“Veep”) and Carol Kane (“Taxi”), this ship was sunk before it left the harbor. Two grown men, brothers, have dinner at their parents’ house on a weekly basis where they never fail to embarrass themselves, although it is the older, David, who continues to be the butt of his younger brother Gregg’s jokes. Their sibling rivalry is juvenile, but then that is the point.

Like all situation comedies, there is a situation and the act of trying to escape it is where the comedy lies (or should); hence, situation comedy. This is definitely not Lucy at the chocolate factory or even Jed Clampett at a formal dinner party. Would that they were. If you are in need of mindless entertainment, then by all means tune in to “Dinner with the Parents.” I watched two episodes and, alas, I’m never getting that hour back. Streaming now on Amazon Prime.

“Palm Royale” is the coup de grace of bad shows. The premise is pretty good. Former small-time beauty queen Maxine (played by Kristen Wiig), who married one of the judges, arrives in Palm Beach, where her husband, Douglas Dellacorte Simmons, grew up as part of the royal Dellacorte family. Her life’s ambition? A ringside seat at the circus that was the apex of society, or at least it was in 1969. Maxine, heart on her sleeve, crashes the country club by climbing over the wall and attempts to insert herself into the inner circle. When her ploy is discovered by the bartender (a very stiff Ricky Martin), she is escorted out, figuratively beaten but unbowed. Returning to their tiny apartment in West Palm Beach, she plots anew. Somewhere along the line she lands a daytime gig looking after Douglas’s comatose aunt Norma Dellacorte, the still acknowledged leader in that society and founder of the “Beach Ball,” the event that caps off the summer season. Nothing will stand in Maxine’s good old girl wrong side of the tracks way and it’s off to the club again. Learning the secrets of the inner circle, she is able to use them to gain membership in the club; the money she can pilfer from her barely living charge Norma. Each episode brings with it more shenanigans, affairs, cheating, lying and schemes.

The cast is unbelievably stellar including Allison Janney as Evelyn Rollings, the queen bee of this society and Maxine’s leading nemesis; Laura Dern as Linda Shaw, Rollings hippy step daughter (in a nice bit of guest casting, Bruce Dern plays her father); Julia Duffy and Leslie Bibb play members of the inner circle; Mindy Cohn is the gossip rag’s lead writer with a nose for dirt; Josh Lucas as Douglas and Carol Burnett as the comatose Norma. A truly dream cast all of whom have great comedic chops, all of whom are wasted here.

Writer/creator Abe Sylvia (“Eyes of Tammy Faye”) was intent on making a satire, not just of society but of all the tropes of the late 60s, including feminism, consciousness raising and politics. He forgot one thing, though—humor. Every character is played so over the top and stereotypic that the funny was left behind. Wiig’s Maxine is the proverbial dumb blonde except that she really is dumb. It’s not that the various actions by each of the characters doesn’t have the potential to be funny, it’s just that every effort is like a hammer to the head, just in case you missed the joke in the first place. It’s hard to pinpoint where this failed because the elements were all there for humor and some of the actors are able to transcend the poor writing and overly frenetic pace. Allison Janney almost pulls off the hauteur of her character and Carol Burnett, comatose almost throughout, hits the right somnolent notes as she allegedly lies on her deathbed. Unfortunately Kristen Wiig plays Maxine like an overly broad Saturday Night Live character in a loud sketch without nuance. Streaming now on Apple+.

Neely Swanson spent most of her professional career in the television industry, almost all of it working for David E. Kelley. In her last full-time position as Executive Vice President of Development, she reviewed writer submissions and targeted content for adaptation. As she has often said, she did book reports for a living. For several years she was a freelance writer for “Written By,” the magazine of the WGA West, and was adjunct faculty at USC in the writing division of the School of Cinematic Arts. Neely has been writing film and television reviews for the “Easy Reader” for more than 10 years. Her past reviews can be read on Rotten Tomatoes where she is a tomato-approved critic.

The post Spring Television – With a Bit Less Spring appeared first on Beverly Hills Courier.

“Ripley,” based on the first novel of the series by the queen of noir, Patricia Highsmith, has been done twice, both times quite well. The first was titled “Purple Noon” and starred a young, preternaturally beautiful Alain Delon as Tom Ripley and the second, more recent incarnation, was Matt Damon. But neither actor was born to play the working-class grifter with high-class entitlement issues like Andrew Scott who has redefined the role of this ethically challenged young man. Filmed in nuanced black and white, achieving an on-the-nose film noir effect that makes the enclosed spaces claustrophobic, Ripley is a scam artist always one step away from capture and two steps away from the big score that will set everything right. When, serendipitously, wealthy Herbert Greenleaf mistakenly latches on to Tom as a friend of his slacker son Dickie, now living in Italy on his trust fund, he proposes a mutually beneficial arrangement. He wants Tom to convince Dickie to return home. To that end, he will pay Tom’s expenses and a stipend as he cajoles Dickie to give up Italy and come back to help run the family business.

Scott’s Tom is well defined. Early on, lounging in his cramped, ill-kempt bedroom, he stretches and slides his arm over the dirty wall. The very movement is louche and the smirk on his drawn features marks someone trying to avoid a rough end. This is a man who always checks the coin return on a pay phone. Even his misstep at a tailor where he chooses “the maroon” dressing gown and is corrected, it’s burgundy, says the haberdasher; the first in a constant road of lessons that he will follow, never making the same mistake twice. He knows the general strokes but needs to finesse the details.

Off he goes, new wardrobe in hand, to ingratiate himself with Dickie. Dickie’s noblesse oblige only heightens the class difference between them, but Tom is a very fast study as he silently observes, adapts and improves his demeanor. He’s not fooling Dickie’s girlfriend Marge, but Dickie takes a condescending liking to him. And all the time, Tom is watching, changing, adjusting and measuring Dickie, the man he aspires to be; the man he will become as he inserts himself further and further into this new, luxurious environment, cannibalizing everything around him. Adapter/director Steven Zallian has done the supremely difficult—he has made a villain the rooting interest of the story, helped enormously by Andrew Scott as the incredibly dark, slithering manipulator, aided immensely by Johnny Flynn as Dickie and Dakota Fanning as Marge. Now streaming on Netflix.

“Red Queen” is a thrilling Spanish series centered on the most brilliant woman in the world, the reticent Antonia Scott. Originally recruited by a member of a secret European police force to lead the organization as the “Red Queen,” she has stopped responding after an assignment goes very wrong and the collateral damage is her family. But “Mentor,” the man who found her, will not give up on his best asset and sends a disgraced police officer to bring her back into the fold. Jon Gutiérrez, recently transferred to the Madrid police force, is assigned that task. She is beautiful, a loner and supremely analytical. He wears his emotions openly, left his previous job under a cloud and is gay. Being gay itself is an unforgivable sin to his colleagues on the force. But Mentor is convinced that this pairing will work.

The son of one of the city’s most important politicians has been snatched. The kidnapper doesn’t want money and the politician won’t say what it is that he does want. When she doesn’t comply, her son is murdered ritualistically and planted on a couch to look like a damaged Ken doll.

It will be up to Antonia and Jon to try to understand what the kidnapper wants and why because a new victim has been abducted, the daughter of a wealthy entrepreneur. And again, the perpetrator doesn’t want money, he wants a confession or the daughter will die, horrifically.

The crimes themselves are fascinating but it is the characters that carry this series. Antonia and Jon are unwrapped gradually. Antonia’s reticence is character trait number one, but it is her brilliance, shown subtly as observational strength, that defines her and intrigues the audience. Jon and his teddy bear appearance lull you into believing he is not her equal, but he is. His mother is his secret weapon because nothing, after all, works better than her Spanish tortilla when there is a problem to be solved. Now streaming on Amazon Prime Video.

“Boat Story” has a great, convoluted plot that starts when Janet and Samuel, two complete strangers, walking their dogs on a beach, happen upon a shipwreck. And lo and behold, what do they find? Two dead bodies and bags and bags and bags of cocaine. Eureka! The answer to all their problems. Janet wants custody of her son and Samuel has a major gambling debt. They’ll split it 50/50 and go their separate ways. But how do you cash in on millions in cocaine? Why, you look for local drug dealers for a start. And lucky for them, the locals are hoping to expand their territory.

Meanwhile, back in France, an exquisitely dressed gangster kingpin called “The Tailor,” who is, coincidentally, a bespoke tailor, has heard nothing about his shipment of cocaine. Where’s the product? Where’s the money? Where’s the sailor who was guiding the transport? It’s a major inconvenience but he needs to investigate on his own; so off he goes, collecting henchman Guy in the British coastal town where the ship was supposed to land.

Okay, so you’ve seen this one before but not with this cast and these twists. It’s a cross between Guy Ritchie and Quentin Tarantino with laugh-out-loud moments mixed in with some graphic violence. Everything that can go wrong does, many times over, but somehow our out-of-her-depth heroine and not so heroic gambler always seem to pull through. Adding absurdity into the mix, the Tailor falls in love with Pat, an overweight chef who has a mobile pasty coach near the boat landing. Meanwhile, Guy is on the hunt for the cocaine and anyone getting in his way meets an unpleasant end. Janet and Samuel begin to understand that they are in mortal danger.

Yes, it’s convoluted and occasionally hard to follow, but it’s a roller coaster ride of guilty pleasure with its cartoon violence and fish-out-of-water protagonists. Janet is played by Daisy Haggard, and a finer lead actress you won’t find. She will make you gasp and laugh at the same time. Paterson Joseph as Samuel has an everyman look that is seasoned with guilt and guile. Joanna Scanlan (Pat), most recently seen in “Wicked Little Letters,” is sympathetic and incredulous with an undercoating of hilarity. Craig Fairbrass as the Tailor’s henchman Guy, steals everything but the tires from the getaway car. But it is Tchéky Karyo as the Tailor who astounds. An international star, he carries off the most absurd character with panache. Frightening, deadly and starry-eyed, he whisks you away on this journey into criminality as though he were whipping up a soufflé. Streaming now on Freevee.

“Dark Matter” is a deep dive into alternative universes. Jason Dessen (Joel Edgerton) is a physics professor at a local college in Chicago, living with his wife Daniela (Jennifer Connelly) and son. It’s a pleasant life, but one full of compromises for both Jason and Daniela. She gave up being an artist and he gave up experimental lab work. A “chance” encounter with an old friend, Ryan, leads to a job offer that would bring him back to the lab in a lucrative position. It’s tempting, but not what his family needs. He returns to meet Ryan and give him his answer when he is abducted. When Jason awakens, he’s in a world that has changed dramatically. He is now the much-lauded winner of an international prize for his invention of “the box.” Still mentally in his old life, there is no Daniella and he’s surrounded by unknowns, or unknown to him. Jason doesn’t want this new, better life; he wants his old one back and strives to find it. The original players are there but all in different states. The more he learns about this new state, the more he wants the old one. His scientific colleagues, many of whom know what is happening, cannot let this happen.

This is just the beginning. An invention the original Jason toyed with, “the box,” that could transcend time is a reality in this world and may lead to his possible return or, as he comes to find, it may lead to other worlds and other Jasons. And still he just wants to return to Daniela and their son.

Production values are outstanding with lighting often dictating mood and place. Even as the plot veers constantly into sinister black holes, the actors effectively take you there, keeping you tense and locked into Jason’s troubles. Although it’s a bloated nine episodes, there are an infinity of directions for it to go. Not a fan of the genre myself, “Dark Matter” successfully kept my interest. Now streaming weekly on Apple+. 

Neely Swanson spent most of her professional career in the television industry, almost all of it working for David E. Kelley. In her last full-time position as Executive Vice President of Development, she reviewed writer submissions and targeted content for adaptation. As she has often said, she did book reports for a living. For several years she was a freelance writer for “Written By,” the magazine of the WGA West, and was adjunct faculty at USC in the writing division of the School of Cinematic Arts. Neely has been writing film and television reviews for the “Easy Reader” for more than 10 years. Her past reviews can be read on Rotten Tomatoes where she is a tomato-approved critic.

The post Spring Into Television appeared first on Beverly Hills Courier.

Obvious from the opening, when a home movie of a wide-eyed very young Gad stares into the camera, already performing for his onlookers, this is a very personal film. He was born in Casablanca, Morocco and grew up surrounded by Jews, Muslims and Catholics, in sight of synagogues, mosques and churches. But the Muslim and Jewish parents all exerted one rule on their children: never set foot in a church. To paraphrase Newton’s third law, for every command there is an equal and opposite reaction. But more on that later.

Gad, now very famous and living in New York, has returned to Paris, ostensibly to visit his parents and celebrate his 50th birthday, but with a greater, more lofty goal that he keeps secret. His parents, David and Régine, are thrilled to have him home and refuse to let him decamp to a hotel. Unable to resist his mother’s arguments, he sets up in the “kid’s” room, a tiny space still filled with stuffed animals and a bed that is 4 inches too short for his frame. Ill at ease over his subterfuge, he meets friends at a favorite cafe where he discusses his dilemma.

Gad has decided to convert to Catholicism. He is back in Paris for his baptism but cannot find a way to tell his parents. His fear is justified. Seeing his open suitcase on the bed is too big a temptation for his mother. Rifling through his things, she comes across a towel-wrapped statue of the Virgin Mary. In shock, she nearly drops it. Calling David, he has an alternative explanation when seeing some of the clothes. This must be someone else’s suitcase because Gad would never wear a shirt like the one on top. Their relief is short-lived when he turns up at dinner in that very shirt.

Sturm und Drang is, perhaps, the closest term to describe the emotion, upset and anger expressed by his parents. Now he must come clean. He has found himself more and more drawn to the spectacle and iconography of Catholicism, a religion he has been studying for some time. He has felt a special connection to the Virgin Mary who, he explains, has been watching over him, maybe even from the first time he illicitly entered a church in Casablanca, interdiction notwithstanding.

The Elmaleh family, Sephardic Jews, are strict traditionalists, go to temple, read the Torah, consult regularly with their rabbi and share Shabbat dinner with Gad’s sister Judith, her husband William and their son. It is how Gad was raised and never was there an indication that he was in need of an alternative. It must be New York or new friends or some insidious outside force.

No, Gad explains, it is a need to bring Mary fully into his life and add a different dimension to his belief structure. He has come back to complete this circle and be baptized.

Régine’s and David’s reactions are totally understandable. As they say to him, “You change your God, you change your parents.” What did they do wrong? How has he come to worship a false idol? Gad has a story to tell, but they cannot hear him. For them, his story is their story, and by rejecting their story he is rejecting his roots and rejecting them. It is not the way Gad sees it; he sees it as an expansion of his story. David, even more upset than his wife, consults his rabbi for answers, but these are questions for which there are no answers. As the rabbi explains to David, Gad is seeking the divine presence and that is a good thing. It doesn’t matter if that presence is Mary, Jesus, Mohammed, Moses or Yahweh. The search for divine presence is good and is a necessary part of the journey. Let him take his journey. But for David, this is still a bridge too far.

Interestingly, Gad, whose faith is deep, is committed to Mary, not to Jesus. It is from Mary that he has found solace and guidance. Jesus? Not so much. As he points out, it’s clear that Jesus was a Sephardic Jew because only a Sephard would lead with “I am the one true God. I am the way.”

As he progresses toward baptism, Gad bonds further with his friend Sister Catherine and Father Barthélémy. A preliminary class introduces him to the other adults who will join him at the altar. One man, in particular, causes him to reflect more because this is his second conversion, having been raised a Muslim, converted to Protestantism, and not finding a connection will now become Catholic.

Gad retreats deeper into himself. Meeting with his father’s rabbi, he is astounded that the rabbi encourages him to explore his spiritual identity. Simone Weil, the famous philosopher, converted but did not become baptized, he points out. It is not uncommon when one is searching for a path to look elsewhere for spirituality. Astonishingly, the rabbi seems to understand the solace that Gad finds in the Virgin Mary, representing comfort, guidance and support in times of doubt.

The pressure from his parents continues relentlessly. His sister, however, sees him, and sees what he thinks of as his greater need. Ironically, or perhaps not, the greatest understanding comes from the rabbis he consults. They encourage him to dig deeper and ask the profound questions because those questions are his alone. They are not his parents’ questions or those of his friends or even those of Sister Catherine. They are his alone.

Turning 50, he has arrived at a time in his life where he is questioning himself. As his sister wryly points out, it would be so much easier if this were a more typical midlife crisis and he just went out and bought an expensive car.

What, he is constantly asked, is he looking for? As a second rabbi points out, he should not confuse religious spirituality with the community identity associated with a particular religion. The community may offer support, as it does in Judaism, but it is not the source of spirituality. Only you can be the source of your own spirituality. It is a path, but the real question is whether that path is leading somewhere. No one else can answer that question.

Remarkably, even though this is about Gad’s search for his soul under the protection of the Virgin, the most insightful questions, all unanswerable, are asked by rabbis. Father Barthélémy and Sister Catherine represent a faith that is unquestioning or unquestioned. Gad likes the dogmatic approach, but it is in clear conflict with his intellectual perspective. On the one hand, this search is on a higher philosophical plane; on the other, it is strictly about him and who he is. Will his path lead him to answers or to ever more questions? As the second rabbi posits, “Maybe you’re only truly yourself when you’re on a path to elsewhere.” And that is the question, not just for him but for anyone on a spiritual journey. Are you supposed to get somewhere or just keep searching? To have faith is to have doubt.

Elmaleh co-wrote, with Benjamin Charbit, and directed this deep, thoughtful and revealing trip into the nature of spirituality and where it can be found. That it is Elmaleh’s own story adds an even deeper dimension.

Elmaleh’s parents, Régine and David, and his sister Judith all play prominent roles and their naturalism is an added strength to this resonant story. The distress of his parents comes through loud and clear, as does their love for their son. All are seasoned actors so there is none of the stiffness that one often finds when using relatives in eponymous roles. He also called on close friends to play the other important religious advisors. There is, for the most part, an incredible spontaneity to the interactions. The script is outstanding, raising many philosophical questions, questions that are as resonant for an atheist as they are for a true believer. But most importantly, sentimentality, the death knell of many a spiritual film, is kept at a minimum and always tempered by the incredible humor for which Elmaleh is known.

I found this incredibly moving and filled with questions I wish I had thought to ask long ago. I have always been a fan of Elmaleh, whose movies range from “The Valet’’ to “The Adventures of Tin Tin,” a movie that yields one of the solid laughs in the film. When making a pro and con list about converting, a listing on the con side was that Spielberg would never cast him in another movie.

It is, perhaps, not insignificant that autocorrect tried repeatedly changing Gad to God. No matter your belief structure, you won’t want to miss this one.

In French with English subtitles.

Opening May 17 at the Laemmle Royal and streaming July 26. 

Neely Swanson spent most of her professional career in the television industry, almost all of it working for David E. Kelley. In her last full-time position as Executive Vice President of Development, she reviewed writer submissions and targeted content for adaptation. As she has often said, she did book reports for a living. For several years she was a freelance writer for “Written By,” the magazine of the WGA West, and was adjunct faculty at USC in the writing division of the School of Cinematic Arts. Neely has been writing film and television reviews for the “Easy Reader” for more than 10 years. Her past reviews can be read on Rotten Tomatoes where she is a tomato-approved critic.

The post ‘Stay with Us’ — Stay a While appeared first on Beverly Hills Courier.

Achingly real, John cares deeply and would sacrifice anything for Michael. He gets him to school, reads to him, encourages his creativity. Watch as he lovingly and delicately washes Michael’s hair, gently combing it for nits, a generally horrifying and humiliating procedure. John spends all his free time cocooning Michael in a puffy comforter of love. But there’s an undercurrent of desperation that flashes through his eyes. John receives regular visits from Social Services. For what? We’ll soon learn as we accompany John, Michael and Shona, his novice case worker, to the home of Celia and Philip, a wealthy couple who talk about how much they would love to have Michael and how much Michael would love wandering the estate. As John listens, the man rattles off all the educational advantages they could offer. When Philip slips and refers to Michael as his son, John blanches.

John, as we soon learn, has a terminal case of cancer and his most important task is to find a home for Michael where he will be loved and cherished. He and Shona will be visiting the homes of couples who have been approved for such an adoption. Given more leeway than Social Services generally allows, Shona protects him as he “auditions” families. Pasolini puts the viewer in the center of these auditions as we begin to see what John sees below the surface of privilege or anarchy or desperate desire for a child. From the chaotic family with fosters and adoptees, to the older couple longing to fill the bitter hole of childlessness, to the single mom whose husband abandoned her when she expressed a need to adopt, to the others, all with as many distinct advantages as deficits. John’s moral and emotional dilemma becomes ours.

But what of Michael? His young eyes tell us that he knows something is wrong, but John hasn’t had the courage to reveal his fate or Michael’s future. The questions are too profound even for John, let alone trying to explain them to the child he still holds in his arms. The mistake, however, that parents often make about their children is believing that by shielding them from reality they are protecting them. It makes it that much more difficult to address the issues in the future as you will see.

How do you explain death to a 4-year-old? Does he need a voice in his future? John, rightly or wrongly, is looking for the elusive parent who will love his child like he does. Is there such a person? The wealth he is searching for is in the depth of understanding and the hard to define unconditional love because that is what John has for Michael, self-sacrificing unconditional love.

There are many moments of humor that keep the film from becoming maudlin. It is about a journey and you are allowed to accompany them on it. It is as much about the grieving process as it is about the necessity of making memories for Michael when John is no longer there.

This is a story that has been told before but not from this perspective. I seem to remember a whole category of TV films (primarily on Lifetime in the ‘80s and ‘90s) about dying wives or dying husbands trying to find kindhearted replacements for when they are gone. The subject matter alone would certainly come under the category of tear-jerker. And that is what is so remarkable about Pasolini’s sensitive script and subtle directing. It might be difficult not to cry at the end but it will be more about the road you traveled with John and Michael rather than because of any grief you might feel. The pacing and gradual unveiling of the story and its implications allow you to acclimatize to the end that John is anticipating. It is more the love you feel for the characters and their voyage than the inevitability of what you know is coming. Pasolini has presented his story in an almost matter-of-fact way, no overt drama, no tears, just the day-to-day reality of a man who single handedly and lovingly raised Michael after his wife bolted soon after his birth. That there are no recriminations, no bitterness, no sadness is more because John realizes the value of time and holding on to the anger of injustice is a waste of his precious time with Michael. This is an achingly real story of a dying father trying to plan his boy’s future and seeing all the things he won’t be able to do with him.

The cinematography by Marius Panduru captures the wide green Irish landscape with a bright palette. The many close-ups give us an intimate view of John and Michael; the sweep of John’s squeegee over a window as he’s working adds a necessary dimension to his character.

“Nowhere Special” was especially fortunate in its casting. The versatile James Norton (“Grantchester,” “Happy Valley”) plays John. Here, Norton’s characterization of John is subtle, empathetic, quiet and deep. It is an amazing performance, so natural that you live his life and suffer along with him as he tries to make the right decisions. Daniel Lamont, Michael, was an extraordinary find. He is beyond beautiful with his huge eyes and full cheeks. Drawing outside the lines with his crayons and searching for the reasons his father is dragging him into strange homes, he could be your child or mine. The rapport between father and son seems deeply real. This is a lovely film that has more to say about love than it does about dying. This perfect film will stay with you.

Now playing at the Laemmle Royal; it will stream on most platforms beginning June 11. 

Neely Swanson spent most of her professional career in the television industry, almost all of it working for David E. Kelley. In her last full-time position as Executive Vice President of Development, she reviewed writer submissions and targeted content for adaptation. As she has often said, she did book reports for a living. For several years she was a freelance writer for “Written By,” the magazine of the WGA West, and was adjunct faculty at USC in the writing division of the School of Cinematic Arts. Neely has been writing film and television reviews for the “Easy Reader” for more than 10 years. Her past reviews can be read on Rotten Tomatoes where she is a tomato-approved critic.

The post ‘Nowhere Special’— I Beg to Differ appeared first on Beverly Hills Courier.

Baig brings us into the world of Malik and Eric, 10-year-olds and best friends forever. Their entire existence has been Cabrini-Green, a home they’re proud of and one they can’t imagine leaving. We first meet them as they are hauling a discarded mattress down to the playground. Because the elevator is once again not working, they have to drag it down 10 flights to the cracked concrete playground, adding it to the others they’ve piled up. They spend their days flying, or at least that’s what it seems to them when they see who can jump the highest and farthest, landing on the other old mattresses. Malik and Eric reign supreme at this modified long jump as others around them shoot hoops or play Double Dutch.

Above all, this is a film about the imagination and creativity of children who may be aware that they have less than others but would defy anyone to think that they were less than. Malik and Eric know who they are and have hopes and dreams like anyone else. They worship the Chicago Bulls, endlessly discussing the value of Scotty Pippen to Michael Jordan; they tell each other truly awful jokes. Their mischief is no different than any other 10-year-old, and they have parents who care and do everything they can to make sure that they are protected.

Dolores, Malik’s mother, is rooted to Cabrini-Green and is vigilant in watching over her children. She has a job that seems to be without prospects, but, as her mother, Anita, points out, only because she chooses to make it that way. For her own sake and that of her family, she needs to stand up for herself. But she fears the potential uncertainty. The status quo assures them of a meager existence; a step up the ladder might improve their lives but it also involves risk.

Life in Cabrini-Green is one of benign neglect. The city, especially the Chicago Housing Authority (CHA), has little interest in the comings and goings within the projects until the problems spill out of those boundaries. The elevators rarely work; the faucet in Delores’ apartment has been leaking for months; the playground is a minefield of cracks and broken equipment. This is their daily life; they know no other. Malik and Eric need nothing more than a flight of fancy to conjure kingdoms in the stars.

Then the unthinkable happens. Dantrell Davis, age 7, was walking to school with his mother when he was killed, caught in the crossfire of gang violence. The mayor and the CHA unleash the Chicago Police Department on Cabrini-Green, a community of 15,000 mainly law-abiding citizens, brutally ensnaring the innocent as well as the guilty. Apartments are wrecked, families are persecuted in the name of cleansing the project of any suspected criminal element, a too sensitive reminder of Anita’s youth before arriving in Chicago from the South. Malik and Eric will now have to play inside because the parents have determined that it is too dangerous outdoors. But they’re 10 and they know how to maintain their world even when the borders contract. They find empty apartments in which to dream their dreams and play their games. Malik and Eric are able to stare at the stained ceiling, convinced that they can see the stars beyond. When they cut school, it’s to take a stolen ride on the train to the Art Institute where they wander the storied galleries filled with Impressionist art, an experience that will only add more colors to their vision of the outside world. What would it be like to see “A Sunday on La Grande Jatte” by Seurat for the very first time? Watch them and you will see.

Baig paints the adults with a stiff but loving brush. Eric’s father is a tough disciplinarian. He’s proud to have a daughter who is about to graduate college but frustrated that Eric seems flighty and unfocused, unable to acknowledge that he’s a 10-year-old with a life, albeit not an easy one, ahead of him. Malik’s family is graced with a grandmother whose quiet resilience and strength anchor them. She knows the value of life and invention and promotes it in both of her grandchildren, while encouraging her daughter to live in the present and allow her kids to soar.

Racism, inherent within so many actions, remains as an underscore, not as a focus. Anita tells Malik and his sister about moving to Chicago from Tupelo, Mississippi when Dolores was little. When asked why they moved, she merely says it was time to leave when their shoe store was burned down. At a critical juncture for both Malik and his mother, Anita says that there’s always a time to stay and a time to move. Her quiet determination, almost stoic support of her family, anchors both them and the film. After Dantrell’s murder, the police and their scorched earth policy raid Dolores’ apartment, destroying precious mementos and manhandling adults and children alike. There is no need to point out the root of this treatment. We know it; we’ve seen it too many times before. There is no need to call attention to what is obvious.

More importantly, there are so many episodes of awe and wonder, seen through the eyes of 10-year-olds whose parents straddle the line between encouragement and fear-based opposition. The adults are a strong presence but this is about the boys; life seen through their eyes and their still unsullied perception. This is not a coming-of-age story, muddled with puberty and ambiguity. This is about children before society and external expectations remove some of the joys and possibilities of the future. Life and its lessons through the eyes of Malik and Eric is full of the potential that may be dulled and diminished with time, but not yet and one hopes not too much. Stereotype is replaced by full-throated character development of individuals who have the same hopes, dreams and aspirations as anyone else is entitled to. They are us and we are them, and I hope we allowed our children to be just that, children where an old mattress or a semi-inflated basketball holds the same charm and imagination as an Xbox.

Baig’s cinematographer Pat Scola worked with production designer Merje Veski to create the illusion of a high-rise project because Cabrini-Green was torn down by the city in 2011. Scola’s camera soared over the set and the city; Veski’s interiors were evocative and real. Together they created a visual language of living a life alien to most of us, but a wondrous world as seen and experienced by the boys.

“We Grown Now” would not be the film it is without an amazing cast. As the adults, Jurnee Smollett as Delores and Lil Rel Howery as Nick’s father Jason are strong, serious and believable parents. It is little, almost glossed over statements that deepen their characters. S. Epatha Merkerson is Anita, the grandmother who underpins the family structure with her quiet strength. But without the actors playing Malik and Nick, there is no movie. Gian Knight Ramirez portrays Eric as tentative, almost secondary to Malik. His eyes are wide, his lips pursed; he’s still a follower and not yet a leader but there is that hope in his eyes that he’ll continue to grow. Blake Cameron James as Malik is a revelation. His open face, infectious smile and barely hidden mischievous nature all are more than what could have been on the page. He’s a leader, unafraid of consequences he hasn’t imagined. It’s possible that Malik will rule the world at some point but for now, he has a grasp of who he is and doesn’t see an end to his future. Both boys are joyful; the very embodiment of imagination and the force it can exert on lives that have yet to be told they are less than. Malik will never be less than; one has to hope that Nick will enjoy that same strength.

Not sure of what to expect the first time I watched this movie, I am in awe of how Baig opened my eyes to a world of possibility and unspoken hope. What Malik says to Nick are words that we should all live by: Don’t be afraid to fly.

Opening April 19 at the AMC Century City 15. 

Neely Swanson spent most of her professional career in the television industry, almost all of it working for David E. Kelley. In her last full-time position as Executive Vice President of Development, she reviewed writer submissions and targeted content for adaptation. As she has often said, she did book reports for a living. For several years she was a freelance writer for “Written By,” the magazine of the WGA West, and was adjunct faculty at USC in the writing division of the School of Cinematic Arts. Neely has been writing film and television reviews for the “Easy Reader” for more than 10 years. Her past reviews can be read on Rotten Tomatoes where she is a tomato-approved critic.

The post ‘We Grown Now’— Navigating Youth appeared first on Beverly Hills Courier.

Opening on an investigative photojournalist tracking Prince Andrew, the Duke of York, in New York in 2010 as he is seen leaving the 5th Avenue apartment of Jeffrey Epstein, he takes a photo that establishes a relationship that will continue to haunt him. Epstein, the infamous billionaire whose first conviction and prison sentence for sex offenses did little to curtail his entrée into the lives of the rich and famous, Bill Clinton and Bill Gates among them. Although there was a brief stir for Andrew at the time, like a Teflon coating that surrounded some members of the royal family, he seemed to survive this public brush with scandal.

It is now 2019 and turmoil rules the airwaves at the BBC. The possibility of massive cutbacks has just been announced and no division will be spared. Taking a step into the competitive BBC “Newsnight” newsroom where stories are pitched and tension is high, Sam McAlister, Vuitton bag at her side, slides into her seat, late as usual. She books the guests and produces those segments, but they all know they need a coup. Her colleagues show nothing but disdain for her out-of-the-box suggestions. Elitism and snobbery rule the roost and Sam doesn’t fit into their idea of journalism. But all the regulars can come up with are the same old stale celebrities and yesterday’s news. What they need is something no one else has. Sam is intrigued that the photos of Prince Andrew from 2010 have never disappeared and now there are two new wrinkles. One, his friend Jeffrey Epstein committed suicide in prison before he could testify in his latest sex trafficking trial; and two, allegations by Virginia Roberts Giuffre that she had been trafficked by Epstein and his partner Ghislaine Maxwell to Prince Andrew when she was underage.

This, Sam knows, is the story and working surreptitiously, she starts making calls to people who knew people who were close to people who might be of help to get him on the show. Coincidentally, the Palace knows that damage control needs to be done and has hired an expert in the field. They barely survived the Princess Diana scandal and this one may actually be worse. The prince, ever cavalier, is open to suggestions but trusts his Chief of Staff Amanda Thirsk more than this outsider.

McAlister, through a labyrinthine network of contacts, is able to reach Thirsk with her “Newsnight” proposal. Give the Prince an outlet. He’s interested in talking about his new project, Pitch@Palace that brought together young entrepreneurs with seasoned investors, something of a royal “Shark Tank.”  He and Thirsk are certain this will help repair his image and show the country he’s a great guy and incapable of the accusations swirling around him. McAlister, savvy and smart, even if a bit rough around the edges, thinks that’s a great idea but nothing will be off the table. When Mr. Damage Control learns of this meeting, he promptly quits. He’s no fool even if they are. The next meeting is with McAlister, the senior producer of “Newsnight” and their storied on-air reporter, Emily Maitlis. Unless you’ve been living under a rock, you know how this interview went for Prince Andrew. His oft times hilarious explanations, his clueless demeanor and hollow denials did not convince the world of his innocence or “everyman” relatability. Never did his various nicknames, “Randy Andy,” “His Royal Slyness” and “the Duke of Porkies” (a porky is a lie) seem more apt.

So that’s the story that “Scoop” set out to tell. None of this is a spoiler alert, it’s well- documented in multiple sources. McAlister even wrote a book called “Scoops,” although it’s not credited as the underlying material for the Netflix series. This should have been a thrilling backstage look at one of the biggest stories in a decade. It’s not. Flattening out this tale was close to criminal because it’s not just the story that was squandered but a cast of phenomenal actors known for their ability to shock and awe.

Poor Lia Williams as the head of the network is relegated to two inconsequential, distracting scenes. The first, as she announces companywide cutbacks that should have contributed to tension in the newsroom and the second as Sam and the producers interrupt her at the Opera to tell her of their interview coup. What was the point? It contributes nothing of substance to the story, and could have been handled quite well expositionally. For instance: “There will be cutbacks so we’d better make sure we’re untouchable,” and “Did the boss say we could go forward with the interview?” The character was unnecessary and worse, it stopped momentum.

Billie Piper plays Sam McAlister. Alluded to but never established was that Sam’s struggles in the newsroom were born of classism. Her plaited blonde hair is an effort to make her look like the real Sam but her perpetually troubled expression is supposed to allude to her inability to gain ground and respect in the workplace. Her inappropriate flashy dress and accent that wavers between posh and working class are as much development as you’re going to get. There is no effort to fill out her character. The look of self-satisfaction at entering the grounds of Buckingham Palace is supposed to be a signal to the audience that she’s finally arrived. Only a random comment made by her mother, the always fabulous Amanda Redmond in a tiny role, establishes that she’s come a long way and she needs to stand up for herself. Piper is a wonderful actress but couldn’t break through in a stiff role without substance.

Keeley Hawes (Amanda Thirsk) does a bit more in her role as the Prince’s chief of staff. Still, a bit more isn’t quite enough. Nevertheless, what can be surmised from her deer-in-the-headlights expression is that she’s out of her depth and looking for recognition. There should have been palpable tension when she overrides the publicity expert and agrees to a television interview. Her self-satisfaction does not melt thoroughly enough when everything backfires.

Gillian Anderson portrays Emily Maitlis, the ace newscaster. Her character is defined more by the dog she drags everywhere than by the steel she should be made of. She looks marvelous, as do all the other actors, but this isn’t about design, hairstyles and appearance; it’s about the tension that should have surrounded the “get” of the decade. Her delivery during the interview is so soft and subtle that many of the questions are lost. Expositionally, it is up to the character of Sam McAlister to explain this approach to her colleagues, something that should have been self-evident.

Rufus Sewell, as Prince Andrew, makes the most of his character, but it’s still a snack and not the three-course meal it should have been. He’s cluelessly charming, refers to the Queen repeatedly as Mummy and digs a little hole with some of his answers. But that hole should have been 6 feet deep. At the end of the interview, you are left scratching your head. His answers were foolish, bordering on moronic. The enjoyable parts were his explanation of how he was physically incapable of sweating due to an adrenaline overdose during his time serving in the Falklands War. He repeatedly denied knowing or having encountered Virginia Roberts Giuffre. A lack of empathy, perhaps; criminal behavior? Hardly or at least not as portrayed on screen. As presented here, the public’s reaction on social media seems out of balance with the revelations in the interview as presented. That is not to say that lack of empathy, smugness, self-satisfaction and obfuscation of known facts isn’t worth his cancellation, but why is this different than everything already known about him? The interview as seen in this movie blands out the drama. Put another way, there was no drama and it should all have been drama.

It’s possible that there were “life rights” issues. These characters were based on real individuals and they may have exercised their right to whitewash some of the action. I don’t know, but it’s possible. With the character of Andrew, he’s a public figure and has less protection. The interview put his own words in the mouth of the character playing him.

So where do I point the finger on this? Right smack at the writer/director, Philip Martin. As a writer, he failed to develop his characters and supply the rationale for the tension they felt with each other and the workplace. He didn’t tell the parts of the story that weren’t known at the time. The interview was probably verbatim as moderated by Emily Maitlis and responded to by Prince Andrew. But where was the drama that should have highlighted the stakes? The pacing is slow, dimming any dramatic effect that might have been found in the conflicts, both on air and in the studio. Rather than allowing the Prince’s obtuseness to damn him, it is the finale, showing some of the reaction found on social media that seems to have sounded the death knell to his career as a working royal. Chyrons at the end are used expositionally to divulge the outcome rather than find a way to dramatically illustrate his downfall, although not all are correct. Prince Andrew, the Duke of York has been stripped of all royal duties and has lost his patronages. He has not, contrary to the chyron at the end, been stripped of his royal titles. He is still entitled to be called His Royal Highness, although this is used in private at this point. He is still the Duke of York, Baron Killyleagh and the Earl of Inverness.

This is very much the movie that could have been, should have been. We all know the outcome, we just didn’t know the lead up and we still really don’t.

Now streaming on Netflix. 

Neely Swanson spent most of her professional career in the television industry, almost all of it working for David E. Kelley. In her last full-time position as Executive Vice President of Development, she reviewed writer submissions and targeted content for adaptation. As she has often said, she did book reports for a living. For several years she was a freelance writer for “Written By,” the magazine of the WGA West, and was adjunct faculty at USC in the writing division of the School of Cinematic Arts. Neely has been writing film and television reviews for the “Easy Reader” for more than 10 years. Her past reviews can be read on Rotten Tomatoes where she is a tomato-approved critic.

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Juicy still lives at home with his mother Tedra, but things have changed significantly. Juicy’s thug of a father has been shanked in prison by someone wielding a sharpened toothbrush. He’d been there quite some time, having slit the throat of a waiter who annoyed him, and it was an ignominious, if apt, way to die. His parenting style was similar, just without the knife and toothbrush. Juicy has mixed feelings about the man who raised him without love or compassion, but he’s more certain of his disappointment in his mother for marrying Pap’s brother Rev a mere week after Pap was put in the ground.

Juicy, known for his level-headed manner, almost a disconnect from situations around him, is mightily torn about the big wedding celebration happening at the house that day. Imagine his surprise when Pap suddenly appears to him, covered by a red and white checked sheet, a tip of the hat to the restaurant in a Casper the Friendly Ghost sort of way. Even ghosts have a sense of humor and off comes the tablecloth, revealing Pap in a Colonel Sanders white suit with rhinestone highlights. You must, he explains, kill Rev. Gut him like the pig that he is. Juicy learned the fine art of swine slaughter from his father, but this is not a skill he has practiced for many reasons. The look on his face makes you think this may not be the time even if it is the place. Conflicted in general, poor Juicy is at an impasse over this command.

Into a puff of smoke and sparkles, Pap disappears just as Tedra, joyful and shaking her fine rear end as she loads up the buffet table, appears. Which dress, she asks Juicy, should she wear? The turquoise or the pink? Obviously, an old hand at offering fashion advice, Juicy signals the turquoise, much to his mother’s delight. Uncle Rev, as in Reverend although it’s clear he worships at the altar of the Weber Grill more than God Almighty, sneers at Juicy. He’s soft, Rev proclaims. He needs to harden up and proceeds to sucker punch him in the stomach.

But Mom has more bad news to share. Rev wanted a bathroom redo; pink was not his color. They’ve spent all of Juicy’s tuition money for the online University of Phoenix courses in Human Resources he’s been taking. Rev has robbed him of his mother and his education, all with a laugh and a self-satisfied smirk. Juicy’s father’s wishes are starting to make sense. Close friend Tio is sympathetic and an ally, having seen the ghost when Pap mistakenly thought he was Juicy.

More guests arrive and Juicy has to entertain Rabby, fresh from services in her magnificently large purple feathered church lady hat with matching accessories, and her children Opal and Larry, childhood friends of Juicy’s. Larry, in his Marine uniform looking like a recruitment poster, and Opal, uncharacteristically in a dress she would like to rip to shreds, have their own secrets.

Tensions rise with Rev, and the closely guarded secrets of Juicy’s friends are gradually revealed. Juicy, however, is a puzzle. Soft, yes, but what does that mean? He’s ridden the fence his entire life. Fulfilling his father’s wishes would be a giant leap for him, but at what expense?

At the heart of this inventive, hilarious and very warm play lies a theme of acceptance—its cause, its cost, its satisfaction. Juicy, the perpetual observer, encourages others to be honest, all the while holding back from divulging his reality. It’s also about the cost of authenticity because none of the four young people has had the courage to step out of the closet that others have pushed them into.

“Hamlet” was a bloodbath; “Fat Ham” is not. The ties to Shakespeare’s classic are knowing, irreverent and only in passing. On occasion, Juicy will recite a passage that fits appropriately but if Opal is Ophelia, she doesn’t die and her love interests lie elsewhere. She hates wearing a dress but likes those who do. Larry is the Laertes whose care and concern over his sister and Juicy disguises where his interests lie in agonizingly stoic style. In truth, she wants to wear his uniform and he’d like her dress. The similarities between Rev and Tedra to Claudius and Gertrude are definitely there, and Rabby in full “Sunday going to meeting” regalia is a hilarious Polonius who has no more clue as to who her children really are than Polonius’s grasp on reality in “Hamlet.” Tio, the comic relief in a play rife with it, is a would-be Horacio, having also seen the ghost—but he is an unreliable source because he’s almost always high on something.

ljames heightens the humor in his use of stereotypes, used primarily in the “adult” characters. Tedra brings the house down with her booty-shaking dirty dancing and karaoke (shoot me please!) that underscores a satire of class and archetype. Similarly, Rabby is cut from the same over-hyped cloth, right down to the feathers in her hat. Rev and Pap, however, are thugs, one subtle, the other not so much. It is the second generation, except for the perpetually stoned Tio, who presents real-world identity problems uncluttered with cliché. They are the heart and soul of this outrageous comedy in their search for acceptance and authenticity. It is, however, the still-conflicted Juicy who is left searching. Or maybe that’s my interpretation, and he has always known who he was and needed no social approbation.

The Geffen was extraordinarily lucky to book this acclaimed Broadway play that got its start at the storied Public Theater and won the 2022 Pulitzer Prize for drama. Most of the cast are reprising their roles from the original, and it makes you long for more transfers like this one. Chris Herbie Holland as Tio has the least to do, but then that was Horatio all over, wasn’t it? Played as a clown, more like a combined Rosenkranz and Guildenstern on steroids, he’s primarily expositional. Matthew Elijah Webb, an understudy in the original run of the play, is Larry, an enigma hiding his true self. Uninteresting almost throughout, his lack of character may have been by design because he closes the show and brings down the house. Adrianna Mitchell is Opal, the girl who likes girls but has a hard time expressing herself. Opal is a character who starts the tsunami that ends the play. Like Ophelia, her self-questioning opens up an avenue that is followed by others. Benja Kay Thomas is Rabby, the clueless church lady. Playing a definite type, one that adds to the underlying absurdity, she eventually rises above stereotype but never loses the fun.

Billy Eugene Jones plays both Rev and Pap. Jones plays them with depth, relatable ugliness and command of the stage. His dual roles are the source of several jokes, but his ability to reveal a bully with nuance is superb. As shown in his recent star turn in “Purlie Victorious” as Gitlow Judson on Broadway, Jones’s skill at transcending deliberate stereotypes inherent in a script is masterful. Nikki Crawford, Tony-nominated for her performance as Tedra, is a show-stopper, literally and figuratively. The moment she comes on stage in those tight denim shorts you know that Shakespeare’s play has been reimagined from the bottom up, so to speak. Her elocution and every action emphasize her distance from her son as she opts for sex over love and loyalty.

It is Marcel Spears, Juicy, who is the heart and soul of this family dramedy. Spears, a seasoned theater and television actor (“The Neighborhood”), has a command of nuance and subtlety that makes this comedy of the absurd take flight. It is on his ambivalence that all the other characters and actions turn. Spears makes you understand that the accusation against Juicy of being “soft” is double-edged. His “soft” is thoughtful and pivotal. Spears would actually make a great Hamlet.

Now playing at the Geffen Playhouse through May 5. Performances take place Wednesday through Sunday with matinees on Saturdays and Sundays. Runtime is 100 minutes without intermission.

The Geffen Playhouse is located at 10886 Le Conte Ave., Los Angeles.  

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The pious (some would say self-righteous, others would say priggish) Edith decides to take Rose on as a project, something the Lord would want her to do. Rose, undeterred, is amused and curious as to how the wholesome live. She of the foul mouth doesn’t need saving, but she could use some female friends. Most of her companions are found at the local pub competing fruitlessly against her in darts and drinking games. Littlehampton has never seen the likes of Rose, a forewarning of flappers to come. Edith, hiding behind her piousness, is most intrigued by Rose’s readily embraced freedom and spontaneity; her father is not. Edward Swan is of the old school, pre-Dickensian that is, and is appalled by Rose and her ilk with more than a smidgen of Irish prejudice in the mix. He had assumed everything would return to the way things were before the war. But women have tasted a bit of freedom, smoking, drinking, working in the factories and rolling down those stockings, and Edward is none too pleased.

Then the letters start arriving. Addressed to Edith, they are an epiphany of profanity; obscene swear words thrown willy–nilly, accusing Edith of the most foul acts in the most foul language. Like the martyr she is, she has held on to the letters without complaint though they have come almost daily. It is Edward who is most appalled and demands that she take the evidence of this debauchery to the police station and demand justice. It can be, he has surmised, no one but Rose. The previous standards are in freefall when it comes to this kind of language. Cautiously going to the police, she finds that the men of the force are more than too happy to investigate, especially because the perpetrator is so obvious. It can be no one but Rose. Newly minted woman’s police officer Gladys Moss is not so certain. Never mind that she’s the first and only woman at the station and is expected to do no more than fetch the tea. But Gladys, the daughter of a deceased police officer, cannot quell her suspicions despite the order to stand down.

The letters are considered libelous and the punishment is a jail sentence, something Rose, with her child, cannot afford. But truth and justice are not one and the same, and Rose is an easy target because she can’t prove what she didn’t do. Some of Edith’s friends are also skeptical of Rose’s guilt and begin their own investigation.

This is a wonderful story with the good, the bad and the idiotic, foremost among them the police officers who routinely ignore and demean Officer Moss. As Rose points out, why call Moss a woman police officer? You can see she’s a woman and she’s wearing a uniform, so why isn’t she just a police officer?

One might be tempted to dismiss this harmless little film as a bit of inconsequential fun and, to a certain extent, it is. What sets it apart, however, is that it’s based on a true event that went viral in the old-school sense. When the presence of the wicked little letters was made public and the alleged perpetrator was jailed, it made the news all over the country. Newspapers in both big cities and small villages expressed outrage that such a thing could have happened. Treated as poison pen letters, the anonymity was what attracted attention. Assumptions were made, reputations were on the line, and the effectiveness of the police force was called into question. And all because of letters accusing Edith of acts most foul in language most profane.

British writer-comedian Jonny Sweet came across this true story that rocked the nation in the ‘20s and knew he had to write it. Combining forces with director Thea Sharrock, they found a dream cast for this delicious character study. Olivia Coleman, an actress as accomplished in drama as she is in comedy, was the perfect Edith. I’m not sure there is anyone more adept at smiling through tightly closed lips as her eyes simultaneously show horror and mischief. Her piety and horror straddle the fine line between sincerity and guile. Coleman’s Edith harkens back to an earlier time when a flogging would have suited her needs and desires.

The production found its perfect anti-heroine in Jessie Buckley as Rose. Profanity literally trips off her tongue like a Mozart symphony and her lithe movements infect others with her joie de vivre. The two of them are the perfect juxtaposition of old and new and the repressed Edith knows and resents it.

The rest of the cast is a panoply of major British actors from film, television and theater, led by Timothy Spall as the abusively controlling Edward. Playing his wife is the too-little-seen comedic actress Gemma Jones, best known as Bridget Jones’ mother in that film series. Eileen Atkins, one of Britain’s leading stage actresses, brings a wry depth to the character of Mabel, one of Edith’s skeptical friends, aided and abetted by the versatile Joanna Scanlan as Ann who is never without either a pig under her arm or dirt under her nails. Hugh Skinner, whose credits include “Fleabag” and “The Windsors” as a moronic Prince William, brings that same limited mentality to the role of the dense police constable. Anjana Vasan as Woman Police Officer Moss is brimming with the wit and drama she showed in “Killing Eve” and “We Are Lady Parts.” So much hinges on the character of Moss working against the odds to solidify her position, and she delivers.

Cinematographer Ben Davis, who filmed “The Banshees of Inisherin” so beautifully, fills his palette with the brightness and shadings of country life, helped by the production design of Cristina Casali who has captured the village perfectly.

That all of this actually happened is just icing on a lemon cake that makes you smile and wince simultaneously. See it for another fabulous performance by Olivia Coleman, an actor whose range cannot be quantified, and love it for everyone else in it, always keeping in mind that this really did happen. Even without the internet and limited phone service, stories of outrage could consume a whole country far from the epicenter of the scandal.

Don’t miss this one.

Opening wide on April 5.  

Neely Swanson spent most of her professional career in the television industry, almost all of it working for David E. Kelley. In her last full-time position as Executive Vice President of Development, she reviewed writer submissions and targeted content for adaptation. As she has often said, she did book reports for a living. For several years she was a freelance writer for “Written By,” the magazine of the WGA West, and was adjunct faculty at USC in the writing division of the School of Cinematic Arts. Neely has been writing film and television reviews for the “Easy Reader” for more than 10 years. Her past reviews can be read on Rotten Tomatoes where she is a tomato-approved critic.

The post “Wicked Little Letters” – Antisocial Before Media appeared first on Beverly Hills Courier.

Raised in Milwaukee, this scrawny young man with the uncontrollable frizz on top realized that Jerome Silberman didn’t have much of a ring to it, so he rechristened himself Gene Wilder and, immediately after graduating college, struck out for New York, first finding small roles in television.

Kismet originally arrived in the shape of a small role, one where he felt very miscast, in a starry Broadway production of Bertolt Brecht’s “Mother Courage and Her Children,” a play that would close after 52 performances. But leading that cast was Anne Bancroft and she saw something in Wilder that she would pass on to her future husband, Mel Brooks. Brooks was writing his first film script, originally called “Springtime for Hitler,” and was agonizing over who he could find to play the neurotic accountant, Leo Bloom. The part, veering from naive innocence to deeply disturbed psychosis needed a believability factor that escaped most actors. He already knew who would play Max Bialystock, Zero Mostel, but who could possibly withstand the hurricane force of Mostel and still retain credibility? On Bancroft’s recommendation, Brooks came to see Wilder in the play and was instantly convinced.

Things move slowly in Hollywood and this was 1963, a full three years before there would be an actual production of what would become “The Producers.” Mel Brooks speaks extensively about what he saw in Wilder from the beginning and how Wilder understood the character of Bloom even better than he did. Watching some of his work in that film shows exactly why it was, as they say, a match made in heaven. But it wasn’t just Brooks who saw Wilder’s possibilities, it was also Zero Mostel, a famous problem child who had casting approval. He was in love with Wilder from the very first moment they read together and the rest is history. But the history has a few bumps in the road, including legendary Joseph E. Levine, the notorious vulgarian with impeccable taste in material. When shown dailies of Wilder’s work, Levine told Brooks to fire him. It wasn’t that Wilder wasn’t funny; he was. It was that he wasn’t handsome or a famous name. He insisted that a star was necessary. So Brooks did what he would subsequently do on all his other films. He promised to fire him and then ignored the command. Brooks and Bancroft added Wilder to their list of close family friends, something they would be forever after.

But before “The Producers” reached the screens he was seen in a movie that caught the zeitgeist of the time, “Bonnie and Clyde.” In the small role of an undertaker whose car is stolen by the famous duo, he made an indelible impression. Viewing a snippet of his performance underscores the statement by Arthur Penn, the director, when he admitted that he had never envisioned the role played the way Wilder played it and yet it was better, deeper and infused with humor that Penn hadn’t anticipated.

Wilder was on his way and when he was offered the role of Willy Wonka in “Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory” after a single line read, he happily jumped at it. Peter Ostrum, the boy chosen to play Charlie, recounts how incredibly helpful and generous Wilder was toward him, a true father figure. It was a surprising flop at the box office because parents were offended by its dark view. It has since become a cultural touchstone by the now grown children whose parents would not let them see it at the time. 

Unafraid of a challenge, he next took a role in Woody Allen’s “Everything You Always Wanted to Know About Sex But Were Afraid to Ask.” For the chapter Allen had in mind, he needed an actor who could sell sincerity and believability in something that defied credulity. And that role was of a doctor who falls in love with a sheep. It’s hard to describe if you’ve never seen it, but I did see it and I still find it hard to describe. The one thing you can say about this incredibly tasteless vignette is that Wilder is totally believable and it still makes me smile to remember him in bed with that sheep. The combination of two box office flops didn’t do his career a lot of good until Kismet struck again.

Mel Brooks was just beginning production of “Blazing Saddles,” a comic western. The final piece to his casting puzzle was the all-important role of the Waco Kid, the drunk counterpoint to the Black Sheriff played by Cleavon Little. Gig Young, a veteran of stage and screen comedies and dramas, as well as a fair share of westerns, was a gamble. A renowned alcoholic who had been fired from many productions, Young and his agents swore he was two years sober and all his difficulties were behind him. Readying for his first scene, Young’s stomach and everything else seemed to explode and he had to be rushed to the hospital. He was still in the throes of his very active alcoholism and was suffering from DTs (delirium tremens). Asking the physician whether Young could return to work, he replied, “Yes. In three or four months.” Horrified, Brooks recalled that they were to begin formal production in three days and he was now without a co-lead. But Brooks had a go-to position and that was his good friend Gene Wilder. With no preparation, Wilder took the role of the Waco Kid and, once again, made the unbelievable believable and also incredibly funny.  Their collaboration would continue with “Young Frankenstein,” based on an idea of Wilder’s with a script co-written with Brooks. 

There are so many movies, some good, some not so good, but always inventive. His other enduring screen partnership was the one with Richard Pryor. Pryor’s daughter Rain comments on how important that screen partnership with Wilder was for her father’s career. On screen they had incredible chemistry and although this partnership did not translate to a friendship off screen it was a very important relationship for them both.

Frank and Kirschbaum are very inclusive when it comes to Wilder’s filmography but also in terms of his personal bonds, not just with Brooks and Pryor, but also with his two significant romantic relationships. Most famously, he was married to Gilda Radner. It was an interesting and volatile love affair that ended too soon when she died of ovarian cancer. His marriage to Karen Boyer was his enduring love; their meeting reflects the care and thoughtfulness he brought to all aspects of his life. While conducting research for the next movie he would write for himself and Richard Pryor, “See No Evil, Hear No Evil,” Wilder contacted the Braille Institute about how Pryor’s blind character would behave in various situations. He also sought out an expert on the hearing impaired for the character he would play. It was important to be funny but not offensive. That expert was Karen Boyer. Gradually their relationship became more than just professional and it grew into a deep and lasting love, one that lasted for the rest of Wilder’s life. There were many good times and they shared almost everything. Karen was with him when his memory started to fail and she was with him when he was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s. She was there for him until the very end as the two of them brought attention to this devastating disease that affects not just the patient but also friends and family. 

I must confess that although I have appreciated Wilder’s acting in the past, I was missing a, rather the key element to all his performances whether in a good movie or a not so good one, of which he wrote many. As discussed with his friends, from Alan Alda to Brooks to several of his directors, he was believable even when the scene wasn’t. He was funny without going for the easy laugh. He was, in short, an actor’s actor and a mensch. Gene Wilder was unique and Frank and Kirschbaum lay that out loudly and clearly. That Karen Boyer Wilder gives us a very personal view of a man of depth and character is icing on a rich and nourishing cake.

Don’t miss this one.

Opening March 22 at the Laemmle Royal. 

Neely Swanson spent most of her professional career in the television industry, almost all of it working for David E. Kelley. In her last full-time position as Executive Vice President of Development, she reviewed writer submissions and targeted content for adaptation. As she has often said, she did book reports for a living. For several years she was a freelance writer for “Written By,” the magazine of the WGA West, and was adjunct faculty at USC in the writing division of the School of Cinematic Arts. Neely has been writing film and television reviews for the “Easy Reader” for more than 10 years. Her past reviews can be read on Rotten Tomatoes where she is a tomato-approved critic.

The post ‘Remembering Gene Wilder’—Unforgettable appeared first on Beverly Hills Courier.

Mutations have started to appear in humans, manifesting as bestial appendages, some recognizable others not. François’s wife is not really in a hospital but is confined to a clinic where other mutants are housed, as scientists seek to discover the origin and cure for these anomalies. Cheerily letting them know that progress is being made, the administrator has big news. A facility in the southern provinces has opened ahead of schedule and Lana will be transferred there in a few days. François is enthusiastic; they will move immediately. Émile, less so, is not looking forward to transferring schools with only two months left in the school year. It’s hard enough being the new kid, but he’ll be the new kid with a major secret.

Not everyone is as accepting as François. Lana is still the love of his life and he won’t abandon her. That society is less than tolerant of these creatures, as some call them, or beasts, as others see them, is a problem with society not with Lana and others like her. Like almost any other skittish animal, wild or domestic, space, understanding and kindness will often conquer the wildest of them. It’s just that their appearance is so frightful, like monsters from a nightmare. Most human-mutant encounters run the gamut from hilarious to calamitous. For Émile, unafraid, their presence is one that intrigues him.

François, ever the optimist, has already located a new job and a cozy cottage for them in the South. Émile’s school situation seems promising as the students are eager to welcome this mysterious stranger. But disaster has struck. Nearing the new institutions, the bus transporting Lana and the others from the clinic has crashed on a bridge, sending both the dead and the survivors into the river, most of whom have not been located. The river is soon awash with the dead and the surrounding forest is invaded by a new population of surviving creatures added to those already hiding there. The police on the scene explain that Lana has not been found, but that she should be presumed dead. This, François will not accept. And so begins his stealthy search, one that enlists Émile; stealthy because the police, and the soon-to-arrive military, have sealed off the forest. Most of the townsfolk set up barriers and invent devices to protect themselves from the beasts. Vigilante groups are formed.

Yes, there are encounters and storylines involving normal humans and their mutant cousins, but these are all secondary to the real subject. Director Thomas Cailley, working from a story by Pauline Munier, is most interested in a portrayal of “Otherness.” Whether it is a fear of migrants coming from parts unknown or racism that manifests itself in the hunt and discrimination of those whose appearance is different, “The Animal Kingdom” unearths fears both rational and illogical. François, the most tolerant of humans, doesn’t understand why they can’t adopt the Norwegian way, where the creatures and humans live side by side, apart and yet together. Understanding and tolerance have lessened the distance between them. But this isn’t Norway, it’s France, underscored by one man saying he wasn’t sure if his food was being stolen by a creature or by gypsies, a group commonly demonized as the “other.” 

This isn’t necessarily a new theme. In recent years, Guillermo del Toro explored it in his Oscar-winning film, “The Shape of Water.” Del Toro, a master of fantasy and creatures, examined intolerance and hope in his story of a fishlike humanoid caught and brought to a military investigation lab. A young cleaning woman discovers how to communicate with the beast and is determined to save him, at great risk to herself. But even more well known is Spielberg’s Academy Award-nominated classic “ET.” What is “ET” but a story about “otherness?” Frightful to adults, a being to be poked, prodded and experimented on, ET is an instrument of joy and education to the children who adopt and protect him. And much like “The Animal Kingdom,” it is a story about friendship and love.

It is easy to concentrate only on the fantasy aspects of the film, and the creatures are definitely awesome, anthropomorphic, relatable and sympathetic, but, for me what makes this movie stand out is that it is, almost more than anything else, a portrait of family and love. The relationship between François and Émile is one of closeness with an acceptance almost without judgment. They have been through so much together and they are still standing. It is also a warm and empathetic “coming of age” tale with Émile trying to understand the changes that are happening all around him, but always with a father ready to die for him. The attachment between them is palpable, the very definition of unconditional love that grows deeper as they face more challenges. If I have stubbornly refused to reveal plot points, it’s only because you’ll see them coming but need to integrate them into the emotional aspects of this story. Literally anything I would describe would be a spoiler. 

“The Animal Kingdom” is a difficult film to watch, if only from the standpoint of understanding what Cailley is trying to say. Stripping away the metaphorical aspects of his story, the racism, the hatred of migrants, the militarism, the ecological aftereffects in a pre-apocalyptic environment, it’s still a story about love, family and tolerance. Stay with it, the emotional end definitely justifies the path it took to get there. 

“The Animal Kingdom” was nominated for 12 César Awards (the French equivalent of the Oscars), winning for visual effects, cinematography, costume design, original music and sound, all of which will literally blow your mind. Cailley found his perfect François in Romain Duris, an actor whose emotional palette is practically peerless. Paul Kircher as Émile was a revelation. As an awkward teenager, his gait, gaze and inability to articulate himself make you ache. It is such a realistic portrait of the later stages of puberty that it takes some time before you realize it’s much more than that. The openness of his face, the wide open eyes, this is a boy in transition. The chemistry between Duris and Kircher enhances the filmic relationship. 

Much like “Everything Everywhere All at Once,” let “The Animal Kingdom” wash over you. Live in the here and now of the film and worry about the meaning later. 

In French with English subtitles. Opening March 15 at the Alamo Drafthouse, a dine-in arthouse cinema downtown and VOD on all major platforms. 

Neely Swanson spent most of her professional career in the television industry, almost all of it working for David E. Kelley. In her last full-time position as Executive Vice President of Development, she reviewed writer submissions and targeted content for adaptation. As she has often said, she did book reports for a living. For several years she was a freelance writer for “Written By,” the magazine of the WGA West, and was adjunct faculty at USC in the writing division of the School of Cinematic Arts. Neely has been writing film and television reviews for the “Easy Reader” for more than 10 years. Her past reviews can be read on Rotten Tomatoes where she is a tomato-approved critic.

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This year—like every year—there are “sure things,” “favorites,” “long shots” and enough head-scratchers to keep it interesting. Are Oscar voters immune to the results of the award shows that preceded the date (Feb. 27) when their votes must be cast? It’s hard to argue that there isn’t at least a subliminal influence exerted on Academy voters by the outcomes of the Golden Globes, BAFTA, Independent Spirits, as well as the DGA, SAG and PGA Awards. 

People have been trying to influence Oscar voting since the first awards were given out in 1929. Early on, studios waged “write-in” campaigns to overcome what they viewed as “oversights.” “A Midsummer Night’s Dream,” the starry and innovative Max Reinhardt film of the Shakespeare play, won Best Cinematography as a write-in in 1936. The Academy closed that loophole shortly thereafter. More pervasive were the very effective advertising campaigns footed by Harvey Weinstein. He spent enormous sums of money on media to the extent that many accused him of “influence-peddling.” But unless it’s against the rules or the law, unlike his other activities, it was fair game. He wasn’t the first and won’t be the last.  All pervasive are the “FYC” (For Your Consideration) ads meant to keep the advertised film in the voters’ field of vision until awards season. These ads alone may be keeping the Los Angeles Times afloat, if just barely. Of course, the collateral benefit is to tweak an audience’s interest in the film and boost the box office. And nothing boosts box office like an Oscar, so studios are willing to spend huge amounts of money for these FYC blitzes. 

The most recent controversy involved an excellent, but often overlooked actress named Andrea Riseborough. Respected by her peers and unknown to audiences at large, she was the star of an outstanding indie called “To Leslie,” a film that undeservedly disappeared from screens almost as soon as it premiered. Without box office potential, a big-name producer or a major studio behind its star, Leslie Riseborough, it sank below the surface before it could float. Riseborough’s savvy manager realized that there might be a window of opportunity for a stealth social media campaign right before the nomination process closed. Enlisting at least two dozen supportive celebrity friends, they launched a blitz on social media and mass emails to voters touting the importance of independent cinema and her outstanding and Oscar-worthy role. It did, however, impinge dangerously on the rule against lobbying members for votes and that is, in reality, what her celebrity friends were doing. Riseborough got her nomination, but the Motion Picture Academy tightened the rules (actually they were already pretty specific) on social media influence campaigns by Academy members to encourage or discourage votes; direct email solicitations have been banned. The Academy now specifically says, “You may not discuss your voting preferences and other members’ voting preferences in a public forum. This includes comparing or ranking motion pictures, performance or achievements in relation to voting. This also includes speaking with press anonymously.”

Like every other year, there are so-called surprises and snubs, both of which are highly subjective. For every nominee who has been deemed worthy of consideration, there are probably others who can be viewed as equally deserving. Does that rise to the level of a “snub?” Probably not.

Many were surprised that Leonardo DiCaprio did not get a nod for Actor in a Leading Role for “Killers of the Flower Moon.” But who would you eliminate out of the list for him? Bradley Cooper in “Maestro?” Whether you liked the film (I did) or didn’t, he was superb in his channeling of a very complicated Leonard Bernstein. Coleman Domingo, in his revelatory performance of overlooked civil rights leader Bayard Rustin? I think not. How about Actress in a Leading Role? It seems like some kind of backlash to ignore Margot Robbie’s luminous performance in “Barbie,” or even Greta Lee’s delicate Nora in “Past Lives.” But even so, if either of them had been nominated someone else would have had to go. 

I was particularly surprised at the omission of Charles Melton in “May December.” His multilayered, complex portrayal of a young man who finally realizes that his entire life has been a manipulation that stunted his emotional growth was nothing short of revelatory. It would have been easy for me to eliminate Ryan Gosling from the ballot for Actor in a Supporting Role. He complained bitterly that Margot Robbie was robbed of a nomination but instead should have focused on how incredibly lucky he was to get one. On the distaff side, as much as I love her, I’m not sure that America Ferrera’s “Barbie” role rose to the level of great acting; it wasn’t as transformative in the way that Julianne Moore’s benignly evil character in “May December” was. Actually, the overall rebuff of “May December” is quite perplexing. 

Directing is always a controversial category. Voted on overwhelmingly by men, white men at that, the DGA has been very slow to recognize or even open their ranks to women. This year is very little different. Although all the nominees are worthy, somehow it would seem that there should have been room on that list for Greta Gerwig. No matter how you feel about “Barbie,” she did a deft job of telling a large story in an intimate way. So who would I have eliminated in order to make room? Certainly not the directors of  “Anatomy of a Fall,” the sole woman, or “Oppenheimer” or probably not even “Poor Things,” an acquired taste if there ever was one, but a masterful job at telling a story that bled all over the edges. Despite Scorsese’s lack of discipline in telling the story of “Killers of the Flower Moon” in 3 ½ hours when 2 ½ would have been more than sufficient, it’s still more significant than “Barbie.” But then it depends if you want to feast on a three-course meal or an ice cream sundae. 

With 10 entries for Best Picture, it’s hard to think of what might have been left off. I find that all of the nominations are worthy and interesting. But all of this is conjecture because there is a juggernaut among them and that behemoth is “Oppenheimer.” I would be very surprised if it didn’t sweep most of its categories having already won numerous guild awards. If this were a horse race, the big money (and low odds) would be on “Oppenheimer” in almost every category in which it is nominated (13). That being said, however, Actor in a Leading Role seems to be between Cillian Murphy (“Oppenheimer”) and Paul Giamatti (“The Holdovers”) with Jeffrey Wright (“American Fiction”) a dark horse. Lily Gladstone (“Killers of the Flower Moon”) is the odds-on favorite for Actress in a Leading Role, but Emma Stone (“Poor Things”), in what is arguably the bravest appearance on screen in recent years, can’t be counted out. It would be very surprising if Da’Vine Joy Randolph (“The Holdovers”) didn’t win for Actress in a Supporting role. So far, she’s won everything else including the SAG, Golden Globe and Independent Spirit.

I don’t believe that Christopher Nolan, having already won the BAFTA and DGA awards, has any competition in the Directing category. The same is true for his masterful adaptation of “American Prometheus” by Kai Bird and Martin J. Sherwin, propelling this 2006 Pulitzer Prize-winning biography back on the bestseller lists. The head-scratcher in this category is “Barbie” as an adaptation. Because the doll already existed? Seriously? 

There are so many other categories, each with worthy nominees. Much of the fun is in second-guessing Oscar voters and in hoping that Jimmy Kimmel, a throwback to the Johnny Carson years, delivers a great monologue. So sit back, ballot in one hand and martini in the other, and enjoy. 

Neely Swanson spent most of her professional career in the television industry, almost all of it working for David E. Kelley. In her last full-time position as Executive Vice President of Development, she reviewed writer submissions and targeted content for adaptation. As she has often said, she did book reports for a living. For several years she was a freelance writer for “Written By,” the magazine of the WGA West, and was adjunct faculty at USC in the writing division of the School of Cinematic Arts. Neely has been writing film and television reviews for the “Easy Reader” for more than 10 years. Her past reviews can be read on Rotten Tomatoes where she is a tomato-approved critic.

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It’s not that LadyBird wasn’t expecting her mother but she thought they were going to fish in the late night hours and her mama didn’t bring her own pole. “Why isn’t your sister here?” Vernita demands. “Call her now and get her over here.” But LadyBird is in no hurry and wants answers. What’s going on? What’s in the basket? Why didn’t you bring your pole? This tug-of-war between mother and daughter is not new. LadyBird is a rule follower. She’s masked and insists on distance from a mother who’s never seen a rule she didn’t want to break or a boundary to breach. Vernita, like so many others, is convinced that if she hasn’t gotten sick by now, she’s not going to. Everyone who’s going to die has already died, she insists. It’s already taken half the town.

But back to that pesky basket, being guarded so carefully by Vernita, and the mysterious blood on her hands. As LadyBird pulls back the towel, she yelps and turns away to vomit. Her mother stares her down. “Don’t you dare throw up, girl. We don’t need another mess to clean up tonight.” As Mama explains it, they need Meka, her other daughter, right now. She’ll know what to do because she’s acquainted with criminal activities. Although Meka considers herself a healer, and they could definitely use some of that right here and now, she’s partial to weed, medicinal and otherwise; the otherwise being illegal in Texas. Finally arriving, she’s less than clear-eyed, having spent the evening puffing away with her husband in their new hot tub.

The head? It belongs, or rather belonged, to Clayton Rutherford, the owner of just about everything in the town including the slaughterhouse and factory, both of which he shut down. Earlier, when there was a fire at the factory and workers died because the exits were chained shut, he offered no compensation. He owned the housing his workers lived in and the grocery stores they shopped in. Job or no job, they all owed him money and he demanded payment. But now he’s dead and Vernita has been caught red-handed, literally and figuratively.

The Rutherfords have been inextricably tied to Vernita’s family for generations. After the Civil War, Vernita’s beloved ancestors briefly rented Rutherford land, earning enough with their cotton crop to think about buying it. They had a gift for growing cotton, but that gift brought out greed and injustice in the town folk, especially Big Rutherford who controlled the sheriff, his cronies and just about everyone else in town. Demanding payments that weren’t due, Mama Ada and Papa Gee stood their ground and refused to pay. A gun battle ensued and many died. But that wasn’t enough. Rutherford’s men came in the night and hanged seven of the survivors, including Papa Gee, and stole a year’s worth of cotton.

Inexplicably, most of the white men who exacted vengeance on the innocent Blacks went missing. Soon only their heads turned up. But Big Rutherford was untouched and the order of the day was restored. Ada, single minded of purpose, was determined to get that land back; she never did. Vernita shivers telling this story because here, after many years, is the head of the man whose descendent built his crooked empire on the backs of her relatives.

Vernita, recounting this tale and others, reveals her ties to the folklore tradition inhabited by ghosts and spirits, both vengeful and forgiving. As she tells the girls “What do we believe about our dead?” Meka responds, “That they come back until they work is done.” They provide spiritual protection. As her daughters listen to these phantasmagoric stories, there is a disturbing rustling in the trees. An outsider emerges, one seemingly unknown and possibly hostile to this family. But the stranger, Taysha, is not unknown and she shares a bond with the three of them that will shatter their grasp on reality.

Calhoun has written a story that is deeply infused with a mythical spirituality, an African American magical realism. She has linked the folkloric tales of Vernita to the genealogy of her family. The stories were a way to connect to the past and rise above the future. In setting her play during the pandemic, she has made it a metaphor for the illness that has affected so many of the racists that populated this red neck of the woods. Lynching, Jim Crow laws, beatings and killings by the police are, in their own ways, a pandemic that affected the lives of African Americans since slavery. But the lingering effects of this type of pandemic are not on the Blacks, but on those who perpetrated these injustices, infecting their souls. Here, the beheadings are the spiritual retaliation for past sins.

This tale of retribution by unseen forces was the central theme of Percival Everett’s outstanding novel, “The Trees.” The mystery and solution to who will ultimately face justice is in the trees, from whose branches hung the strange fruit, those lynched for the crime of being Black. Tracking down and exacting revenge on the perpetrators is by a mysterious group, all of whom are hiding in plain sight. Much like the initial retaliation for justice in “The Trees,” the so-called murder of Clayton Rutherford is to avenge the past misdeeds of his ancestors. That he, himself, is unredeemable is icing on a poisonous cake. Swiftly directed by Tiffany Nichole Greene, Calhoun largely succeeds in couching her story in folklore by telling this story speedily, at times a bit too quickly, with a mordant sense of humor. It is, most assuredly, a black comedy (an unavoidable pun). Unnecessary, however, is the disdain shown by all but LadyBird for the real need to protect oneself during a pandemic. She needlessly plays on the ignorance of the consequences of ignoring health concerns as if it is LadyBird who is superstitious rather than Vernita and Meka who play into the trope that the virus was not real.

Brandee Evans, LadyBird, a rigid rule follower played for exaggeration, is excellent, a voice of reason in real time and an astute listener about the past. Angela Lewis is the humorous Meka whose only purpose may be to keep us engaged as the mystery of the head starts to play out. Perhaps it is the role or the writing, but her character doesn’t contribute needed substance to the plot. She moves the story along without adding a great deal to it. Amber Chardae Robinson is the mysterious Taysha. It is something of a thankless and yet pivotal role, pushing Vernita to acknowledge her own shortcomings and sins and move on. It is a difficult character to portray because of the “other worldliness” demanded and at times she is not as convincing as she needs to be. The group is led by Kimberly Scott as Vernita. Although she occasionally stumbled over her lines, interrupting the necessary rhythm, she effectively portrays an older lady dependent on both church going and respect for the spirits of the past, and I don’t mean the Holy Ghost. She is most effective when cornered, angry and upset, which is most of the time.

I enjoyed the show and, having recently read “The Trees,” I especially liked the tangible comparisons in the material. If you’re going to be influenced, even if it’s subliminal, I can think of no better role model than Percival Everett.

Now playing at the Geffen Playhouse’s Audrey Skirball Kenis Theater through March 17. Performances take place Wednesday through Sunday, with matinees on Saturdays and Sundays. Run time is 80 minutes without intermission.

Geffen Playhouse, 10886 Le Conte Ave, Los Angeles, 90024 

Neely Swanson spent most of her professional career in the television industry, almost all of it working for David E. Kelley. In her last full-time position as Executive Vice President of Development, she reviewed writer submissions and targeted content for adaptation. As she has often said, she did book reports for a living. For several years she was a freelance writer for “Written By,” the magazine of the WGA West, and was adjunct faculty at USC in the writing division of the School of Cinematic Arts. Neely has been writing film and television reviews for the “Easy Reader” for more than 10 years. Her past reviews can be read on Rotten Tomatoes where she is a tomato-approved critic.

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I love the Independent Spirits because their mandate is to recognize diversity, innovation and uniqueness of vision. This is not so much an effort to be woke but to try and see what the mainstream media doesn’t. Economy of means is another criterion. Can you see every penny at work on screen? The budget maximum for movies competing for an Independent Spirit is $30 million, which sounds like a lot but not when you compare it to “Oppenheimer” ($100 million), “Barbie” ($140 million) and “Killers of the Flower Moon” ($200 million). You will, no doubt, marvel like me at what the Spirit-nominated films were able to accomplish on considerably less money, sacrificing neither production values nor, in some cases, star-driven casts.

Chosen by special committee, there is one award specific to the Independent Spirits, and that is the John Cassavetes Award given to a first feature budgeted under $1 million. Past winners, like Tom McCarthy, Mike White and Ava DuVernay have gone on to make an indelible mark on the industry.

That there are films nominated for both Academy Awards and the Independent Spirits make them, as far as I’m concerned, even more extraordinary. And many of the lesser-known independent films, by virtue of a nomination, will be picked up for distribution. I do have to say, sheepishly, that I’ll often look at nominations I’ve never heard of and roll my eyes. And so often I’ve been wrong. If the film was reviewed for the Courier, the date will be in parenthesis as will my vote.

This year I watched every movie and TV submission that was available to be screened. I found some worthy and exceptional films that I wouldn’t have seen otherwise. In a nod to expediency, I will pass on Editing, the John Cassavetes Award, Best Cinematography, Best Editing, Best Documentary and all 40 of the acting nominations. I keep wishing that Film Independent would find a better way to support gender inclusion other than lumping all actors together.

Best Feature 

“All of Us Strangers” (Dec. 15) is a dense, existential treatise on life and death and its intersection. With a cast of major British actors, Andrew Scott, Paul Mescal, Jamie Bell and Claire Foy, it’s definitely worth considering.

“American Fiction” (Dec. 22), nominated for multiple Oscars, was a truly wonderful character study that dared to delve humorously into family drama and racial stereotypes. (My vote) (VOD)

“May December” is the challenging story of a woman and her husband 20 years after they had an affair when she was his teacher, and he was a middle schooler. A movie is about to be made about the scandal, sending a major Hollywood star to their doorstep doing research for her role as the teacher. The cast includes Julianne Moore, remarkable newcomer Charles Melton and Natalie Portman, who brings a subtle malevolence to her role as the intruder. (Netflix)

“Passages” follows the breakup of a marriage when Tomas (Franz Rogowski) betrays his husband (Ben Whishaw) as he begins a passionate but ill-thought-out affair with a woman. I was unmoved by the actions and characters in this unconvincing threesome. (Mubi)

“Past Lives,” nominated for several Oscars, is a moving character study of a woman who left Korea as a child but held onto the memory of one special friend to whom she is still inexorably drawn. Bittersweet, this film is a lovely dissection of what it takes to become an adult, and how sometimes that path is interrupted in unanticipated ways. (Showtime)

“We Grown Now” is a lovely and sometimes harrowing story about two best friends as they navigate childhood, dangers and small joys under the cloud of the notorious Cabrini Green housing project in 1992 Chicago.

Best First Feature

Like last year’s entries, this is a category of surprisingly sophisticated films. For me, it was hard to choose just one.

“All Dirt Roads Taste of Salt” put me to sleep (seriously). Theoretically (remember, I fell asleep) this is the story of a woman’s life in rural Mississippi as told through cinematographic memories, all beautifully filmed and all impossible to follow chronologically. (VOD)

“Chronicles of a Wandering Saint” is the amusing tale of Rita who wants to gain sainthood at any price. In conversation with the spirits, she learns what she must do to ascend to the heavens. One false move, however, will keep her locked to this world forever in a form not of her choosing.

“Earth Mama” is a bleak look at what one single, pregnant mother must face while navigating what the state social service system demands of her. (Showtime)

“A Thousand and One” tells the story of one woman’s devotion to her child against a foster service system that would tear them apart (I’m sensing a theme here). Inez disappears into the wind with her son Terry, trying hard to provide the best for her gifted son. I guarantee you won’t guess the twist at the end. (Amazon Prime)

“Upon Entry” is the whole package. A young married couple has arrived in Miami from Spain, visas in hand. They are about to embark on a whole new life, one with endless promise. The only thing standing in their way is the customs and immigration officer who has pulled them aside for questioning that is grueling, tense and psychologically frightening. (My vote) (VOD)

Best Director 

Celine Song, who won the DGA Award for first time feature film, is nominated for “Past Lives” (my vote). Also nominated are Ira Sachs for “Passages;” Todd Haynes, “May December;” Andrew Haigh for “All of Us Strangers” and William Oldroyd for the very fine thriller, “Eileen.”

Best International Film

Not restricted to films submitted by their respective countries, this is a more competitive and interesting category than its counterpart for the Oscars.

“Anatomy of a Fall” (Oct. 13) (my vote) from France is actually Oscar-nominated for Best Motion Picture of the Year and “The Zone of Interest” (Dec. 8) is nominated for the International Film Oscar. “Godland,” a Danish film was unavailable to view; “Mami Wata,” a Nigerian movie with a supernatural aspect; and “Tótem,” Mexico’s submission about a family tragedy seen through the eyes of a child.

The Best Screenplay and Best First Screenplay nominations were full of worthy contenders. Those that were also Oscar-nominated were “The Holdovers”  by David Hemingson; “American Fiction” by Cord Jefferson (my vote); and “Past Lives” by Celine Song. Also nominated for Best Screenplay were “Birth/Rebirth” by Laura Moss and Brendan J. O’Brien and “Bottoms” by Emma Seligman and Rachel Sennott. For Best First Screenplay, the Oscar-nominated “May December” by Samy Burch and Alex Mechanik; “Theater Camp” by Noah Galvin, Molly Gordon, Nick Lieberman and Ben Platt (July 21); Tomás Gómez Bustillo for “Chronicles of a Wandering Saint;” Laurel Parmet for “The Starling Girl;” and Alejandro Rojas and Juan Sebastián Vasquez for “Upon Entry” (my vote).

Television

For the reasons mentioned above, I will not cover the performing categories.

Best New Non-Scripted or Documentary Series

“Deadlocked: How America Shaped the Supreme Court” is a lesson in the history of the United States illustrating how the more things change, the more they remain the same (my vote). (Showtime)

“Dear Mama,” the story of Tupac Shakur, a complex and inspirational young man who made a lasting impact and was gone too soon. (Hulu)

“Murder in Big Horn” is the story of Native American girls who go missing and are ignored by the criminal justice system. Not as urgent as it should be. (Showtime)

“Stolen Youth: Inside the Cult at Sarah Lawrence” is the fascinating story of a paunchy middle-aged man of no distinction who infiltrated his daughter’s dorm and recruited her roommates as his acolytes, spreading fear and loathing wherever he went. (Hulu)

“Wrestlers” is about a mid-level professional wrestling organization undergoing a change in ownership, as the stars, male and female, continue to try to make their marks and get to the next level. (Netflix)

Best New Scripted Series

“Beef,” the Emmy-lauded series, starts with a road rage incident and morphs into so much more. (my vote). (Netflix)

“Dreaming Whilst Black.” Clever, dry, substantive, it follows the adventures of a young Black would-be filmmaker who faces microaggressions every day from well-meaning bosses uninterested in hearing what he has to say. (Showtime)

“I’m a Virgo” is the fantasy tale of a 13-foot-tall boy who leaves the smothering of his concerned parents to experience life with kids his own age. Not my demographic. (Amazon Prime)

“Jury Duty,” already the winner of Best Ensemble, is about a fake legal case and its fake jury panel where everyone but one member is in on the joke, with actor James Marsden, in on the ruse, playing himself. One note, but it’s a funny one. (Amazon Freevee)

“Slip.” I must confess that I have no idea what this is about. Apparently, it’s on the Roku Channel and involves the fantasies of a bored wife. (I guess it wouldn’t be a show if she wasn’t bored.)

I can’t wait to see who wins. I wish I could say I was always in the vanguard but my record thus far is pretty poor. 

Neely Swanson spent most of her professional career in the television industry, almost all of it working for David E. Kelley. In her last full-time position as Executive Vice President of Development, she reviewed writer submissions and targeted content for adaptation. As she has often said, she did book reports for a living. For several years she was a freelance writer for “Written By,” the magazine of the WGA West, and was adjunct faculty at USC in the writing division of the School of Cinematic Arts. Neely has been writing film and television reviews for the “Easy Reader” for more than 10 years. Her past reviews can be read on Rotten Tomatoes where she is a tomato-approved critic.

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Vibrant colors, verdant leaves, bees swarming, “The Taste of Things” opens on Eugénie digging in a garden for vegetables soon to grace the table of gourmands. Holding up carrots and celery root that she has just pulled from the earth, Eugénie scrapes away the soil, wraps them in her apron and walks back to the estate where she presides over the kitchen with Violette as her helper.

It is 1889 and after a short conference with Dodin Bouffant, the renowned chef, a rival to Escoffier and heir to Brillat-Savarin, author of “The Physiology of Taste,” and Marie-Antoine Carême who elevated French cuisine to new heights in the early 19th century, Eugénie lovingly begins the prep for that day’s meal to be served to Dodin’s entourage. She and Dodin work together, whisking, sautéing, searing, assembling the many courses that will be served. He carefully chooses the wines that will accompany the meal, wines specifically chosen for their harmony with the various tastes and textures of his meal. Although working side by side, the relationship is unclear. With Violette hovering in the background, washing utensils, fetching water from the well, cutting and chopping, it is Eugénie who is in charge; more than just the cook to Dodin’s chef who applies the finishing touches. It’s his estate; it’s his kitchen; he is the king of his realm but she is the consort without whom he cannot maintain his reputation. Subordinate to no one, she dresses like those she supervises. Looks can be deceiving. He invites her to participate in the luncheon; she declines graciously. His friends, all leaders of the village, are curious why she won’t join in the meal.

Who is she and what is her relationship to Dodin? She has been there for many years and understands things about the food they make that sometimes even surpass him. His eyes never leave her. When he asks if he might join her in her room that night, she flashes her Mona Lisa smile, asking him if she has ever denied him. But he asks. He always asks.

Dodin is mad about her and that relationship colors all activities. It is doubtful you will have ever seen food like this, even at the best three-star restaurant in Paris. This is French food at its zenith prepared by a master of the age. But it’s more than the food, its textures and the beautiful presentation that matches the taste. It’s a metaphor for love, attainable and unreachable; ethereal and yet grounded. Dodin and Eugénie have been dancing both together and around each other in the kitchen for years. She is his equal; she knows it and so does he. He craves everything about her and has the eyes of a starving man when she refuses to marry him. But Eugénie understands something that he doesn’t. He may be the master of all around him but he will never be the master of her. She guards her independence fiercely and he will have to come to her, not she to him.

Yes, the presentation of the food, its preparation, its service is enough to make a Vegan repent, but the undercurrent of artistry is all important. In a rather hilarious scene, Dodin’s reputation has attracted the attention of an Eastern Potentate who wants to show off his knowledge of gastronomy and the chefs he employs. A menu has been prepared for Dodin and his entourage that he thinks is fit for a king with course after course of food, exotic and otherwise, the opulence of each dish exceeding the preceding in grandeur and ingredients, a dinner that took 8 hours to serve. What the potentate and his chefs neglected to consider was how each course should follow a logical path that compliments the one before it; that texture and taste must meld together to create something delicious and previously unknown; that the most audacious meals are sometimes the simplest. To that end, Dodin has already decided what he will make for the potentate—Pot au Feu, boiled beef and vegetables. More treacherous than it sounds but exquisite in the right hands, like those of Dodin and Eugénie. This too is a metaphor for their love in all its complexity and deceptive simplicity.

And all the while, Dodin continues to court Eugénie, begging, cajoling, strategizing. Finally realizing that he must show fealty to the love of his life, he sets out to win her over with the commodity they both understand—food. He prepares a meal for her, laying the table with his best china and silverware, opening rare wines, and preparing dishes she’ll be unable to resist and serving it himself. Love for food and food for love. The seeming calm of this older couple belies the shared passion that is hidden beneath the surface. The comfort they find in their relationship is accentuated by what has grown over the years, unspoken but known. Dodin exclaims that he has finally won the love of his life when they are in the autumn of their years. Eugénie, eyes twinkling, proclaims that she lives eternally in summer for its heat, the colors, the bursts of sun on her face and the constant renewal.

The food always underscores life at the villa with the quiet, studied supportive relationships it nurtures. When Violette introduces her niece Pauline to Dodin and Eugénie, life in the kitchen bursts forth anew like the first sprouts of spring. Pauline has the rare gift of taste much like perfect pitch in a musician. She is someone that they can help blossom; perhaps someday in the distant future she might inherit Eugénie’s rare gift. Her wide-eyed appreciation for the simplest broths foretells a happy future.

Surprisingly, there is no musical soundtrack, with the exception of an excerpt of “Thaïs” by Jules Massenet at the end. What you hear and see is a cast whose movements are organically choreographed as they glide from one prep station to the next. They move to the melodic sounds of butter sizzling, meat being basted, the whisking of eggs, the grinding of salt, the scraping of chairs, the whoosh of fires being lit, the wind in the trees…this is all the music necessary to make this deceptively quiet film become operatic.

Starting slowly, the first 20 minutes or so are entirely devoted to the preparation of a meal in the classical French tradition. This beginning may draw you in if you love food or it might not if you don’t. Stay with it because there’s so much more than meets the eye, and believe me there’s already a lot for the eye to meet.

Tran Anh Hung’s cast is exceptional. Galatéa Bellugi, Violette, glides in the background effortlessly adding a dimension to the kitchen orchestration as an overlooked backbone to the smooth running of the operation. Her cinematic gift is to be invisible and fully present at the same time. Newcomer Bonnie Chagneau-Ravoire played Pauline as both naïf and otherworldly in her approach to food, allowing us to understand that taste is an art form unto itself. Always wide-eyed and attentive, Hung was especially entranced with how nicely she chewed; he positively salivated watching her chew. Pierre Gagnaire, the three-star chef of his eponymously named restaurant in Paris, plays a cameo as the potentate’s head chef. Behind the scenes, it was Gagnaire who prepared and tested all the dishes in pre-production that would be presented in the movie, making sure that they would film beautifully and be interesting. His former colleague of 40 years and recently retired, Michel Nave, took over on location.

Juliette Binoche, Eugénie, has that uncanny chameleon ability to melt into a role. It is her eyes, her fluid movement across the kitchen, the slightly upturned lips yielding a classic Mona Lisa smile. She is mysterious and yet almost an open book. In describing her, Hung said, “Juliette has unbelievable presence. Once she appears, everything becomes real,  interesting, moving…she brings to the character an interior strength that makes her resistance to Dodin’s desires all the more palpable.”

Benoit Magimel as Dodin is very serious, serious about his cooking, serious about his reputation, serious about Eugénie. Seemingly without humor, it is in his personal relationship with Eugénie that we see him blossom. Giving in to her needs and desires opens him up to grander possibilities than the food he presents to the world. The passion of the title is implied to be his love for food but, in the end, it is a passion for life itself, especially a life with Eugénie who has opened his eyes to possibilities. Magimel and Binoche, who, in the early 2000s had been married for a short time and had not acted together for almost 25 years, brought a chemistry and shared knowledge to their roles as a pair of lovers whose intellectual and artistic attraction has yet to be fully consummated. For the sheer joy of watching the two of them act out this universal tale of love, I could see this film over and over (and have already seen it three times).

In French with English subtitles.

Opening Feb.  9 at the Laemmle Royal. On Demand Feb.14, a perfect Valentine. 

Neely Swanson spent most of her professional career in the television industry, almost all of it working for David E. Kelley. In her last full-time position as Executive Vice President of Development, she reviewed writer submissions and targeted content for adaptation. As she has often said, she did book reports for a living. For several years she was a freelance writer for “Written By,” the magazine of the WGA West, and was adjunct faculty at USC in the writing division of the School of Cinematic Arts. Neely has been writing film and television reviews for the “Easy Reader” for more than 10 years. Her past reviews can be read on Rotten Tomatoes where she is a tomato-approved critic.

The post ‘The Taste of Things’—Very Good Indeed appeared first on Beverly Hills Courier.

Set in mid-18th century Denmark, Captain Ludvig Kahlen has returned to his homeland from the wars in Germany. A war hero, he has little to show for his service but a dream. Impoverished with a meager pension, he presents himself at court with a proposal. He would like the chance to cultivate some of the barren, unworkable land on the Jutland Heath, a pet project of the king’s. If he succeeds in growing crops on the land and attracts settlers to the area, he requests a royal title, an official deed to the land and a generous stipend. This had, in former days, been precisely what the king had offered to anyone bold enough to try to tackle that barren and forbidding area. But now, instead of an advance of funds or help in any other way, Kahlen will have to go it alone. The court’s cabinet is skeptical but gives an unspoken approval to the end result without any support in advance.

The stalwart Kahlen sets off for the arid heath with its dry soil, rocky undergrowth and forbidding weather. Kahlen, who has nothing, has nothing to lose and continues along his solitary path until he finds a patch of earth that, while not inviting, is not entirely unmanageable. This small patch of land is close to the estate of Frederik de Schinkel (the “de” was his addition to enhance his own aristocratic ambitions). De Schinkel believes himself to be master of all he can see and he sees Kahlen’s project as his. What he is unaware of is that Kahlen is illegally sheltering two of de Schinkel’s former indentured servants, Ann Barbara and Johannes, both hoping to escape the beatings and rapes that were among his characterizing qualities. But it’s not just de Schinkel that works against him, but also a group of Tater, the Danish equivalent of “Travelers” and their lookout, the very young Anmai Mus, a dark-skinned slave to the troop. Refusing to face defeat at the hands of bandits, he negotiates with them to join him in cultivating the land despite the illegality of their employment.

De Schinkel is a merciless and cruel landowner and his assessment of Kahlen is demeaning, although spot on. He recognizes immediately that Kahlen worked for his station in the army, earning the title of Captain after many years due to his work and bravery. He, on the other hand, was accorded the title of General almost immediately because of his family background without having to lift a finger. Kahlen, he surmises, was the illegitimate son of an indentured maid and the aristocratic lord of the manor. His army post was secured by his “father” to remove him from the estate. That he distinguished himself was to his credit but not to his fortune. De Schinkel laughingly assures him that he will never succeed because Kahlen naively believes that the world is logical; that reason rules the universe. Laughing, De Schinkel is amazed at Kahlen’s naivety. The world is chaos, he expounds, and chaos will dominate him no matter how many rules he puts in place.

Kahlen forges ahead despite the machinations against him. De Schinkel was successful in driving off the Tater, leaving Kahlen with only Johannes to help him work the land with Ann Barbara and Anmai Mus, who remains behind, to manage the household. Denmark, at that time, was one of the last Western European countries to abolish serfdom, a practice of indentured servitude that was still thriving on the estates of the Danish aristocracy in 1756 when this story takes place. The punishment for “breaking a contract,” as it was euphemistically called when a serf escaped his master, was torture and death. When Johannes is,  inevitably, caught by De Schinkel’s private army, Kahlen is “invited” to watch the punishment, an ode to barbarism, cruelty and arrogance. Ann Barbara, still in hiding on Kahlen’s land, will always remember this act of ruthless savagery and long for retribution.

But Kahlen will not be dissuaded from his dream and continues on. Despite the obstacles in his way, he succeeds in producing a major crop of potatoes, the news of which reaches the court. Soon a contingent of settlers arrives to help work the land. Despite this recognition by the court, Kahlen again finds himself up against an even more dangerous de Schinkel who employs a band of criminals to raid the encampment and kill at will. De Schinkel is proving correct about the chaos of life. But this isn’t life; this is war against an enemy without humanity. Kahlen, knowing that the one who organizes better wins a war of chaos, fights back.

Seeing through the facade of civilization that Kahlen is intent on establishing lies the arrogance and single-mindedness of an individual whose ambitions and desires hide a view of the world that allows for love, compromise and the needs of others. Yes, de Schinkel was right about one thing, life is chaos; it’s painful and often ugly but can also be beautiful and astonishing. Kahlen is relentless; de Schinkel cannot win. But what will be the cost? What do you win if winning is the only goal?

Arcel has, indeed, given us a cinematic epic in terms of scope and story. The cinematographer Rasmus Videbaek has made the barren, rocky, unforgiving earth a character in the film. He paints a picture of desolation so complete that you ache every moment Kahlen’s shovel hits the unyielding earth. The desolation we see resonates long after his camera moves to something else. Never has brown had so many variations, all of them miserable. His close-ups of Kahlen reveal every line and all the toughened leather of skin that has never enjoyed leisure.  He and Arcel have a longtime collaboration that seems knowing in the shots he films.

The cast is otherworldly. Melina Hagberg as young Anmai Mus is breathtaking in her range. In her first role, she is audaciously funny and heart-stoppingly sad, depending on the situation, when the camera focuses on her. Amanda Collin is Ann Barbara whose hopes and dreams are on a collision course with Kahlen. Stoic, silent, she uses her eyes to express the hope she feels with Johannes, the occasional disappointment with Kahlen, and the unbridled hatred of de Schinkel. She is, in many ways, the surprising driving force of the narrative.

Handsome Simon Bennebjerg is de Schinkel and you may never see a villain so vile, heartless and ugly. That there is little subtlety to his depravity is not a criticism. He is the very embodiment of everything that was wrong in Denmark at the time. His artistry is in showing the insecurity he feels in a society that will, in a few short years, abandon the Medieval practices on which he thrives. Serfdom, torture, corporal and capital punishment will be abolished and that will leave the de Schinkels of the world without a tether. He is a most delicious blackguard awaiting a comeuppance you long for.

Mads Mikkelsen, Kahlen, is a bona fide international star. Like Max von Sydow, who came to fame in Ingmar Bergman films in the ‘50s, ‘60s and ‘70s, Mikkelsen, his heir apparent, rose to fame in the 2000s. Like von Sydow, Mikkelsen embodies the quiet, strong Scandinavian stoicism made more vulnerable by his ultimate need for the others he’s eschewed. Mikkelsen says very little yet conveys every emotion, thought and action very effectively. Arcel noted that Mikkelsen will often cut dialogue he feels is superfluous to his actions. His high cheekbones and leathered skin speak to a life of pain. His face is our roadmap to understanding his character. His presence is magnetic and Arcel uses it to great advantage. Make sure to see “A Royal Affair,” also starring Mikkelsen and directed by Arcel. It will actually enhance your knowledge of this troubled era of Danish history but also underscore the symbiotic relationship these two artists have developed. Mikkelsen’s performance will be burned into your memory.

This, Denmark’s submission to the International Film category of the Motion Picture Academy, enters a crowded field but will be very competitive. Although not chosen as a finalist, this is a must-see film of consequence that will last beyond this awards season.

“The Promised Land” is one subject with countless meanings.

In Danish with English subtitles.

Opening Feb. 2 at the Laemmle Royal. 

Neely Swanson spent most of her professional career in the television industry, almost all of it working for David E. Kelley. In her last full-time position as Executive Vice President of Development, she reviewed writer submissions and targeted content for adaptation. As she has often said, she did book reports for a living. For several years she was a freelance writer for “Written By,” the magazine of the WGA West, and was adjunct faculty at USC in the writing division of the School of Cinematic Arts. Neely has been writing film and television reviews for the “Easy Reader” for more than 10 years. Her past reviews can be read on Rotten Tomatoes where she is a tomato-approved critic.

The post ‘The Promised Land’—Unfulfilled or Unfulfilling? appeared first on Beverly Hills Courier.

“Obituary”

Hulu seems to keep delivering more and more new product. Some of it is terrific and some not so good. In the category of terrific comes the Irish series “Obituary.” Well-written and darkly hilarious, “Obituary” tells the story of Elvira Clancy (Siobhán Cullen), a smart, unemotional young woman living a dead-end existence in small-town Ireland trying to keep her drunken father Ward (Michael Smiley) out of debt and away from temptation. Automatically you know that’s not going to happen. Elvira has managed to get a job at the local newspaper, a tiny rag with a marginal staff. A talented writer, she is relegated to writing obituaries. When cuts must be made, her editor will only pay her per obituary. But this is a very small town and the deaths are few and far between. What’s a girl to do but create some work for herself. And before you can say “Erin go bragh” (“Ireland till doomsday”), the dead bodies begin to pile up.

While not dispatching those who deserve to die, Erin is struggling to maintain normal relationships. Her best friend, the very bosomy Mallory (Danielle Galligan), sets her sights on the one young man Erin fancies, Emerson Stafford (Ronan Raftery), a new hire at the paper who’s investigating the new rash of suspicious deaths.

Only two of the six episodes were released for review, I hunger for the rest. The humor is so dry it crackles, the acting is perfect with nary a wink wink, and the plots are inventive. I suppose the only thing to worry about is that eventually Elvira will run out of bodies. But then again, Oxford is still populated despite all the murders solved by Morse, Lewis and Endeavor.

Now streaming on Hulu.

“Reacher”

The second season of this series based on the character created by Lee Child has arrived and none too soon. The first season established Jack Reacher, former Army Special Investigations, as a lone wolf out to track the murder of his brother, a hero in a white hat if there ever was one. Trapped in a corrupt Southern town, he gets to the bottom of the how of his brother’s murder but not so much the why. Enter season two and Reacher is called back to work with his original squad. Someone is killing them off, one by one, in brutal fashion. When one of the originals, missing but with his fingerprints on everything, is suspected of selling out the others, Reacher’s mission is not just to stop the killings but also to clear the name of his protégé.

Starring Alan Ritchson as Reacher, a compelling actor despite his cartoonish bodybuilder shape. Think Arnold Schwarzenegger if he could act. His sly sense of humor keeps the storyline from getting too melodramatic. He is ably supported by Maria Sten, his right hand Frances Neagley, and Serinda Swan as Shaun Sipos, his love interest. Robert Patrick, who deserves better than to always be cast as a villain, is, nevertheless, a juicy bad guy in the guise of Shane Langston, head of security for a private defense contractor. The fate of civilization rests in the hands of Reacher. Based on “Bad Luck and Trouble” by Lee Child, it has been brought to life on the screen by master storyteller Nick Santora, a favorite writer of mine for too many years to count.

Now streaming on Prime Video.

“The Artful Dodger” 

For those of you familiar with Dickens’ “Oliver Twist,” you will remember the Artful Dodger, Fagin’s favorite pickpocket, hand trained to excel at the “art” of thievery. Young Oliver Twist was shanghaied into the criminal gang but was eventually rescued. Fagin was arrested and everyone else scattered to the four winds. In this creative reimagination, the Artful Dodger now lives in Port Victory, Australia under an assumed name, Dr. Jack Dawkins. He put those nimble fingers to better use when he apprenticed to a surgeon while on a ship crossing the ocean. He now practices his craft at a local hospital run by a dangerous quack.

Fagin, having escaped death by hanging in England, has landed in Australia and recognizes Jack right off the bat. He sees a world of glitter, money and jewels and is determined to continue his life of crime with his former protégé back at his side. Dr. Jack is less than willing and must find a way to extricate himself from the very sticky Fagin without endangering his present position. Making things more difficult for him is the arrival into his life of Lady Belle Fox, daughter of the Governor. Belle is an independent, determined young woman who has decided that she will be a doctor and that she will apprentice under Jack. There will be no arguing with her. Belle is extremely well-read and up on all the current medical research. Jack now finds himself between a rock (Belle) and a hard place (Fagin) and must navigate these treacherous waters.

“The Artful Dodger” is fanciful and often heart-stopping as concerns Jack’s future: fame or the gallows, no in between. The casting is as masterful as the writing is imaginative. Thomas Brodie-Sangster (“The Queen’s Gambit,”) is a charming and believable Jack. David Thewlis (Remus Lupin in the “Harry Potter” series) is the charmingly corrupt Fagin and Maia Mitchell (“The Fosters”) is a very charming Belle. Created and written by David Maher, David Taylor and James McNamara, they keep the dialogue crisp and moving.

Now streaming on Hulu.

“Monsieur Spade”

Sam Spade, you remember him, don’t you? He was Dashiell Hammett’s grizzled San Francisco detective in “The Maltese Falcon.” After a final meeting with Brigid O’Shaughnessy, the noir femme fatale of the above-mentioned caper, newly released from prison and on her deathbed, she makes him promise to protect her child, Teresa, a daughter who will inherit a not inconsiderable sum of money when she turns 18. He must also try to find her ex, Teresa’s ne’er-do-well French father.

Sam drops Teresa into a convent in the south of France, not far from where her father last lived. This being a sunny part of the world, he decides to stay, especially when he falls in love with Gabrielle, the beautiful owner of a vineyard.

Tom Fontana (“Homicide”) and Scott Frank (“The Wolverine”), a veritable dream team, have come up with one of the most imaginative “What Ifs?” Sam Spade was the very definition of the film noir anti-hero, so why not have him retire to Provence to escape the murder, mayhem and corruption of San Francisco only to be dropped into the middle of a deadly mystery?

Going backward and forward in time, we see his love affair blossom with Gabrielle and what happens when she dies and he’s left with her grand estate. Laconic, almost existential in attitude, Sam is totally self-focused. No matter, problems still find their way to his doorstep and none are more irritating than the attack on the convent where Teresa is living.  All the nuns were murdered when they would not reveal the location of a mysterious child in their care. Reluctantly, he is forced into the action. Teresa’s missing father, who may be hovering in the background to try to gain possession of his daughter’s recent inheritance, may be involved.

Clive Owen as Sam Spade is the personification of cool. Chiara Mastroianni is Gabrielle and Cara Bossom is the petulant Teresa. Adding to the potential appeal of the series is that it is a full mix of French and British actors, with dialogue in both languages.

The mystery at the root of this effectively noir atmosphere is a story that just doesn’t work. The pace is glacial, made even more so because it takes so long to get to its unsatisfying resolution. So much potential wasted with such a good cast. Truly a case of style over substance.

In French and English with English subtitles.

Streaming January 14, one episode per week, on AMC+ and Acorn TV.

“Criminal Record”

DC June Lenker is young, Black and trying to navigate her way up in the London police department; DCI Daniel Hegarty is white, powerful and soon to retire. An anonymous phone call from a terrorized woman claiming information about a man wrongly convicted of murder is about to change the lives of Lenker and Hegarty. The so-called innocent man was one of Hegarty’s cases from many years ago. Lenker is determined to open up the case; Hegarty will do everything in his power to prevent that. Intransigent, even in the face of new evidence, it’s his legacy being challenged.

Lenker finds more than enough indications that the suspect was railroaded without enough investigation because he was Black with a history of domestic violence. But there were others with similar backgrounds who were overlooked. Hegarty is adamant that race had nothing to do with it, despite indications to the contrary. He can’t have a young, aggressive woman digging into his files and he blocks her at every opportunity, something that makes her even more determined.

She has made a powerful enemy of Hegarty but fearlessly pushes ahead. He uses all of his connections to stall her upward path but still she goes on. Will justice be served? Or is that even in play when a case is closed and locked?

Creator Paul Rutman is interested in the disparity of power, racism and institutional failure. In many ways, he succeeds but often with a buzz saw rather than the scalpel that is needed. Luckily, “Criminal Record” stars Cush Jumbo as Lenker and Peter Capaldi as Hegarty, the Black and white of the scenario. Would that this interesting show had been more compelling. It’s not bad, it’s just not as subtle and interesting as it should have been.

Streaming now, one episode at a time, on Apple TV+. 

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Madeleine Keller, 92, has called for a taxi, a ride that will revisit her journey through Paris. It is Charles, morose, tense, suspicious, who answers that call. His life is a shambles, his romantic relationship is on the brink, and he is in debt so deep he risks losing everything. Although the trip will be a relatively lucrative one for him, across Paris, he’s still annoyed at the distance, the traffic and his passenger. Madeleine, with her preternaturally sunny disposition, is quite talkative. Her destination? The assisted care facility where she will play out the rest of her days after a fall at home made it necessary to give up her independence. She’s in no hurry to get there and asks Charles to make a detour. She’d like to visit the area where she grew up. Ironically, so did he. They marvel at the changes in the neighborhood but don’t linger. Still, it’s Madeleine who does all the talking.

“Do you remember your first kiss?” she asks. Charles, on edge and in no mood to reminisce, says no. Not to be deterred, Madeleine describes hers as if it occurred yesterday. She was almost 17 and the allies had just liberated Paris. GIs were everywhere. It was at a USO dance that she met Matt. Handsome, considerate, seductive, his lips tasted like honey. They had an intense, romantic relationship several weeks before he shipped out, leaving her forever but with a “present.” That present was her beloved son Mathieu. Even Charles can’t ignore how vivid and warm her memory is. He, on the other hand, has no memories. His life is cold and full of worry.

Undeterred, Madeleine requests another stop, a less happy one; the apartment she shared with her husband. Charles, whose glacial demeanor has started to thaw, asks what his kisses tasted like. Tight-lipped, Madeleine delays before saying they tasted like nothing. It was a sensation she would forever block out as she begins to recount the most difficult part of her life in flashback scenes.

Horrified by her story, Charles is unable to understand how such things could have happened. “It was,” she explains, “the 50s.” Women had only just been given the right to vote but could not make any financial decisions, open bank accounts or work without their husband’s permission. Divorce was unthinkable and domestic violence was not recognized as an issue. Charles’ heart slowly begins to melt. Peppering him with questions, he starts to reveal parts of himself and his troubles, anxieties he’s never shared with anyone.

Soon, at her request, he drives to another part of Paris and another memory. He begins, finally, to understand that this is her last hurrah. She is going somewhere from which she may not return and he becomes determined to ease her transition. She has entered his psyche and he sees her for the force she is. What she has gone through in life was unthinkable and yet, despite the hardship, she came through with the will to make her life and everyone’s around her a better place. His problems, enormous to him, don’t measure up to what she’s been through. One of her gifts to him is perspective.

That Madeleine shares her indomitable spirit is her present to all of us. And Carion knows just how to tell her story so that we are enveloped in the bonding of Charles and Madeleine and the understanding that sometimes the end is just a beginning. All centered in Paris, truly the city of lights, it is, remarkably, shot in a car, moving through the various neighborhoods. Certainly we get shots of Notre Dame under construction, the Seine, the Opera, Place Vendome, but this isn’t about them. What we see are the working neighborhoods, the corner cafes, the glorious boulevards unknown to tourists but holding adventure and vibrant theaters, both old and new.

Cinematographer Pierre Cottereau employed a cutting edge technique to make it look as though Charles and Madeleine were driving through Paris in real time. Most of their scenes were filmed in a car, but instead of the car moving through traffic, a platform truck carrying multiple high definition cameras traversed their route through Paris and transmitted those scenes, shot at different angles, back to screens that surrounded the cab allowing the actors to react to the scenery passing by. Paris, as always, is an important character in this movie.

As transformational as the camera technique was, it’s still a movie about relationships and character growth. Alice Isaaz plays the young Madeleine in flashback. She is engaging, sympathetic and relatable. Jérémie Laheurte as her husband Ray is a caged animal who has no place in her world, taking out his frustration and his sense of emasculation with his fists. He is a true villain but his performance shows the nuance of ignorance.

Line Renaud, a legendary French singer/actress, was the perfect choice to play Madeleine. Her eyes still sparkle, her voice is strong yet tremulous, she inhabits this character whose great gift is her realization that she lived the life she chose and has few regrets. Renaud has an inherent warmth that dominates the screen and her rapport with her co-star is enhanced by her personal relationship with him. They have acted together before and they bring their friendship into their roles. Dany Boon as Charles is a revelation. Known for his comedic writing and acting, his dramatic acting is fully nuanced, touching and intense without pathos. Most remarkable is the character development shown as Boon finds the depth in this hurt, restrained common man drowning in self-pity who finds a sentimental core.

“Driving Madeleine” earns every laugh and every tear. It is sincere and emotional without being maudlin, keeping your attention rapt as Madeleine’s story plays out. There are no false moments. This is a film to enjoy, reflect on, and watch again.

In French with English subtitles.

Now playing at the Landmark Pasadena and Sunset Theaters.

The post ‘Driving Madeleine’ – A Rose, Not a Daisy appeared first on Beverly Hills Courier.

Class, before we begin with chemistry there is an important lesson to be learned about adapting bestsellers. “Lessons in Chemistry” was my favorite, not one of my favorites, but my favorite book of 2022, a year of many terrific reads. My feelings were mixed when I read that it was going to be made into a TV series. Why mixed? I come from a TV and film background where books are optioned and adapted and sometimes even made. The sad but true proviso is that a book, once optioned for production, enters the realm of the adapter. He or she may then do whatever they choose to with said material. In some cases, the only thing remaining is the title. The buyer now owns the rights and can pick and choose whatever they want from the book’s substance, if anything. The moral of this story is to limit your expectations on the translation of your favorite books to the screen.

That being said, “Lessons in Chemistry” is enjoyable on its own. Yes, a lot of the original concept is still present, but there are new storylines and a number of characters have changed, some for better, some for worse. The villains transcend any gray areas into full black regalia. The good guys (and gals) are dressed in impeccable whites.

Elizabeth Zott (a pitch-perfect Brie Larson) is a brilliant and beautiful young chemist who was forced to leave her Ph.D. program under circumstances not of her own making. We are dropped into the stereotypic 1950s, an era when women were less than welcome in the workforce and certainly not in professional positions. Even female doctors and lawyers were expected to take a backseat to their male colleagues. But Elizabeth doesn’t have that doctorate so the best job she can find is as a lab tech at Hastings Laboratories. Treated with disdain, despite the fact that she often corrects the work of some of her ostensible superiors, she remains aloof from the politics and the pressure to hide her light under a lab bench. She knows who she is and will not allow the condescension of others to disrupt her life. Enter Calvin Evans, the star chemist at the laboratories, often mentioned in the same breath as the term “Nobel Prize.” Calvin (an endearing Lewis Pullman), considered an oddball by his colleagues, is strongly attracted to the intellectual attributes of Elizabeth. Their eccentricities dovetail nicely and their collaboration is both professional and personal.

Calvin lives in the West Adams district of Los Angeles, home to a large, but upscale, Black population. He is very close to his neighbors the Sloanes. Harriet Sloane (Naomi King) and her children are keeping the home fires burning while Dr. Sloane is finishing his military tour. Harriet is very active in local politics, trying to save her neighborhood from the “urban renewal” the City Council is proposing. They would like the new 10 Freeway to bisect the Adams district, and in the process destroy the homes in its wake. The choice of this area is not by accident or even expedience; it’s because it is Black. Along the way, as Elizabeth becomes more connected to Calvin, she also becomes connected to his neighbors, supporting their fight.

There are heartbreaks to overcome and mysteries to be solved, both chemical and familial, as Elizabeth is shoved on a new path toward a career in public television, a brainy Julia Child so to speak, and family dramas to resolve. Telling any more would spoil some of the fun of discovering this series as something unto itself. As an adaptation of a favorite book it is disappointing; as a new series with remnants of the Elizabeth of the book and new characters, it’s a success. My advice? Enter the world of “Lessons in Chemistry” without expectations and enjoy the ride for the interesting story it is on its own. Oh…and read the book. It’s a pleasure not to be missed.

Now streaming on Apple TV+.

“Slow Horses” —Braised to Perfection

“Slow Horses,” now in its third season, is based on the MI5 (British CIA) series of books by novelist Mick Herron, none of which I’ve read. The scene was set in season one, based on “Slow Horses,” part of his series about Slough House where dead duck agents are sent to languish forever in a purgatory from which there is no escape. Led by Jackson Lamb (a spectacular Gary Oldman), a misanthropic screw-up without apparent redeeming value, this less-than-intrepid group is offered crumbs from MI5 Security boss, Diana Taverner (Kirstin Scott Thomas wearing her disdain like a Chanel suit). These crumbs, however, are usually attached to the toxic realization that there is no likely solution and that embarrassment and failure are sent to them on a daily basis to prevent the actual agency from the taint of likely disaster.

You can almost smell the slovenly Lamb before he enters a scene. His stained trench coat could stand on its own without a hanger; his hair, so stringy and matted, makes you wonder if it’s ever been washed. Although Lamb is seemingly content with his exile, the other members would love a chance to return to the main office. Each of their so-called catastrophes may or may not have been fairly attributed to them, but forgiveness is a Sisyphean task.

Season 3, even better than the previous two, can be watched as a stand-alone. Based on Herron’s book “Real Tigers,” it ramps up the action and stakes considerably. A consistent rhythm has been found and the characters have grown appreciably. Complicating matters considerably is Lady Ingrid (the always intriguing Sophie Okonedo), Diana’s much-resented boss at MI5. The tension between the two is palpable and Ingrid will stop at nothing to move the dial even more in her favor. Working closely with corrupt State’s minister Peter Judd (an effectively slimy Samuel West), Ingrid is transparent in her hunger for higher office and need to undermine Diana’s department.

River Cartwright (Jack Lowden in a star turn), an agent who was originally set up for failure by his counterpart at MI5, the appropriately named ‘Spider’ Webb (Freddie Fox), is still haunted by the missteps that brought him to Slough House. Used again, and I am unable to divulge the plot for obvious reasons, he must find a way to dig himself out of his newest hole, one that might make his relationship with Diana even worse. Jonathan Pryce makes an appearance as River’s grandfather, retired MI5 nobility declining into the early stages of dementia.

Lamb, always the skeptic, finds himself actually caring about an outcome and agrees to ally himself with Diana, if only because he despises Peter Judd, and he prefers the enemy he knows, Diana, to the one he suspects is far worse, Ingrid.

As a little tweak to a plot I am reluctant to divulge, Sean Donovan (Sope Dirisu) is on a mission to avenge the death of his girlfriend, an MI5 agent killed by MI5 in Turkey. Collateral damage in his revenge is the stalwart Catherine Standish (Saskia Reeves who deserves better screen credit), a self-exiled member of Slough House.

The characters are there, the plot is complex and believable enough, and this third season, watchable as a stand-alone, is positively delicious.

Now streaming on Apple TV+.

“Culprits” —Aren’t We All

This very stylish heist thriller travels back and forth in time from the inception of the caper to its consequences. The stakes are immediately evident as the first episode zooms in on a man begging for his life, crawling toward the Ferrari in the driveway of his Italian estate. Asked by the masked killer for the location of Dianne Harewood, he’s shot point blank when he can’t answer. The who, what, where and why will unfold slowly, intricately and intriguingly in eight episodes.

Dianne, as we will come to learn, has planned her own version of the heist of the century and put together her dream team to execute it. Like Tarantino’s “Reservoir Dogs,” each member shall be known only by the name Dianne (aka Brain) bestows upon them representing their respective roles in the gambit—Fixer, Right Hand, Soldier, Officer, Muscle and Driver. It is Driver we see murdered; others will meet the same fate for the same reason.

The robbery is successful; the money each receives is the stuff dreams are made of. Each member of the team scatters in the wind, but it is on Muscle that the series focuses its laser beam.

Muscle, aka Joe Petrus, was the hired gun of a prominent London gangster. When an arranged “meet” is just a setup for a hostile takeover, Joe successfully dispatches the enemy and they both walk away. It was this derring-do that brought him to Dianne’s attention. But it is not “Muscle” or even Joe Petrus that we come to know; it is Joe Patrus, American, living an idyllic life in Washington State with his partner Jules and Jules’ two children. Joe, a stay-at-home dad, dotes on those kids and will sacrifice anything to keep them safe. But even small-town life in the Pacific Northwest holds its dangers for him, always with a racist undercurrent. All he wants is to settle into domestic tranquility so he will endeavor to fly under the radar as much as possible. Easier said than done. Life in the suburbs brings its own version of hell.

Soon the masked gunman will come for him and endanger everything he has built, including his family. There was more to the robbery than he, or any of the others, was aware of and it will be up to him to untangle this labyrinth of cause and effect to save Jules and the two kids. It will lead him back to London and the surviving team. He will be beaten, kidnapped, and placed in untenable situations by both the villain of the piece and Dianne.

Gemma Arterton as Dianne is stunning. Her sang froid is admirable and she makes even the unbelievable aspects of her character work. Eddie Izzard is the secret weapon as a villain embodying the banality of evil, when he’s not sanctioning torture.

But most importantly, Nathan Stewart-Jarrett is Muscle and the Joes. Handsome, electric, sympathetic, believable, it’s impossible not to concentrate on him. He plays the contradictions inherent in good and evil and he does it almost simultaneously. If he’s not already a major star, he should be. I ate this show up.

Now Streaming on Hulu. 

Neely Swanson spent most of her professional career in the television industry, almost all of it working for David E. Kelley. In her last full-time position as Executive Vice President of Development, she reviewed writer submissions and targeted content for adaptation. As she has often said, she did book reports for a living. For several years she was a freelance writer for “Written By,” the magazine of the WGA West, and was adjunct faculty at USC in the writing division of the School of Cinematic Arts. Neely has been writing film and television reviews for the “Easy Reader” for more than 10 years. Her past reviews can be read on Rotten Tomatoes where she is a tomato-approved critic.

The post What to Watch This Winter appeared first on Beverly Hills Courier.

New, young and enthusiastic teacher Carla Nowak has been at the school a very short time but is already aware of the atmosphere of suspicion permeating the staff. Little, and not so little, things have been going missing at the school. Boxes of supplies, art materials and sundry other, seemingly unimportant but noticeable items have disappeared. Carla, knowing nothing of these illicit activities, does spot another teacher removing coins from the “honor box” by the coffee machine. The undercurrent in the teachers’ lounge is of dissatisfaction and mistrust led by two of the more senior teachers, Thomas Liebenwerda and Milosz Dudek, leaders in their own right (and maybe just in their own minds).

Carla has an easy rapport with her students. Respectful, she is even-handed and tries not to embarrass anyone in class who is struggling. That, however, all changes when those two senior teachers arrive at her classroom, asking to interview the two elected class representatives. The five of them go off privately, at which point Liebenwerda and Dudek begin to pressure the two students while a horrified Carla looks on. Money has gone missing and rumors are circulating that it is someone in their class. Before she can adequately get a handle on the tactics being used to bully the two students, the two senior teachers present a list of their classmates and ask them to single out anyone they think may be involved in the theft. Jenny states that she has no idea and wouldn’t want to guess. Lucas, however, succumbs to the coercion and, wanting to please, points to a name. He has pointed to the name of the Turkish student in class, Ali.

Soon, the principal, Dr. Böhm appears in Carla’s class, accompanied by henchmen Liebenwerda and Dudek, requesting that all the girls leave and that the boys place their wallets on the counter. It is only Ali with a wallet full of cash. A pall hangs over the room as Ali is escorted out. His parents, called to the school to discuss the ramifications of their find, are perplexed. Immigrants, still uncertain of the language and customs, they endure the politically correct explanations of Dr. Böhm about their zero-tolerance policy on rule breaking. But, his mother explains, she had given him that money to buy a game after school. Oh. Sorry. Well, back to class you go. Except there’s no going back now that a cloud of guilt hangs over Ali’s head, and it’s Lucas, the so-called well-meaning collaborator, who’s happy to fan the flames of doubt. Relationships are bruised and the fabric of trust among the students and the teachers has been frayed.

Carla must attempt to repair the damage as each student looks suspiciously at the others. Camaraderie has decreased and the tolerance for mistakes and differences is lessened. When Carla catches one student cheating on a quiz, something he vehemently denies, her easy-going geniality is tested as she publicly singles out the alleged cheater. Safe zones no longer seem to exist and the students all feel like targets.

Carla, recognizing the rifts in her classroom, including the ones she has created, decides to take things in hand by investigating the thefts herself. Her method is ingenious but extra-legal and the result is shocking. But the repercussions are greater than she could ever have imagined as she is suddenly turned into a villain and not a hero. The parents, blaming Carla, rebel against what they see as totalitarian tactics; the children turn on one another; and the majority of the teachers reveal the smug attitude of the righteous. And in the center? Carla, who believed her intentions were impeccable and geared toward supporting the students. Instead, she has unleashed a tsunami of collateral damage, much of it aimed at Oskar, a sensitive and brilliant student she has been nurturing. Oskar has been caught in the crosshairs of defending his family and relying on a teacher who had supported his individuality.

In his own way, Çatak has created a microcosm of society in general. The unjust accusation of one student was the thread that, when pulled, unraveled the entire sweater. Carla, in her misguided way to try and right a wrong, has disturbed the universe and unleashed a force that destroyed the delicate framework of trust that everyone assumed had existed. Alliances are formed, enemies created and the children who had previously relied on the guidance of the adults around them are without the mature protection of those they counted on.

In “Lord of the Flies,” William Golding illustrated the disintegration of society with his tale of shipwrecked boys on an isolated island fending for themselves. Eventually, without the underlying structure of adult supervision, the boys on the island devolved into destructive predators attacking the weakest link. In “The Teachers’ Lounge,” the seemingly responsible adults acting in the so-called best interests of the students, have shredded the structural anatomy of their small society. With a zero-tolerance policy, there is no shade of gray, only black and white. Accusations become fact and the most vulnerable are left to make sense of the world that has been destroyed in front of them. Truths become lies; rumors become truth.

Çatak’s universe, placid on the surface, is, in reality, chaotic and easily broken down. The production design highlights the ultra-modern school as a beehive, the outside of which is dominated by the clean, efficient winding staircases used by the students to navigate their world; at the core is a messy colony where the teachers are seemingly in control. When the interior eats at the exterior, the entire mechanism collapses.

Çatak’s view of the world in general is complex, rather cynical and laced with humor. Much like a boa constrictor, he lulls you into a false sense of security until he gradually sucks the air out of your lungs. His masterful cast makes this all more than believable. Michael Klammer is the believably odious and self-righteous Thomas Liebenwerda. He’s so convincingly cynical and obtuse as the teacher who’s been at it far too long and feels ownership where it doesn’t exist. Anne-Kathrin Gummich uses her stiff as a board carriage to communicate her infallibility, which is anything but. She’s every principal you’ve ever loathed, while at the same time admiring her ability to keep a leaky ship afloat. Leonard Stettnisch in his debut as Oskar is achingly real. He shows vulnerability, hostility and confusion with one glance. That kind of communication in one so young is a rare find. What makes it more amazing is that he was recommended for the role by his father, Michael Klammer.

Leonie Benesch as Carla, is a true star, having already been recognized for her roles in Michael Haneke’s “The White Ribbon” and the television series “Babylon Berlin” (watch it on Netflix, it’s terrific). She brings the naive vulnerability that only a young idealist can hold. She wears all her emotions on her face and she grabs you and makes you ache for every mistake she makes, and there are a lot of them.

This will be an exceptionally competitive year for the Oscar in the International Film category, but this one should make the cut. It’s as chilling as it is heartbreaking.

In German with English subtitles.

The film is now playing at the Laemmle Royal.  

Neely Swanson spent most of her professional career in the television industry, almost all of it working for David E. Kelley. In her last full-time position as Executive Vice President of Development, she reviewed writer submissions and targeted content for adaptation. As she has often said, she did book reports for a living. For several years she was a freelance writer for “Written By,” the magazine of the WGA West, and was adjunct faculty at USC in the writing division of the School of Cinematic Arts. Neely has been writing film and television reviews for the “Easy Reader” for more than 10 years. Her past reviews can be read on Rotten Tomatoes where she is a tomato-approved critic.

The post ‘The Teachers’ Lounge’—Nowhere to Relax appeared first on Beverly Hills Courier.

Sylvia has just celebrated 13 years sober at AA and attends meetings religiously. This is her secret weapon of support and where we first meet her. Here she can be accepted, no questions asked. A single mother to daughter Anna, Sylvia is tense, uptight and anxious. Fiercely independent, they live in an apartment in a sketchy commercial neighborhood somewhere in Brooklyn. She meets her daughter every day after school and accompanies her home. Each time she enters the building, she looks over her shoulder, as you would also in that neighborhood, climbs the stairs to her apartment and upon entering, locks a series of bolts and sets the alarm. Something has made her this way. Take the hint when her refrigerator breaks down and a repairman arrives. She had asked for a woman and instead they sent a man. Reluctantly, warily, she allows him to enter because she can’t wait days for the one woman on staff.

Sylvia supports the two of them with her job working as a social worker at an adult day care center for physically and mentally challenged adults. Her acceptance of her charges, never patronizing, always straightforward, gives you important insight into her character. She’s caring, empathetic and willingly accepts people for who they are, not what they are supposed to be. In his own way, director Michel Franco has given a voice to a very marginalized group, seldom if ever seen on screen.

Rarely leaving her apartment for anything other than her meetings, shopping and work, she is reluctant to socialize. Probably through the constant badgering of her sister Olivia, Sylvia agrees to attend a reunion of alumni from their high school. Olivia, patient with her sister, prods and pulls and hand carries her to the party. What she is unable to do is get Sylvia to interact. There is a trigger here that we shall soon see is a key to who Sylvia is and why she cannot be more. When a somewhat sketchy man walks over and sits down next to her, she immediately rises, flees and heads for the subway. And so does he, close on her heels. Breathless, she arrives home, fastens all the locks and leaves him on the street, staring up at her apartment. It begins to rain. He doesn’t leave. The next morning she finds him under a plastic cover, alone, disoriented, almost comatose. Sylvia finds his identification and calls someone for help. His name is Saul and, as his brother and guardian, Isaac, tells Sylvia, he’s in the early stages of dementia. He probably won’t even remember why he is there.

But a connection has been made. Sylvia is sure he is part of her blemished past; Saul is as certain as a man with no memory can be that he knows her from somewhere. Isaac, sensing a connection, offers Sylvia an off-the-books job watching Saul at their brownstone, a neighborhood light-years from hers, socially, economically and emotionally. She accepts, but lingering not far from the surface, you sense her ulterior motive. On her first day with Saul, she takes him for a walk in the park and deliberately abandons him. But this isn’t who she is and she returns, eventually finding him and confronting him with what she is certain she knows about him. With a blank, perpetually pleasant smile, he apologizes if he harmed her, but he doesn’t recall. Sylvia’s memory of events, shaded by trauma, is almost as unreliable as Saul’s. She returns to Isaac and takes back this second gig, one that affords her and Anna a few luxuries that they couldn’t afford otherwise.

The mastery of director/writer Michel Franco is that all of this takes place at the very beginning of the film. Within 15 or so minutes, we know most of the why about Sylvia; her relationship with her daughter that is loving but restrictive based on past personal experience; the supportive role that Olivia plays in the lives of her sister and niece; Isaac’s guardianship; and Saul, the true cipher who can probably not tell you he was at the school reunion or how he got there but can tell you about the love he had for his deceased wife and long past experiences lost to others but not to him.

Brilliantly non-expositional, Franco has almost instantly freed his characters to grow into a present-day relationship that expands all of them. There is much to explore and Saul and Sylvia develop slowly into a mutual support network. The man losing his mind and the woman who is trying to find hers again grow together, never allowing the foreseeable end to stop them. But while they won’t allow that inevitability to stop their mutual support, others around them are not so accepting. Sylvia’s years of working with what others would consider the unworkable, is gifted with living in the present with those she helps. That she cannot, herself, live in the present is her tragedy. That Saul opens that door for her is his gift. Sometimes gifts come from the least expected directions.

The plot, while not exactly simplistic, could be summed up rather straightforwardly: two of society’s outcasts find each other and grow in directions that are both surprising and mundane. But this isn’t really about story. Story, here, is only a portal to the character development of Sylvia and her ability to face her demons and courageously slay an emotional dragon while bringing along her supposedly more successful sister in her draft. It is about what it takes to be brave and learn not to flee in the face of trauma, past and present. That Franco has used Saul and his dementia as a conduit to Sylvia’s self-awareness is remarkable.

Dementia is little understood. Saul’s illness could have been externally caused by trauma to the brain or it could be part of a genetic inevitability. It is different for each individual which is why there can be no hard and fast assumptions. Is Saul’s realistic? Who knows? Does it matter? It shouldn’t. Characteristically, many long-term memories remain embedded but short-term memories are fleeting. It’s why my mother could remember slights from childhood but couldn’t tell you what she had for lunch or even if she’d had lunch. Saul keeps a notebook for present-day memories and Sylvia is part of that notebook. But she is also embedded as part of long-term impressions because she reminds him of his late wife.

The source of Sylvia’s trauma and alcoholism are both different and similar to Saul’s dementia. Saul cannot remember; Sylvia cannot forget. There is nothing Saul can do about this but Sylvia must find a way to confront her demons, inextricably tied to her relationship with her mother, and move forward. She is on that path.

I was unacquainted with the work of director/writer Michel Franco. Explaining the way he works, he allows for much improvisation and collaboration with his actors. His screenplay, he explained, is a blueprint or jumping-off point. The actors are very much part of the story process and he remains open to their interpretation. His methods are novel because he is the writer, director, editor and producer. He and cinematographer, Yves Cape, work chronologically through the script. This is highly unusual because most scripts are broken down into convenient scene groupings. For Franco, filming the script in the order it is on the page is like filming a play, focusing on the words and the immediacy of the emotions. Hearing him describe his process allowed me a window into his depth of focus. The transition between scenes is very naturalistic and contributes to the buildup at the end.

The casting is exceptional (hats off to Susan Shopmaker). Brooke Timber as Anna is by turns mother and daughter to her mother Sylvia. Left primarily in the dark about her mother’s history, Timber’s strength was her ability to unwind and grow in front of us. Josh Charles plays Isaac, Saul’s brother. The legal guardian of his brother, Charles is able to convey the kind of protective compassion that is anything but. He goes from sympathetic to callous in the blink of an eye. Jessica Harper as Samantha, Sylvia’s mother, comes in like a gentle breeze and leaves like a destructive tornado. Her chilling performance here is a reminder of how missed she’s been on screen.

Merritt Weaver, Olivia, is one of today’s most formidable character actresses with a slew of awards to show for it. That she was able to pivot from saintly to complicit and back again is a tribute to the subtlety of her acting. She has always been a favorite of mine (“Nurse Jackie,” “Godless,” “Unbelievable”), and her mere presence enhances every scene she’s in.

Peter Sarsgaard, Saul, is a revelation as he navigates the portrayal of a man with an ambiguous disease. He effortlessly glides between cognizance and the incompetence brought on by a poorly understood disease. He plays his dementia as coming and going and coming again with a sweet incongruity that straddles the two. He has, like so many with dementia and/or Alzheimer’s, the sadness of realization and the contentment of incomprehension. He brings an inherent sympathy to all his roles.

Jessica Chastain as Sylvia is remarkable. Her ice queen demeanor, sprinkled with fear, is fragile and understandable, while at the same time incomprehensible. As a character, she shows the most growth, always maintaining a protective distance. An actress whose roles have been incredibly diverse, this may have been her most challenging and, in some ways, most fully realized. Her Sylvia gradually envelopes you in her trials and brings you fully onto her side, making her growth all the more extraordinary.

Now playing at the AMC Century City, opening wide on Jan. 5.   

Neely Swanson spent most of her professional career in the television industry, almost all of it working for David E. Kelley. In her last full-time position as Executive Vice President of Development, she reviewed writer submissions and targeted content for adaptation. As she has often said, she did book reports for a living. For several years she was a freelance writer for “Written By,” the magazine of the WGA West, and was adjunct faculty at USC in the writing division of the School of Cinematic Arts. Neely has been writing film and television reviews for the “Easy Reader” for more than 10 years. Her past reviews can be read on Rotten Tomatoes where she is a tomato-approved critic.

The post ‘Memory’ Not Forgotten appeared first on Beverly Hills Courier.

Here, he gives us Paris in the 1930s lovingly displayed at her best. Beautiful young actress Madeleine can’t get a foot in the door. She and her best friend Pauline, a lawyer without a case, share a cold water flat in a marginal neighborhood and are behind on the rent. They have flirted their way out of eviction for the last time, the landlord warns, and they have just a few days to come up with what they owe. Madeleine’s audition with a producer of a hit play may save them yet.

Alas, a very disheveled and upset Madeleine returns to the apartment, hair a disaster, blouse ripped, stockings run, gasping for breath. The producer was a pig. The only way she could have a bit part in his play was if she would sleep with him twice a week at his secret bachelor pad. To escape his clutches, she shoved him into a table and ran out. How will she ever get the rent money, let alone be able to support her slacker boyfriend André? But the horrors continue when the police arrive on their doorstep. The producer is dead and she was the last person on his schedule. Dragged away to jail, she is interviewed by Judge Rabusset who will be in charge of the case. With Pauline at her side, Madeleine tries to explain that she didn’t kill him, or if she did, she didn’t mean to. Rabusset is having none of it and lays out all the possible scenarios and in all of them she’s guilty. Conferring with the innocent Madeleine, her first client, Pauline advises her on a risky course of action in which she will plead self-defense and defend herself to what will be an all-male jury who will, no doubt, be swayed by her superior acting, pitiful story and especially her beauty.

Long story short, and this is really not much of a spoiler, Madeleine gets off and becomes a cause célébre throughout Paris. Her acting career takes off and she is cast in the dead producer’s play after all, not as a bit player but as the lead. Everywhere she goes, she’s showered with attention. Winning the case has also jumpstarted Pauline’s career. Alas, the collateral damage is her affair with André because now his rich, industrialist father will never agree to their union. Actresses are bad enough but Madeleine is a confessed killer. Still, life is pretty good at this point until…Odette Chaumette arrives on the scene. Odette was a major star of stage and screen during the silent era but has aged out of everything except her ego. She is on the cusp of throwing a very large monkey wrench into the pair’s newly acquired fame and fortune.

Ozon, writing with Philippe Piazzo, adapted the 1934 play by Georges Berr and Louis Verneuill called “Mon Crime.” This is Ozon’s sly tribute to “#MeToo.” His women are smart, cagey and fascinating. Most of the men are willing pawns, some more so than others. He has populated his screen with a panoply of living legends intermingled with some of the stars of tomorrow, all of whom are able to pull off the difficult timing of this farce. Doors open, doors slam shut, sight gags are tossed freely, identities are mistaken, disaster is always imminent, conversations are misinterpreted with malapropisms thrown in at will. The dialogue is clever and is always time-period perfect but interjected with feminist sensibilities that blend in perfectly.  There are no real villains in the piece, but those who wish ill of our two young leading ladies will rue the day.

Madeleine and Pauline, our young heroines, are played respectively by Nadia Tereszkiewicz and Rebecca Marder, a member of the Comédie Française. Nadia is a terrific foil for all the men trying to take advantage of her; Rebecca, with her sly delivery, keeps things moving for the two of them. Édouard Sulpice plays André Bonnard, the slacker boyfriend. Although a relatively minor role, he really sells his unmotivated rich kid, unwilling to do anything for a dime other than live off the meager earnings of his girlfriend. That he is willing to marry someone else for money so that he can “keep” Madeleine is not an irony that is lost on her.

Fabrice Luchini, Judge Rabusset, is a beloved and lauded television, film and theater actor little known on this side of the world but a major star in Europe. His timing is pitch perfect and he really delivers as the pretentious, know-it-all but befuddled judge who trips over everything including his tongue and cheek. Dany Boon as the wealthy Fernand Palmarède is the good friend, bailing the two girls out of trouble over and over and never asking for anything in return. Boon, one of France’s leading comedy actors and writers, cashes in on his screen persona as a nice guy, sometimes misunderstood, but always forgiving.

André Dussolier, Mr. Bonnard, the rich industrialist, has been a star since the ‘70s, going back to “And Now My Love” directed by Claude Lelouch. He has segued brilliantly from young romantic leads and feckless youths to the fathers of the romantic leads and feckless youths. Villain or hero, he adds just the right amount of empathy so that you never completely hate him. Whether in the lead or in support, he steals every scene as we watch his tough exterior gradually give way both appropriately and inappropriately to the lovely Madeleine.

But the coup de grace in Ozon’s casting is Isabelle Huppert. She is a force of nature, generous to those with whom she is working but dominating every scene, and rightfully so. More known for her dramatic roles, her comic timing is impeccable (watch her episode in “Call My Agent” for a preview). As is true with everyone in this movie, the comedy is played straight, with no knowing glance to the audience, no broad strokes. She cuts through her scenes with a scalpel. From the moment she enters, she’s front and center even when not on screen. The authority of her character changes all the dynamics previously in play. And of course, there’s her timing and withering glances. Part of what makes her great is the humanity that lurks below the surface. Her Odette is hilarious but also human. She is Norma Desmond in “Sunset Boulevard,” humanely played for laughs, one short step away from the madness.

I had so much fun watching this film (twice) for the Paris locations as filmed by Manu Dacosse; the period-perfect costumes by Pascaline Chavanne; the production design by Jean Rabasse that captured the Art Deco style of the era; the actors I recognized, and even those that I didn’t; and the smart dialogue and situations that flew off the screen. The only criticism I have is that the text in the end credits, explaining what happened to the characters, wasn’t translated into English. Those tongue-in-cheek captions were an absolute highlight.

In French with English subtitles.

Now playing at the Laemmle Royal.  

Neely Swanson spent most of her professional career in the television industry, almost all of it working for David E. Kelley. In her last full-time position as Executive Vice President of Development, she reviewed writer submissions and targeted content for adaptation. As she has often said, she did book reports for a living. For several years she was a freelance writer for “Written By,” the magazine of the WGA West, and was adjunct faculty at USC in the writing division of the School of Cinematic Arts. Neely has been writing film and television reviews for the “Easy Reader” for more than 10 years. Her past reviews can be read on Rotten Tomatoes where she is a tomato-approved critic.

The post ‘The Crime is Mine’—For All of Us appeared first on Beverly Hills Courier.

We first meet Monk, a Black literature professor, no doubt the only one, at a small Los Angeles private college where he’s fruitlessly teaching a seminar to an elite, primarily white (obviously) group of students, well-versed in the woke politics of today. The topic?  Flannery O’Connor and her controversial short story entitled “The Artificial N****r.” A white student in the class objects strenuously to the topic and especially the title of the book. It is a trigger for her. She sees no reasonable explanation for why she should have to look at or say that word. As the Black Professor Ellison expresses it, “If I can get over it, so can you.” Out of class she storms and into the frying pan goes Ellison, called on the carpet by his chair and two other members of his department. Their reasoning for making him take a forced leave of absence ranged from political correctness to jealousy over his national reputation as a novelist (who hasn’t published in years). Go to the Boston Festival of Books, the chair says, participate, visit family and think over the ways to repent for sins, real and imagined. The Festival is a disaster. His panel is sparsely attended because everyone else is at Sintara Golden’s talk about her current bestseller, “We’s Lives in Da Ghetto.” Particularly galling is the fact that one of the reasons his agent is having such a hard time selling his books is because they aren’t “black enough.” Not black enough? It’s a book written by a Black man. Why doesn’t that make it a Black book? But hearing Sintara Golden read from her “Black” book, his blood starts to boil. Is that how people see the Black experience? Ghetto, drugs, poverty, violence, hopelessness, and, worst of all, really bad conversational speech and grammar?

Black experience? He’ll show them the Black experience! And he sits down to write a Black book to end all Black books with every stereotype known (and some that aren’t) written as poorly as an entry to the Bad Hemingway Contest (aka the International Imitation Hemingway Competition) whose motto followed Hemingway’s own assessment “The step up from writing parodies is writing on the wall above the urinal.” Satisfied with the level of irredeemable rotten prose that he’s composed about a drug dealer wanted by the FBI for a murder he may or may not have committed, he submits it to his agent who is appalled. If publishers rejected his last, well-written and thoughtful tome, then they should love this one Ellison posits sarcastically. Send it off pseudonymously, he insists to the agent. This book is the antithesis of true Black life and it will be rejected post haste, or at least that’s what he and his agent believe. And that’s the point. Surely someone will see this for the stereotypic, poorly conceived, badly written schlock that it is. The title? “My Pafology.” The submitted author? Stagg R. Leigh. How will anyone miss the horrendous spelling and hilariously undisguised name? (If you don’t know the ballad of Stagger Lee, look it up, but to give you an idea of this barroom brawl: “Stagger Lee went to the barroom and he stood across the barroom door. He said, nobody move and he pulled his Forty-four.”)

As the book is making its way to publishers’ desks, he’s on his way for a reunion with his family, something almost as painful as writing trash. Monk has been conspicuously absent from all things Ellison for years. The Ellisons are an accomplished lot, a stereotype in their own way. Father was a gynecologist, sister Lisa followed in his footsteps and brother Clifford is a plastic surgeon living in Phoenix. The American dream visible on the surface covers a more than typical family drama. Mother, Agnes, is in the early stages of dementia and her care has fallen on Lisa, the only one living in town. She’s recently divorced and had to sacrifice half her assets and half her practice in the settlement. Resources are slim and Monk’s arrival is propitious. Clifford’s life has recently blown up as well. His wife caught him in bed with another man and has taken everything including the kids and left him broke. He’ll not be donating anything to the cause. Of course, there are the longstanding resentments. Monk was their father’s favorite; their father was a philanderer who neglected his wife; Agnes is in denial; and Clifford dabbles in any drug he can sniff up his nose, and the rent boys at his beck and call. In a telling exchange, Clifford wishes that he had come out to his father. Surprised, Monk states that their father would never have approved. Yes, he knows that, but at least his father would have rejected him for who he really was rather than just rejecting him for who he thought he was.

And then the news arrives that really upends Monk’s life. A top publisher is offering an obscene amount of money as an advance for this book of “The True Black Experience” and they’d really like to meet Mr. Leigh. Horrified, Monk’s first reaction is to refuse the money and bury the book. His agent, however, sees all the advantages —the money far outweighs the lie. Besides, won’t he accomplish his purpose by pulling the wool over everyone’s eyes; and then there’s the money. Money, a refrain that bears repeating. Ellison, a more than principled man, something that he has always taken to extremes, is horrified; but then there’s the money and his mother’s care will be expensive. Perhaps there’s a way to moralize this immoral situation. And he does, but always looking for the way out.

As is always the case, Hollywood comes calling in the form of exploitation producer Wiley, he of the lowest common denominator, offering an even more obscene amount of money. Bit by bit, piece by piece, Monk’s life becomes more complicated by the obvious hypocrisy of accepting money for something that was meant as a thumb to the nose. Never a man open with his feelings, he begins to close in on himself ever so much more, something that doesn’t bode well for a new romantic relationship. And as the book, rushed to print, becomes a bestseller he is positively despondent. But more complications are yet to come and that is for me to know and you to find out.

Everything in this movie, a parody, even if so many things weren’t true, relies on the real to make the phantasmagorical plausible. So much of the exaggeration is just that—a stretching of what can and does happen every day. Wouldn’t a publisher see beyond the hyperbole? Not if they smell money. And there it is again…Money. Hollywood does offer obscene sums for options, perhaps not that much but again, this is all hyperbole. And all is grounded on the background of a normal family, normal that is if the kids were all M.D.s or Ph.D.s with a beautiful home in Boston and a summer “cottage” along the Massachusetts shore. Sibling rivalry, dementia, academics, professional rivalry, they happen to everyone, so it is to Jefferson’s credit that he is able to present his thesis of invisibility or, more precisely, offensive expectation within a family drama with characters far more fleshed out than the media types he satirizes. Everyone, down to the publisher’s assistant, is pitch-perfect and contributes to the belly laughs and the sadness that will be felt almost simultaneously when watching this film. Yes, it’s all very exaggerated, but I warrant if you asked any person of color, much of this will ring true. I hope you can see the truth in it as well. Although I haven’t read the underlying work, it is a world that Percival Everett, a Distinguished Professor at USC in the English department, would have known quite well.

In what are called small but pivotal roles you have the formidable Keith David, a figure of Monk’s imagination who embodies one of the characters in his horrible novel. Issa Rae plays Sintara Golden with the serious demeanor of someone who has rationalized her exploitative writing as having been well-researched, as though that is enough of an excuse to sell one’s soul for market profits. Adam Brody is the Hollywood producer who is a true aficionado of schlock and knows a winner when he sees one. In many ways, he is the link between what is real in Monk’s eyes and what is not. John Ortiz plays Monk’s agent with a mix of indignation and horror that shows that there may not be such a wide gulf between art and selling out as he had previously convinced himself. The always terrific and too underused Miriam Shor has a field day as the publisher who, with a straight face, extols the virtues of “My Pafology” as a work of art, while blinded by the color green (of money). She is nothing short of hilarious as she interacts on the phone with a horrified Monk, disguising himself poorly as Ghetto.

Members of the family play like the royalty they are. Tracee Ellis Ross is sister Lisa, compassionate and angry at the same time. She, like everyone else in the family, hears what she wants to hear and it’s never what Monk is saying. Leslie Uggams, bringing star power from a different generation, is mother Agnes, slipping in and out of cognition so realistically I sometimes thought I was seeing my own mother. And lucky is the film that is graced with the presence of Sterling K. Brown, who can envelop any role he’s given. Here he is the complicated brother, Clifford, who is lost to the abandon of what he thinks is his true self, a gay man who needs no boundaries. But he does, and it is this confusion that brings life to Brown’s performance.

Jeffrey Wright! His name should be in lights because he is a true star, both a Tony and Emmy winner. His Thelonious “Monk” Ellison is a fully developed, complex individual who holds himself apart, thinks he knows the answers (most of which he does), and is an island. Wright’s Monk is prickly, hypocritical and real. He’s tired of not being seen but hides himself so that he can’t be. He works on a hypothetical planet where he doesn’t have to be the one who’s always trying harder than everyone else. He is the Black man who is always accused of not being Black enough when he knows that there is no such thing. He is a man; he is Black. That is not his definition. I could watch Jeffrey Wright read the phone book and he could do it soundlessly and still enrapture me. The mere fact that his character displays no sense of humor is humorous in itself. Whether the role is large or small, your attention will always be drawn to him. Here, finally, he is the lead of an ensemble with a script that is worthy of his talents.

Now playing at the AMC Century City 15, the AMC Broadway 4, Santa Monica 7 and Marina 6.  

Neely Swanson spent most of her professional career in the television industry, almost all of it working for David E. Kelley. In her last full-time position as Executive Vice President of Development, she reviewed writer submissions and targeted content for adaptation. As she has often said, she did book reports for a living. For several years she was a freelance writer for “Written By,” the magazine of the WGA West, and was adjunct faculty at USC in the writing division of the School of Cinematic Arts. Neely has been writing film and television reviews for the “Easy Reader” for more than 10 years. Her past reviews can be read on Rotten Tomatoes where she is a tomato-approved critic.

The post ‘American Fiction’ – Too True appeared first on Beverly Hills Courier.

Jerry and Mariette actually met 20 years ago and it wasn’t in a bird store, as the movie would have you believe. As I recall, Jerry saw her at a board meeting of the Screen Actors Guild where he had just been elected as a representative. Turning to friend and fellow actor Tony Roberts, he remarked he could go for her in a big way. Laughing, Roberts remarked, “She is way above you in more ways than one.” But sometimes it pays to dream big and, long story short, they’ve been married for 18 years. Instead of SAG, they used a bird store in the Valley as their “meet not so cute” because, as Jerry stated, it was convenient, a cheap location and owned by a friend, who also took on the role of the bird store owner.

Jerry is an avid softball player, a full time passion for many in the Valley. My brother was in a league for eons and he still plays when he makes infrequent visits from Texas. Rob Reiner and Billy Crystal lead the most famous of the teams in the league, but Jerry’s ties to his team are decades long and most of the players came out in force for the premiere. Some were even in the film. Don Scardino, their outstanding director, has known Jerry since they were in “Godspell” together in the 70s, ushered and pushed the film along, polishing it all the way to a glistening finish. He also took on a role as Mariette’s friend and confidante and helped secure the opening music. Truly a man of all trades.

It doesn’t look like the movie was done on a shoestring, which it was, because the production values are first rate. Tim Hennessy’s cinematography was as generous in the close-ups as he was with the locations. Editing by Matthew Bennett was crisp and flowing. Mariette and Jerry finished filming right before COVID shut everything down and theirs was the project that kept Bennett from going crazy, editing it in isolation when he could go nowhere, and working on anything brand new was verboten.

The script is laugh out loud funny when focused on the lead up to their connection. Ironically, each had individually described their perfect date but each was looking on the wrong websites. Jerry longed for a Shiksa Goddess (and Mariette is nothing if not that). Mariette longed for a Jewish man with a great sense of humor and able to pay his own way. In her previous three marriages (only the most recent was referenced) she was the entire financial support and there hadn’t been a lot of yuks. Jerry is just that, an actor who works (at least occasionally), Jewish, and very very funny. Recognizing that she got what she asked for, she kicked herself for forgetting to ask for height. Jerry is a full head shorter. Well, as in the quote from “Some Like It Hot,” “No one’s perfect.” Still, the Mariette of today is still laughing (and snorting—listen for it) at his jokes.

The film is filled to the brim with actors famous and/or recognizable in fun cameos. John Rubinstein brings gravitas to the role of a surgeon who saves Mariette’s life; Bernie Kopell, from “Love Boat” fame, helps bring them together on a tennis court with character actor Sam McMurray, (you’ve seen him in everything from “Raising Arizona” to “Mom,”) the very definition of “I know I’ve seen him before.” The scene in a casting office as Mariette sits with Oscar-nominated Tess Harper and Morgan Fairchild, sex symbol of eighties now playing glamorous grandmas, waiting to audition for a twenty-something casting assistant who mangles their names and has no clue who any of them are. It’s priceless.

But taking the cake are the dating scenes as both Jerry and Mariette try to navigate the detritus of dating sites. Mariette’s first is with an eager man who prefers “early bird specials,” splitting the bill, and obtaining an autograph for his elderly mother (a hilariously obtuse Peter Onorati). When, at the end of the painful evening, he accompanies her home, he asks if he can come in. “No, Ernie. You can’t.” “But my name is Eric.” “Neither of you can come in.” Jerry may be the comedian in the family but Mariette has razor sharp comedic timing that is in full view.

Jerry’s Waterloo is Maxine (a very funny Mindy Sterling), a woman of enormous appetite, at least for food, who informs him, as she devours a plate of ribs, French fries and onion rings, that she is financially tapped out after her divorce so he shouldn’t expect a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. After watching her consume a mile high dessert of chocolate (“it’s an antioxidant”), whipped cream, ice cream and raspberries, she need not worry.

Mariette’s date from hell, as if the first one wasn’t enough, was with someone she calls “psycho date” played by a demonically serious Peter MacNicol as he describes how he disposed of a body off the Long Beach Pier. “Do you want dessert?” It’s tough out there.

What the film does best, and we most appreciated, was a clear-eyed view, both sentimental and straightforward, because those are two entirely different things, of the challenges faced when getting older but still having an unquenchable passion for life with the right partner. That search is not for sissies and the challenges don’t stop with the hunt.

This age group is neglected in the media and yet these are the baby boomers, and we’re a huge part of the population. Everyone wants to see themselves on screen and there has been progress at least in the depiction of people of color (under a certain age). But Seniors? Not so much. Yes, movies with big stars like Jane Fonda, Rita Moreno, Sally Field, Lily Tomlin, Candace Bergen, and Diane Keaton are made occasionally. But where are the everyday stories? Is it because movie and television executives have no collective movie memory? Does anyone, besides Meryl Streep, cease to be an employable actor after the age of 55? Well, actually, as per usual, Hollywood is forgiving of men over the age of 70, like Harrison Ford, Al Pacino, Robert DeNiro. Google the top 50 actors over 70 and you’ll come up with 11 women, two of whom are dead. Why is it that the French still write for “women of a certain age” who aren’t Isabelle Huppert (who still has her choice of anything she wants)?

This isn’t really about ageism (although I suppose it is) but shame on all the streaming services that turned down this film for demographic reasons (media speak for “old”). It’s a hole that should be filled. Slight, funny, romantic with serious undercurrents, and very inexpensive (maybe not for Jerry and Mariette but on a cost scale of 1-10, it was a 2). Word to streamers: this slice of the audience might actually subscribe if you put something on for them. And yes, unlike the Mariette in the film, we do know how to use a remote.

I really liked this movie and not just because I knew the story and the protagonists; I liked it because it was fun, well-made, and hit the target. Jerry and Mariette will continue to share a love story, but wasn’t it nice that they shared it with us? So, no, I’m not a disinterested party but if I hadn’t liked it, I wouldn’t have written about it. I’ve thoroughly enjoyed the lead up to the opening; the joy of making it and the difficulties of getting it seen. So, on to the next and I hope there will be one because these two have a talent that hasn’t diminished with age.

Watch it on VOD on most cable and streaming outlets.

Neely Swanson spent most of her professional career in the television industry, almost all of it working for David E. Kelley. In her last full-time position as Executive Vice President of Development, she reviewed writer submissions and targeted content for adaptation. As she has often said, she did book reports for a living. For several years she was a freelance writer for “Written By,” the magazine of the WGA West, and was adjunct faculty at USC in the writing division of the School of Cinematic Arts. Neely has been writing film and television reviews for the “Easy Reader” for more than 10 years. Her past reviews can be read on Rotten Tomatoes where she is a tomato-approved critic.

The post “Our (Almost Completely True) Love Story” – An appreciation appeared first on Beverly Hills Courier.

Adam, alone in his high-rise apartment overlooking the vast expanse of London in the background, sits at his typewriter in contemplation, writing “Exterior suburban house. 1987,” the opening for his next screenplay. Ill at ease, he squirms, wipes his brow, and like anyone who has ever experienced the writer’s block of knowing what you want to express and not knowing how to say it, he delays, walks around and fills the page with nothingness. There’s a knock at the door. Peculiar, because the high rise is essentially empty. Cautiously, he opens the door. Henry, a neighbor from downstairs, has noticed him and has brought up a bottle of scotch as an entrée and an outrageous statement, “There’s vampires at my door” as a come-on. Adam politely sends him on his way.

Adam returns to the personal angst of not knowing how to even start his process. Shuffling through some old souvenirs—a game, some photos, clothes—he hits upon an idea. Maybe returning to his childhood home will hold the answers. To the suburban train he goes, countryside flashing before him, so close and so far from London. Walking from the station toward his childhood home, he hesitates, knocks on the door and it’s answered. But it can’t be. She’s flesh and blood, not some ethereal presence, looking no older than him, his mother smiles from ear to ear. She just knew he’d come back someday, she tells her son; they have so much to catch up on. They sit, chat and she asks all the obvious questions, especially “Does he have a girlfriend?” Summoning up the courage, he hesitatingly informs her that he’s gay (Henry would call it “queer”). Clearly, she’s disappointed in his answer but even more, she has all the questions and fears that someone being told this in 1987 would have had. And that’s the first hint, besides her youthful appearance, that Adam has been given a window into a past that he didn’t experience. Adam, now in his 40s, was orphaned at the age of 12 when his parents died in a car accident. She’s not a ghost. They’re having a real-world conversation about real-world topics that tie her 1987 self to his 2023 reality.

Shaken, he returns home, changed in inexplicable ways. When meeting Henry a second time, he’s more open to a friendship. Getting to know each other, physically and emotionally, their relationship is established in Adam’s apartment. There is a desperation to Henry and a natural aloofness to Adam that must be overcome. Henry has the air of someone on the constant lookout for love; Adam, one could guess, has never looked, as they explore their burgeoning relationship in the kind of nightclubs with the kind of drugs Adam would never have considered in his staid past.

Overshadowing all for Adam, though, is that encounter with his mother. He is compelled to return in hopes of seeing his father who was away that day. This time he is greeted by both parents. It’s obvious that his mum has told his dad about their visit. Jovially, Dad embraces Adam and jokingly acknowledges that he probably already knew about Adam’s “proclivities” because no matter how hard he tried, Adam couldn’t throw a ball to save his soul.

The conversations are both deep and shallow, skirting emotions while at the same time embracing them. Adam has so many “whys” that were never answered because his time with his parents was so brief. Intriguingly, Haight has constructed a scenario fraught with meaning and hope. What if you were given the opportunity to go back in time and ask all the questions you had at the time; to confront parental decisions, both those that were made and those that should have been? What would your adult self have wanted to know from your childhood parents?

This is all Adam’s story—who he is, who he isn’t, who he can’t be and why—and inexorably he’s continually drawn back to his childhood home and his parents, frozen in the time before they would die in a car accident and stunt the emotional growth of their son to a life of all the “what ifs” and “if onlys.”

As he grows closer to Henry, a new experience for him, Adam wants to introduce him to his parents. Henry, adept at all the mannerisms of casual relationships and drug-enhanced experiences, is truly upended by Adam’s belief in his access to his dead parents. Even his parents believe that it’s time for Adam to move on, make connections in his own world and leave them behind once and for all. But is he capable of doing that? What is he truly and what is Henry?

Enigma is truly the operative word because the key to everything is in the last moments of the film when you will second guess everything you’ve seen and what it meant to you because it may mean something different to someone else. Everything, almost literally everything, is a metaphor. The empty apartment high-rise, the parents resurrected from their untimely demise, and Adam’s tentative first love affair all have secondary meanings, all of which you must discover on your own. Is the ending uplifting? Chilling? Depressing? Or is it a beginning? Who is alive, and what does alive mean? Hell may not be other people, but it may actually be purgatory.

Cinematography by Jamie D. Ramsay is almost transparent, focused as it is on Adam’s contemplative expressions. London, filmed from afar, is muddied and almost indistinct, purposely so. Instead, he and Director Haigh focus so many of their shots on the face of Adam, its angles, its beauty, its confusion.

Although the beginning of the film seems rather tedious, actually it is really tedious and tiresome with its never-ending closeups of an agonizing Adam, it begins to pick up slowly with the introduction of Henry as the irritant to Adam’s placid existence. Henry is initially introduced in off-center camera angles, sometimes out of focus and other times hyper clear in contrast to the soft focus of Adam. Adam’s train rides to and from his childhood home are filmed such that the background passes at hyper speed, much like a time traveler would experience.

Haight’s cast is superlative. As the parents, Jamie Bell (“Billy Elliot”) and Claire Foy (“The Crown”) make credible a couple who accept at face value that they have received a visit from their now-grown son who was 12 when they died. They show all the discomfort one expects from parents who never asked the hard questions and failed their son before dying too soon. They are the sympathetic characters on which the foundation of the film is built and their naturalism has you believing that there could be the possibility of being frozen in time. Listen carefully because they hold the key to the how and why Adam has found them.

Paul Mescal’s (“Aftersun”) Henry is crazed, superficial and needy. His character propels Adam to a hitherto unknown emotional depth while ultimately detaching himself at the same time.

The film lives or dies, however, with Andrew Scott as the controlled Adam who gradually gives over to emotion for the first time. He makes you believe what he is seeing and ultimately unlocks the key to the purgatory he has been inhabiting. Scott has the ability to draw you in and hold your attention just with a small vocal inflection or his eyes filled with amazement.

To some, the languorous rhythm will be off-putting, but patience and perseverance will pay off as you gather up the clues left like Hansel and Gretel crumbs and find your way to a surprising end.

Opening December 22 at the AMC Century City. 

Neely Swanson spent most of her professional career in the television industry, almost all of it working for David E. Kelley. In her last full-time position as Executive Vice President of Development, she reviewed writer submissions and targeted content for adaptation. As she has often said, she did book reports for a living. For several years she was a freelance writer for “Written By,” the magazine of the WGA West, and was adjunct faculty at USC in the writing division of the School of Cinematic Arts. Neely has been writing film and television reviews for the “Easy Reader” for more than 10 years. Her past reviews can be read on Rotten Tomatoes where she is a tomato-approved critic.

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Jonathan Glazer’s new film, loosely based on the Martin Amis novel of the same name, more closely hews to the imagined reality of the actual individuals who inhabited “the zone of interest,” the 40 square kilometer area surrounding the Auschwitz concentration camp in Poland.

Rudolph Höss, the most successful, and I use that word ironically, commandant of Auschwitz, was, in all likelihood, personally responsible for more murders than any other individual in the Third Reich. “The Zone of Interest,” written and directed by Jonathan Glazer, opens on the  bucolic scene of a family picnicking and swimming at a lush green waterside. Heading back, they forage for berries and enjoy the fresh air, painting the seemingly idyllic life outside the walls of the camp where Höss lived with his wife and five children.

Wife Hedwig creates an Eden for all of them in their lovely two-story Germanic chalet with multiple bedrooms to accommodate their five children, idyllic gardens, both decorative and practical, cooks who deliver delicious meals and servants who clean up every speck of dirt dropped inadvertently on the floor. Every day, they wake up to a served breakfast, children dressed in their Aryan best, coffee hot as they send off the paterfamilias to his job at the camp on his favorite chestnut steed. Another day at the office.

Hedwig, deliriously happy in this homestead, is unperturbed by anything outside the boundary of their home. She tends to the garden, has tea with friends and looks in on her baby. She takes note of nothing beyond her garden wall where giant smoke stacks are spewing smoke and sometimes fire 24 hours a day. She generously allows the servants to choose one item from among the silken contraband taken from anonymous souls arriving on “the other side of the wall,” always keeping the best for herself. Frumpy she may be in her typical German hausfrau dresses and sensible brown shoes, but she is the proud owner of a full-length mink in need of cleaning and a few minor repairs. God is good to her and her family.

Hedwig is especially pleased when her mother comes for a visit. She can only offer her a shared bedroom with one of the children but other luxuries await. Mother, impressed, is a bit curious about the surroundings, wondering if her old employer is ensconced in the camp, the rich Jewess for whom she worked as a maid. Oh, Hedwig replies blithely, she’d be on “the other side of the wall.” Mother remarked that she had bid on the woman’s curtains when she was taken away. She had really loved those curtains. Are any of the servants Jews, she wonders? Oh, no! All the Jews are on “the other side of the wall.” There is no point in giving “the other side of the wall” much thought even as the smoke stacks keep firing and the ash settles in the opposite direction.

Rudolph has news that he’s reluctant to tell his wife. He has just been promoted to Inspector General of all camps but must move to the Berlin area. She reacts, as he knew she would, badly, arranging for a compromise whereby he can go to Berlin but they will stay in their glorious house, one they will not be able to duplicate elsewhere. How can he possibly make them suffer? Has he no empathy? No pity? At the root, however, for this daughter of the serving class, is also the fear of Berlin society and how she will be marginalized. In Auschwitz she is a queen, commanding all around her. How can he ask her to give up picnics at the riverside, swimming in their pool, parties catered by their own servants? If he is incapable of appealing to the Fürher himself to allow him to stay, then he must find a way for her and the children to remain.

Rudolph, a prisoner of his own success, cannot turn down a promotion based on the skill he has exercised in the efficient gassing of the prisoners “on the other side of the wall.” One moment he is celebrating his birthday with family and subordinates and the next, sitting at his dining table, he is discussing the engineering of a more efficient crematorium with two contractors. It was, no doubt, after a dinner of schnitzel and apple strüdel that his idea to use the pesticide Zyklon B as a more efficient gassing agent came to him. Hedwig, uninterested in such things that don’t involve her or anyone she knows, is more concerned with her garden. Still, out of sorts because of the impending change, she becomes surly, threatening a servant who has not wiped up a spot quickly enough. “You know,” she says to the girl. “I can have my husband take care of you and scatter your ashes in my garden.” These are the trials and tribulations of a woman managing a household on the new eastern frontier. That he will leave and eventually return with a new mandate, the execution of the recently deported Jewish population of Hungary, underscores the matter-of-fact nature to these horrors and Hedwig’s continued indifference.

The banality of evil, erroneously used to describe Adolph Eichmann, is exactly what is in play in “The Zone of Interest.” As death swirls around them, the Höss family has more important things to think about. Is son Klaus’ Hitler Youth uniform properly pressed? Will the baby stop crying? And who is dragging mud into the foyer? Are there enough layers to the birthday cake? The cozy domesticity of the family is an effective mask for the outside reality.

What, Glazer posits in this outstanding and chilling film, can be viewed as normal? How much can humans absorb and/or ignore? How, we have asked repeatedly over millennia, is it possible to completely dehumanize a people so that their suffering and extermination are routine happenstance? And why do we keep doing it? When will we become “the other” and when will they come for us?

Much of this story was actually filmed adjacent to Auschwitz, lending an even greater sense of chilling authenticity. As a UNESCO heritage site, nothing could be changed on the actual property, so production designer Chris Oddy recreated what the house and the camp would have looked like when it was new, 80 years ago. Cinematographer Lukasz Źal, instructed by Glazer to go for an improvisational feeling, filmed from a bunker, tracking the actors in long, continuous shots. In reshooting scenes, continuity was abandoned in favor of a feeling of spontaneity.

But this Grand Prize winner at Cannes in 2023 would not be the film it is without the two lead actors—Christian Friedel as Rudolf Höss and Sandra Hüller as Hedwig. A theater-trained actor, Friedel has found a chilling monotony to his character’s daily routine and acceptance of the doctrine he follows day in and day out. This is a man who will be at Eichmann’s right hand as they implement the “Final Solution,” a code so exacting that, in the end, Höss will have been responsible for the execution of 1.5 million souls. Just a typical day at the office.

Sandra Hüller, so outstanding and unnerving in “Anatomy of a Fall,” the winner of the 2023 Cannes Palme d’Or, is almost unrecognizable as a German hausfrau frumpily dressed, pin-curled hair, downturned mouth and rigid posture. Her lack of empathy is a natural part of her personality, furrowing her brow over poorly roasted potatoes and cake that doesn’t meet her standards. There is no “other side of the wall” for her, only her side, chillingly dismissing what she doesn’t acknowledge.

Just another Holocaust movie? I think not. The dismissal of “the other” has been ongoing for centuries and continues today, perhaps not the gassing and burning, but definitely the deliberate indifference to cruelty and death of those who are not us. The more things change, the more they remain the same. I am despondent.

In German with English subtitles.

Opening December 15 at the AMC Century City. 

Neely Swanson spent most of her professional career in the television industry, almost all of it working for David E. Kelley. In her last full-time position as Executive Vice President of Development, she reviewed writer submissions and targeted content for adaptation. As she has often said, she did book reports for a living. For several years she was a freelance writer for “Written By,” the magazine of the WGA West, and was adjunct faculty at USC in the writing division of the School of Cinematic Arts. Neely has been writing film and television reviews for the “Easy Reader” for more than 10 years. Her past reviews can be read on Rotten Tomatoes where she is a tomato-approved critic.

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Stephen Sondheim and George Furth had a major success with “Company,” a musical whose structure defied the traditional approach of a single plot line, instead telling the story of a commitment-phobic bachelor looking at the marriages of his friends, each in single vignettes disguised as scenes. A decade later they teamed up to make “Merrily We Roll Along,” based on a 1934 play by George S. Kaufman and Moss Hart. Following the structure of the source material, “Merrily We Roll Along” tracks a trio of friends in reverse with the end as the beginning and the beginning as the end. Pay attention. There will be a quiz. 

We meet Franklin Shepard, movie producer, as he hosts a party at his Bel Air estate for his friends honoring the success of his latest production. Alone in a room full of people, his celebratory motions are hollow as he flirts with his young star and ignores his bitter wife. He’s wooing wife number three as wife number two angrily looks on. He’s at the top of the heap and it is clear that he is cynical, dissatisfied, alone and lost. It is 1976, and someone has the nerve to bring up his former writing partner, Charley Kringas, recent recipient of the Pulitzer Prize. He, Charlie and Mary Flynn, were, at one point, an inseparable trio. Only the very cynical Mary, formerly a novelist and now a professional alcoholic, an unwelcome guest at the party and reminder of the past, still remains. Soon, as the various interchangeable members of the company sing “Merrily We Roll Along,” as ironic as it’s meant to be, we are transported back to 1973 as Charley and Frank are about to be interviewed on a popular morning show. The focus is on Frank, the more celebrated “face” of this musical writing duo as he talks of his, I mean their, work with false modesty. When, finally, Charley is asked about their collaboration, he lets Frank have it with both barrels of his frustration on national television. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is the explanation of why, three years in the future, Charley is not at the party as well as why he may have found the release to write the work he had always been trying to write.

Each successive, well actually backward glance is a puzzle piece that informs the previous scene, a major departure from traditional story structure where you see the actions that caused the consequence in linear form. Here, you first view the consequence and then the causation until, eventually, you arrive at the beginning that has been informed by the past rather than the opposite. You see his divorce before you see the why. All the “ah ha” moments are to come, until finally the puzzle is solved about who he was. It’s a very tricky structure and ultimately more satisfying than if we watched the consequences of actions unfold chronologically. This is not easy on an audience because “Attention must be paid!” The regrets of a lifetime are played out in reverse. 

In many ways, this is the story of a Faust who succumbs to the temptations placed in front of him by Mephistopheles. Franklin is Faust who wants more than the treasures he already possesses. Mephistopheles is Gussie, wife number two who dangles sex and commercial success in front of him so tantalizingly that he is helpless, or perhaps too vain, to turn them down. Watch for all the incarnations of Gussie as she, herself, travels a devious and narcissistic path that you will also see in reverse, always hauntingly leering in the background of the three friends and Franklin’s wife Beth.

“Merrily We Roll Along” has had a checkered history. First produced in 1981 with a very young cast, a major blunder because it is the adults who drive the story, its muddled staging was more confusing than edifying. Always ascribing the difficulties to Furth’s book, many hopeful productions followed. I have loved this play since I saw a production in 1985 at the La Jolla Playhouse starring John Rubenstein, Chip Zein, Meredith McRae and Marin Mazzie, a dream cast to rival the present one. I never saw it as flawed or hard to follow. This should have been the indication that the right cast is imperative, something that other productions failed to see. But no one gave up on this musical and cuts were made to the script, tightening the story and finally in 2012 a new version premiered in London at the Menier Chocolate Factory, transferring to the London West End, which was a hit, critically and commercially. I saw the filmed version that was released, but unlike the National Theatre Live series, the magic didn’t translate. It took 10 years, but the London version made its way across the pond, first to the tiny New York Theater Workshop and finally to Broadway. It is nothing short of a triumph.

In analyzing what I think were the major changes to the script, this new version focuses primarily on Franklin. In the past, more time was spent on the group as a trio, but though Charley is still enough of a major character to help drive the story even when he’s not there, Mary’s role has been diminished. That she has always loved Franklin and always been disappointed does not need a significant footprint in the story. One can easily surmise that her alcoholism, seen in full bloom at the party (again, the end of the story) is the result of crushed dreams and lost love, expositionally referred to by many other characters as in “Is Frank the only one who doesn’t see that she’s in love with him?” But this is something that actually adds depth because it is enough of a story point to highlight his narcissism and callous use of her. Beth, Franklin’s wife, is more present than I had remembered her. In so many ways she’s the angel on his shoulder that he chooses to brush off when someone dangles a shiny object in front of him. And again, you see the result of her disillusionment before you see the cause. Even more, however, is the character of Gussie, someone I did remember as wife number two but missed her presence in scenes that added to those that came before (or, rather, after but told before).

In short, the way that the story is told, starting out at the end, adds dramatic impact to the way it was at the beginning. It is nothing short of breathtaking.

Maria Friedman, who directed the Menier Chocolate Factory version, directs this production with the same clarity, intelligence and passion. Her staging is so remarkably simple that you never notice the set changes until you are midway in the scene. Lighting, a few pieces of furniture, a stairway and a piano are rearranged to represent a Bel Air mansion, a penthouse apartment, a downtown club and more. The ensemble singing “Merrily We Roll Along” introduces all the yearly transitions, beginning in 1976 and ending in 1957. 

As was true in the 1985 version that I saw, this play is very cast dependent and Friedman’s cast is extraordinary. The evening I saw the play, the role of Mary Flynn, normally played by Lindsay Mendez, was played by Jamila Sabares-Klemm. She was wonderful, but a reminder that much of that role has now been reshaped and cut. Katie Rose Clarke plays Beth, Frank’s wife (seen first as they divorce). Krystal Joy Brown is Gussie, the gorgeous, seductive temptress who drives much of Frank’s story without us realizing it. It is only at the beginning (I mean the end) of the play that he is jaded enough to see it, but it will take all of the previous years to fill in that information for us. Hers is a sly, subversive portrayal where she and Frank get what they paid for.

Daniel Radcliff is a triumphant success as Charley, the partner left behind who wins in the end. He has a show-stopping number called “Franklin Shepard, Inc.” that will make you forget that he was ever Harry Potter. Like Neil Patrick Harris looking to distance himself from “Doogie Howser,” Radcliff has taken enormous care to build up a repertoire of Broadway roles that illustrate just how good an actor (and singer) he is. 

This production of “Merrily We Roll Along” would not succeed without an actor willing to plumb the depths of unsympathetic narcissism and that actor is Jonathan Groff. With Groff, Friedman found an actor who could find the weaknesses and dark parts of this character. As the plot unspools in reverse, we see who he became before we see how he started, yielding maximum dramatic impact on what was lost. The song “Old Friends” takes on a different meaning as the years flash back. “Here’s to us. Who’s like us? Damn few.”

But there was always the music and it lived on regardless of some of the woe begotten productions. You may not even realize that “Our Time” — “It’s our time, breathe it in. Worlds to change and worlds to win” came from this. So did “Not a Day Goes by” — “Not a day goes by, not a blessed day. But you’re still somehow part of my life and you won’t go away.” (Bernadette Peters’ heartbreaking version can be found on YouTube.) All of the music is wonderful and with each reprise the songs take on a different meaning, something that is especially true for the title song “Merrily We Roll Along” that, depending on the time frame in which it’s sung, can be cynical or hopeful.

So, drop everything, get a ticket, hop on a plane and don’t miss “Merrily We Roll Along.” At present there are no plans to extend the run beyond March 24. 

Now playing at the Hudson Theatre, 141 West 44th St., NY, NY 

Editor’s Note: The Courier is proud to announce that our contributing entertainment editor Neely Swanson is a finalist in the the Los Angeles Press Club National Arts & Entertainment Journalism Awards. The presitigious awards are given to writers across the nation for journalistic excellence, career achievement and contributions to society. Neely is a finalist in the “Columnist” category, along with distinguished writers from the L.A. Times, Variety and Bloomberg News. We hope readers will join us in wishing Neely “good luck” at the awards ceremony, which takes place on Dec. 3 at the Millennium Biltmore Hotel. 

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To understand how far Napoleon came in his lifetime is to take into account his Corsican origins. Corsica, an island off the Mediterranean coast of France, had been Italian until 1755 when it fell into French hands. Ignoring the nobility of its Italian origins, the French viewed it as a home to renegades, fishermen and criminal gangs. But, like anyone not born into French nobility, there were only two paths to social acceptance, the priesthood or the military. It was in the military where Napoleon immediately showed promise and he rose steadily during the revolution of 1789, guided by his hatred of the aristocracy.

Brilliant military success in Austria and Egypt (visit the Louvre and you will see the vast spoils of his Egyptian campaign) brought him to the attention of leaders tired of Robespierre and his increasingly bloody reign of terror. The overthrow of Robespierre in 1799 brought Napoleon into a triumvirate of power called the Consuls. It wasn’t long before he tired of sharing power and soon maneuvered himself into position as First Consul and, not long after, self-declared Emperor.

Scott has wisely chosen to highlight only a few of Napoleon’s 50 battle successes with chyrons indicating time and place. Perhaps no one would have been able to illustrate Napoleon’s genius at battle, his ability to take on superior forces and subdue them with his analytical skill and leadership over his troops. Observing Napoleon in the field as he positions his forces for maximum effect does not come close to characterizing the skill of a man who has been deemed one of the most important military geniuses of all time, reminiscent of Julius Cesar, Hannibal and Alexander the Great. Listening to his discussions of why he chose certain strategies or who he targeted gives some idea but it’s not enough to explain his two greatest blunders, the invasion of Russia and his final battle at Waterloo. No doubt Napoleon’s out-of-control ego had much to do with this because he ignored the advice of one of his generals when it came to his continued assault on Russia. With Waterloo, his blunder in inexplicably delaying the attack for a crucial 24 hours that would have surprised the English and forced them into a retreat. (This piece of information, absent from the film, can be found at the Wellington Museum in London.)

Scott chose the Napoleon and Josephine love story as a soft framework to his overall story. Napoleon’s love for Josephine has been memorialized in books, songs and movies. Unfortunately, focusing on Napoleon the lover trivializes Napoleon the conqueror. New facts, or at least new to me, are explored. Josephine was a widow with two children when they met (stereotypically across a crowded room). She was smitten with the power that the rapidly rising Napoleon offered; he was entranced by the sex. It is doubtful, as Ridley implies, that he cut short his Egyptian campaign to confront Josephine with her infidelity, affairs that made it into the international press. When, after many years of marriage, she was unable to bear an heir, he reluctantly divorces her and marries young Archduchess Marie Louise of Austria who does bear him an heir. Josephine, shunted off to a luxury mansion not far from Paris, remained close to Napoleon until her death.

Focusing so much on the love story, full of sound and fury, passion and calculated deliberation removes focus on what Napoleon accomplished, both good and bad. This was, obviously, directorial choice. It is possible that Scott spent so much time on this affair because the mere mention of Napoleon and Josephine conjures the haze of romance over the ages. In so doing, however, he diminishes the rest of the story that he tells without enough context. Maybe it’s an impossible task. Napoleon is many movies or at least a 12-part miniseries. There is Napoleon the conqueror; Napoleon the villain who ordered his men to destroy the Alhambra; Napoleon the archeologist who oversaw the pillaging of Egyptian artifacts; Napoleon the statesman who improved the education system, created the first central bank, the Legion of Honor and legislated religious equality for Jews and Protestants in this Catholic country. He also reinstituted slavery, something that had been abolished during the revolution, because he needed the income from the colonies to support his wars. Most of these well-known elements are left untold at the expense of the love story, a story that may be more of passion, possession and control than gauzy romantic love.

Working with what one could consider his production repertory company of longtime associates, Scott strikes gold with too many to mention, the credits alone add many minutes to this 2 1⁄2-hour movie. But his production designer, costume designers and especially his cinematographer should be singled out.

Arthur Max, the production designer of numerous Scott movies including “Gladiator,” has recreated Paris of the period from its squalor to its glory, finding many ideal sites and dressing them appropriately. His battlefields are breathtaking. David Crossman and Janty Yates (Academy Award for “Gladiator”) as costume designers added depth and breadth to the landscape of storytelling whether on the battlefield or at the coronation. It is cinematographer Dariusz Wolsky who brings the glory, glamour and guts to this film. The very scope of the battle sequences is impossible to describe but you experience every horizon and feel as though you have been transported into the combat. Many have effectively and beautifully filmed palace interiors and street scenes, but few have so convincingly filmed the scope and chaos of war.

Looking at “Napoleon” as an epic, however, is where Scott succeeds on a grand scale. His staging of the story, whether on the battlefield or in the bedroom is outstanding; he is undone by a script that, while filling in the overview, is undermined by unimaginative dialogue and the framework of a love story that doesn’t measure up to the overall history.

With a cast of thousands, literally and figuratively, it’s hard to keep track. Scott uses a veritable list of internationally renowned actors in roles that are ill-defined and come as quickly as they go. Among them are Tahar Rahim as politician Paul Barras, Ben Miles as Caulaincourt, Paul Rhys as Tallyrand and Mark Bonnar as Junot. With the exception of Tallyrand, I have no idea who these historical figures were and what their importance to this history was. The context of most of the players, with the exception of Napoleon, Josephine, Wellington and Tsar Alexander, is missing.

Rupert Everett plays Wellington with a stiff upper lip astride an appropriate steed. That’s basically it. Josephine, portrayed by Vanessa Kirby, fares much better, actually fares the best. She breathes life into a very complex woman who swings between self-protection, seduction, manipulation and, possibly, love. The lower register of her voice, brimming with seduction, eyes that betray and body movement that conveys reluctant surrender are all the ammunition she needs. As viewed by Scott, she is every bit Napoleon’s equal and often his master and always engaging to watch. The contempt in her eyes is covered by the purring of her voice. Regardless of the veracity of her portrayal, she is the most notable human element in this film.

Joaquin Phoenix is a different story. When communicating almost wordlessly in battle or in the Assembly he is extremely effective. His eyes, his body language, the sneer on his lips soundlessly let you know who he is and what he thinks of himself. He is mighty, he is conflicted, he is all-knowing. But when given long passages of dialogue, especially in his scenes with Kirby’s Josephine, he lacks power. His acting is flat, he lets his yelling substitute for emotion. Overall, he cannot rise to the task, not just because his acting in the role is insufficient, but also because the dialogue of the script is mundane. “Napoleon” without a convincing Napoleon is not bound for glory.

Now playing at AMC and Regal theaters. See it in IMAX to get the full effect. 

Neely Swanson spent most of her professional career in the television industry, almost all of it working for David E. Kelley. In her last full-time position as Executive Vice President of Development, she reviewed writer submissions and targeted content for adaptation. As she has often said, she did book reports for a living. For several years she was a freelance writer for “Written By,” the magazine of the WGA West, and was adjunct faculty at USC in the writing division of the School of Cinematic Arts. Neely has been writing film and television reviews for the “Easy Reader” for more than 10 years. Her past reviews can be read on Rotten Tomatoes where she is a tomato-approved critic.

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A number of interesting films have already opened, and many are still in theaters. Martin Scorsese’s “Killers of the Flower Moon’’ was highly anticipated and will begin streaming on Apple TV+ later in the year. Sofia Coppola’s recently opened biopic “Priscilla” about Priscilla Presley was nominated for a Golden Lion at the Venice Film Festival earlier this year. “The Bikeriders,” a gritty road movie based on the book by Danny Lyon stars the immensely photogenic Jodie Comer and Austin Butler and Tom Hardy. Originally scheduled to premiere on Dec. 1, it has been delayed due to the actors strike but is anticipated to open before the end of the year in order to qualify for the Oscars. 

Hope springs eternal for the lasting power of the films that are opening just prior to Thanksgiving through Dec. 25. 

To the Holiday Season and beyond!

November

November 17

“May December” is by the always intriguing Todd Hayes. Through Gracie Aatherton-Yoo, a character based on Mary Kay Letourneau (the teacher who seduced her 12-year-old student), Hayes paints an uncomfortable picture of what happens when she is interviewed by an actress about to play her on screen. Starring Natalie Portman as the actress and Julianne Moore as Gracie, you can expect to be uncomfortable in the black humor universe that Hayes usually weaves.

“Rustin” is the long-ignored story of Bayard Rustin, civil rights activist and leader, and organizer of the 1963 March on Washington. Instrumental in the fight, he was left behind by the leaders he helped because he was gay. Directed by George C. Wolfe and written by Julian Breece and Oscar-winner Dustin Lance Black, the all-star cast, led by Colman Domingo as Rustin, includes Glynn Turman, Chris Rock, Jeffrey Wright and Audra McDonald. This is a must-see for me. Having opened in theaters on Nov. 3, it has just begun streaming on Netflix.

“Next Goal Wins” is from the always off-beat Taika Waititi, this time directing a feel-good movie about the American Samoa soccer team whose claim to fame is their savage 31-0 loss in 2001. Another World Cup is approaching, and a new coach has been hired to turn them around. Michael Fassbender as the put-upon coach is always worth watching. The film is based on a 2014 documentary of the same name.

“Trolls Band Together” is another entry in the Troll world. Poppy (voiced by Anna Kendrick) discovers that her best friend Branch (voiced by Justin Timberlake) was once part of her favorite boy band. They go on a search for the other members of the band facing obstacles all the way (not the least of which is that the other members of the band are not NSYNC). 

“The Hunger Games: The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes” is a prequel of sorts. Minus those you love (Jennifer Lawrence) and those you hate (Donald Sutherland), this Hunger Games takes you back to the youth of Coriolanus Snow who would, someday in the far future, become the evil President Snow. But for now, Coriolanus must team up with Lucy Gray to turn the odds against them in the Hunger Games.

“Saltburn,” directed by Emerald Fennell in her sophomore outing, stars the quirky Barry Keoghan (“Banshees of Inisherim”) as an Oxford student out of his depth the summer he’s invited to the home of a very posh classmate. With Rosamund Pike, Carey Mulligan and Richard E. Grant in support, expect eccentricity at the very least.

“Thanksgiving” is Eli Roth’s newest slasher film. Never lacking a sense of humor, Roth’s film is based on a fake trailer he made for “Grindhouse,” his 2007 entry in his favorite genre. Inspired by a Black Friday tragedy, a mysterious serial killer (aren’t they all mysterious?) arrives in Plymouth, Massachusetts to set up his own buffet platter piled high with the town’s denizens. Where will it end?

November 22

“Maestro” is Bradley Cooper’s controversial biopic of Leonard Bernstein, controversial primarily because of the prosthetic he uses to portray the conductor. Cooper, who acquitted himself well in his feature directing debut with “A Star is Born,” tells this tale through the prism of his complicated marriage to his wife Felicia, played by Carey Mulligan, over a period of 25 years.   

“Napoleon” is Ridley Scott’s long-awaited tour de force about the man who has, thus far, eluded all who approached him, whether Marlon Brando, Rod Steiger or Charles Boyer. This larger-than-life character whose rise from obscurity to the height of power is here portrayed by Joaquin Phoenix. The love of his life, Josephine, played by Vanessa Kirby, is a witness to most of his post-revolutionary history. It’s a lot of ground to cover in 2½ hours.

“Wish” is Disney animation’s holiday gift to families. Asha (voiced by Ariana DeBose) wishes upon a star and gets more than she bargained for when the star decides to join her down on Earth. With music by “Frozen” songwriters Robert Lopez and Kristen Anderson-Lopez, expect Asha to break out in song.

“The Boy and the Heron” is written and directed by master
storyteller Hayao Miyazaki, the renowned creator of “Spirited Away” and “Princess Mononoke.” He tells the tale of young Mahito Maki whose mother has died and father has remarried. Still mourning, he encounters a gray heron on the estate who leads him into an alternative universe filled with magic.

December

December 1

“Candy Cane Lane,” although streaming exclusively on Amazon Prime, deserves mention for no other reason than its star, Eddie Murphy. Definitely aimed at joining the Christmas genre club, mayhem ensues when a rogue elf casts a spell on the family.

“Shayda” stars Zar Amir Ebrahimi (who was so good in “Holy Spider”) as the survivor of an abusive husband whose life is turned upside down when the Australian judicial system gives that husband visitation rights, and he schemes to take their child back to Iran.

“Silent Night” is there for you fans of revenge thrillers. Directed by John Woo, there will be blood.

“Godzilla Minus One”— because nothing says the holidays like a retro Japanese monster movie. This is the 37th film in the Godzilla series, if you’re counting.

December 7-8

“Leave the World Behind,” written and directed by Sam Esmail, based on the brilliant novel by Rumaan Alam, is a view of a coming apocalypse set on Long Island where race, class and privilege take front and center. With Julia Roberts, Ethan Hawke and Mahershala Ali, one has high hopes that it can capitalize on its stars and underlying material. Streaming on Amazon Prime after a short theatrical run that began on Nov. 22.

“Poor Things,” winner of the Golden Lion in Venice,  is a much talked about Frankenstein-style film, this time where a young woman, played by Emma Stone, is brought back to life by an eccentric scientist after her suicide and then escapes to a life of debauchery and self-discovery. There will be sex.

“Zone of Interest,” based on the Martin Amis novel, written and directed by Jonathan Glazer, is about Rudolf Höss, the commandant of Auschwitz and his wife Hedwig as they strive to create an idyllic life for themselves next to the camp. Winner of the Cannes Grand Prix, it stars Sandra Hüller who is this year’s must-watch actress. Hüller starred
earlier this year in Justine Triet’s Palme d’Or winning “Anatomy of a Fall,” an absolute must-see.

December 15

“Wonka”—the prequel. How did he become the go-to guy for the Oompa Loompas? This will be difficult to pull off, but the cast is first rate with Timothée Chalamet starring as the young Willy Wonka, along with Olivia Colman, Hugh Grant and a slew of other excellent British actors in support.

“American Fiction” is a film that comically approaches the acceptance of “style” over substance. When a serious and incisive Black writer’s book is lost in the acclaim for a shallow tome called “We’s Lives in Da Ghetto,” he decides to write his own outrageously stereotypical novel, under a pseudonym of course. Starring the always terrific Jeffrey Wright, Sterling K. Brown and Issa Rae, directed by Cord Jefferson, the highly regarded television writer in his feature debut, also wrote the screenplay based on the Percival Everett novel “Erasure.”

“Chicken Run: Dawn of the Nugget” is a film about a chicken named Ginger who has found peace at last for her brood after escaping Tweedy’s farm. But chicken-kind is still in danger, and Ginger and her team must break back into the farm to save them. Look for it to stream on Netflix after its theatrical release.

December 20-22

“Aquaman and the Lost Kingdom” is back. Jason Momoa as Aquaman/Arthur Curry must join with King Orm (Patrick Wilson) to protect their kingdom. Returning with him will be those below sea and earthbound inhabitants played by Nicole Kidman, Yahya Abdul-Mateen II, Dolph Lundgren and yes, Amber Heard, with a special appearance by Ben Affleck as Batman.

“The Iron Claw’’ is, on the surface, a wrestling movie about the Van Erich brothers who dominated the sport in the 1980s. But they face difficulties inside the ring and out. This starry cast includes Zac Efron, Jeremy Allen White and Lily James.

“Rebel Moon—Part One: A Child of Fire” is the latest film from the directorial wand of Zack Snyder, best known for “Man of Steel” and “Army of the Dead.” When a peaceful colony on a fictional moon is threatened by a warring army, a mysterious stranger in their midst may be their best hope for survival. Watch for this to stream on Netflix in the near future.

“All of Us Strangers” is the film I’m most looking forward to. A romantic fantasy, of sorts, a chance encounter with a mysterious
neighbor leads Adam back to his past, finding his parents alive, just as they were when he last saw them. A bizarre encounter because they died 30 years before. Starring Andrew Scott, Paul Mescal, Claire Foy and Jamie Bell— the cast alone makes this a must-see.

“Migration” is an animated holiday gift to the kids. Think “National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation” but with ducks.

December 25

“The Boys in the Boat,” directed by George Clooney and based on the best seller of the same name, is the ultimate underdog story about the ragtag rowing team from the University of Washington during the Depression. Joel Edgerton leads the cast.

“The Color Purple” takes the 2005 Broadway musical based on Alice Walker’s novel and brings star power to bear. Produced by Steven Spielberg, Quincy Jones, Scott Sanders and Oprah Winfrey, the latter three also produced the Broadway musical upon which this is based. The heat in front of the camera is impressive with Taraji P. Henson, Colman Domingo (who’s having quite the year), David Alan Grier and Fantasia Barrino, to name just a few. It will be wonderful to see the
multitalented Danielle Brooks (“Orange is the New Black”) reprise her role of Sofia from the stripped-down 2015 Broadway version of the
musical. She will amaze you.

“Ferrari” takes a critical year in the life of Enzo Ferrari, 1957, and the Mille Miglia (the 1,000-mile race) and explores the factors he had to overcome personally and professionally. Directed by Michael Mann, you can expect great visuals and hairpin turns for both the humans and the cars. The A-list stars are Adam Driver as Ferrari and Penelope Cruz as his wife, with Shailene Woodley and Patrick Dempsey in support.

So, start your engines and get back into those theaters. Happy viewing!

The post Top Picks for Holiday Viewing appeared first on Beverly Hills Courier.

To know who he was is to comprehend why, in that time frame, he was sidelined. Rustin, who took a back seat to no one, was an intellectual polymath and gay Black man. Either of those last two designations, gay and Black, damned him in the society of the time, but the combination of the two would have been a dea as Adam Clayton Powell Jr. th knell had he let it. But he didn’t. He knew who he was and was unashamed. In a conversation with his grandmother, who asked why he didn’t go to school dances, he said simply that he preferred to dance with boys. “Then,” she responded, “That’s what you need to do.” He did that and more, always with her support. His interests were wide and varied, but mainly he was a champion for civil rights and fought tirelessly toward that end.

Rustin, a student of Gandhi’s methods, brought the philosophy of nonviolence to Martin Luther King Jr. whom he mentored. Confronted by an aggressive young man decrying the nonviolence movement, Rustin goaded him, encouraging him to hit him on the left side of his face. Smiling, he pointed to the right side, scarred and missing teeth. He told the young man that he couldn’t do more than had been done to him by the police in Mississippi. Ever after, those missing teeth were a reminder of what Rustin had withstood and how far he was willing to go to fight for his beliefs. Nonviolence, he would point out to King, gives your opponent nothing to fight back against, automatically putting them at a moral disadvantage.

He was allied early and mentored by A. Philip Randolph, one of the most important leaders in the Civil Rights Movement and the man who successfully unionized the Sleeping Car Porters of the Pullman Company, eventually integrating them into the AFL-CIO. The NAACP led by Roy Wilkins, its executive director, was a different story. Long a leader in the movement, he had a distaste for Rustin, his aggressive methods and what he viewed as his abhorrent lifestyle; but mostly, Wilkins was unwilling to share the stage physically and philosophically with the charismatic Rustin. Wilkin’s NAACP, Randolph’s Brotherhood of Sleeping Car Porters, along with King’s Southern Christian Leadership Conference, the Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee led by John Lewis, the Congress of Racial Equality led by James Farmer, and the National Urban League led by Whitney Young were considered the Big Six. They had frozen Rustin, the leader who had brought most of them together, out from any official standing.

Taking a unique approach in recounting the history of Bayard Rustin, Wolfe centers most of this story around the organization of the March on Washington in August 1963. So many received credit; so many took credit; and so many rose with the success of that March. The one who neither received, took or rose with the wave of accolades was the man who conceived the idea and went on to organize it, against fearsome odds, Bayard Rustin. And quite a story it is.

Adam Clayton Powell, congressman from Harlem and an important Black figure in mainstream politics, learned that Rustin was in the planning stages of  boycotting the 1960 Democratic National Convention in Los Angeles. Knowing that this might put Powell in a negative light and diminish his power in the Party, he told the Big Six that he was prepared to publish a rumor alluding to King’s very suspicious closeness to Rustin. Although there was absolutely nothing to the rumor and all of the Six knew it, it was all the impetus that Wilkins needed to force Rustin out of the group. By 1962, Rustin was persona non grata in all of the Big Six organizations, his relationship with King now all but nonexistent.

But Rustin was nothing if not an idea man and an idea was what he had. First mending the rift with King and shoring up his relationship with Randolph, he posed the question. What if we could stage a March on Washington and the White House on the anniversary of the Emancipation Proclamation in August 1963? They would call it “The March on Washington for Jobs and Freedom” and bring together organized labor and disenfranchised minorities from all over the country. It would be a massive undertaking in what would amount to less than a year, but Rustin was certain that a grassroots approach would work. That it did is a tribute to this unsung hero who did all the planning, reached out to all the necessary factions, overcame government interference (Kennedy among them), and relinquished his visible chairmanship to Randolph when Strom Thurmond, the Senate’s bastion of George Wallace’s “segregation now, segregation forever,” went on national radio to declare that Rustin was “a Communist, draft-dodger and homosexual.” Yes, he had an early foray, long abandoned, into Communism; he was jailed during World War II as a legitimate conscientious objector; and most definitely he was a homosexual. In the face of those odds, Kennedy’s objections to the March, and especially Wilkins’ refusal to cooperate with the others in this endeavor, Rustin deferred to the leadership of Randolph who, appointed Director, immediately made Rustin his deputy, conferring on him all the decision-making power and responsibility. The March would go on despite Wilkins and despite the FBI publishing what they proposed was photographic proof of a King-Rustin liaison. The March would go on because of Rustin’s incredible organizational skills and the massive team of volunteers who would do anything for him and this cause.

But this isn’t supposed to be a pedantic exercise in civil rights. This is a review of a magnificent film that will fill in all those details as it introduces you to someone you might not have heard of but should know. By centering this narrative on Rustin and the March on Washington, so much about the history of the Civil Rights Movement is revealed, explained and illuminated. But mainly, it’s Rustin and his heroic bravery throughout his life in the face of incredible odds.

The production values from score to costume and production design are evocative of the era. Cinematographer Tobias Schliessler often creates sequences that look like archival footage combining color, sepia and black and white.

This is a cast of thousands, another hyperbole but not that far off, most of whom are exceptional. In relatively minor roles, something that, unfortunately mirrored their characters in real life, the marvelous Audra McDonald and CCH Pounder played Ella Baker and Dr. Anna Hedgeman, respectively, leaders of the era who refused to be diminished by gender.

Chris Rock as Roy Wilkins is a bit stiff and not entirely convincing as the prickly civil rights leader who hated to share credit. He never completely finds the nuance in this character. Aml Ameen is an effective, sympathetic and believable Martin Luther King Jr., wavering in his loyalty to Rustin and later exhibiting great regret that he did. He rides that delicate balance between inexperienced mentee of Rustin to his graduation with honors on the platform at the March with “I have a dream.”

Glynn Turman, as A. Philip Randolph, has always been a personal favorite and he does not disappoint. Randolph is perhaps the most pedantic of the characters, weighing in expositionally whenever an explanation is needed. And yet, it never seems so. His character is fully developed, inspirational and the empathetic opposite of Roy Wilkins. I don’t believe there is anything that Glynn Turman can’t do or do better than anyone in the same role. Jeffrey Wright as Adam Clayton Powell Jr. is pitch-perfect and steals his every scene. Wright exudes the air of privilege and egocentricity that was the hallmark of Powell’s entire career. Wright has the extraordinarily difficult task to find a sympathetic core in such a conflicted and ultimately corrupt individual and he does it with the lightest of touch. Wright turns limited screen time into something that looms large even when he’s not there.

But “Rustin” rises and falls on the actor playing him and Wolfe’s impeccable choice was Colman Domingo. There are not words enough to describe how mesmerizing Domingo is, from the first moment he appears on screen until the credits roll. With his megawatt smile revealing those teeth that become a character unto themselves, Domingo dominates all his scenes. As an out and proud man in an era that was anything but, he is a revelation in courage and strength. Watching his struggles for acceptance for who he was is a constant reminder of the battles fought and won in a future still decades to come.

The cast, writers Julian Breece and Dustin Lance Black, the crafts and especially director George C. Wolfe, who pulled all the elements together into a fantastic movie, deserve recognition come awards season. It is a film that flies by and leaves you knowing more than you knew going in and wanting to learn more after.

Now playing at the Cinepolis Pacific Palisades and the Landmark NuArt; streaming on Netflix November 17. 

Neely Swanson spent most of her professional career in the television industry, almost all of it working for David E. Kelley. In her last full-time position as Executive Vice President of Development, she reviewed writer submissions and targeted content for adaptation. As she has often said, she did book reports for a living. For several years she was a freelance writer for “Written By,” the magazine of the WGA West, and was adjunct faculty at USC in the writing division of the School of Cinematic Arts. Neely has been writing film and television reviews for the “Easy Reader” for more than 10 years. Her past reviews can be read on Rotten Tomatoes where she is a tomato-approved critic.

The post ‘Rustin’— “Let Us Be Enraged by Injustice, But Let Us Not Be Destroyed By It.” appeared first on Beverly Hills Courier.

Elvis, riding high as the newly crowned King of Rock ‘n’ Roll, was drafted into the army in 1958. Given the opportunity to enlist in Special Services and entertain the troops, he was instead advised by his manager, Col. Tom Parker, to go the regular soldier route. There was method to his madness because by doing this, Elvis gained respect both from fellow soldiers but also from the generation back home who viewed him as a threat to society. Also, Parker would have had to relinquish control of Elvis’s performances and recordings while he worked for the Army. 

The regular Army was a lonely road for Elvis, especially when he was shipped to West Germany where he knew no one and couldn’t speak the language. His beloved mother had recently passed and he was, simply put, homesick. Concurrently, young Priscilla Beaulieu (14) arrived at the same outpost when her stepfather, a career Army Captain, was assigned to the base, and she was miserable. A high school freshman, smart but unfocused, she couldn’t relate to anyone. Spotted at the base soda fountain by an Army friend of Elvis, he wondered if she might like to go to one of his parties. This was an opportunity that the introverted girl, daughter of very conservative parents, would fight for, and she did. She and Elvis bonded and Priscilla’s thoughts ever after would be about him and him alone.

Defying credulity, Priscilla and Elvis convinced her parents to allow her to complete her senior year of high school in Memphis, carefully supervised and living at Graceland. Elvis’s hit, “Can’t Help Falling in Love” from his recent movie “Blue Hawaii,” offers a window into describing his relationship with Priscilla. Listen to the lyrics and you’ll hear “Wise men say ‘only fools rush in.’ But I can’t help falling in love with you…Like a river flows, surely to the sea, Darling, so it goes. Some things are meant to be.”

It was Elvis who kept the relationship chaste as he molded his young sweetheart into his ideal of womanhood. It didn’t hurt that she was always in her Catholic school uniform. It is unclear how long it took Priscilla to realize that she was a bird in a gilded cage, but eventually she awakened slightly to the downside of being the property of one of the most famous men on the planet.

While she was confined to luxury quarters, Elvis left, often for extended periods, as he made movies and recordings that kept him in the spotlight. The rumors of his liaisons with his co-stars, most famously Ann Margaret, were well-founded although often denied by him. The irony of his sexual adventures away from home and his refusal to take the next step with the chaste teenager were not lost on Priscilla. He continued to lavish her with presents and advise on hair and makeup; stores came to her so she wouldn’t face the outside world. Unable to invite school friends, if she had any, to the house, she was surrounded by Elvis’s band of rowdy musicians, his surly father, and the women who worked at Graceland. It surely didn’t escape her notice that even when he was home, Elvis reverted to adolescence with his bandmates, his closest friends. They had nothing in common with the teenager, nor she with them.

Priscilla, lost, could not help but note that he, too, was searching for something with his forays into the occult, spiritualism, Eastern religion and quasi Bible studies where he searched for meaning in the “woman at the well.” Controlling, sometimes violent, always unpredictable, she was caught in his web never wanting to be free. Until she did. But let’s leave some of her story on the screen.

There must have been something magnetic about the quiet teenager that made Elvis’s friend engage her in the first place. She was surely not the only attractive American teenager on the base. And therein lies one of the flaws in Coppola’s film. Cailee Spaeny plays Priscilla without personality or passion. She is deadpan through most of the movie, always with the same wide-eyed expression. Her Priscilla is definitely not a scholar and seems to be without any curiosity, intellectual or otherwise. She’s pretty but, like a deer in the headlights, her expression rarely changes from situation to situation. It’s certainly understandable that an inexperienced young girl, living with her idol, would give up any sense of self to continue floating in his backdraft. Coppola, no doubt, was interested in the portrayal of spousal abuse both on the giving and receiving ends. Priscilla, always holding out for the ring she eventually got, is portrayed as a classic recipient of abuse where the husband and/or lover acts out and then profusely apologizes, setting off a course of “I’ll never do that again” repetition. The main problem here is that Spaeny’s Priscilla has virtually no personality and it’s hard to be invested in her. The questions that continually arise are “What did/does he see in her?” Spaeny’s look of wide-eyed innocence begins to wear on the viewer and you are as relieved as she was when she decided to leave (that’s not a spoiler unless you don’t live on this planet).

The story of Elvis Presley, his rise, his life, his death, has been told endlessly and Coppola’s intention to tell the Elvis/Priscilla story from Priscilla’s standpoint was a great idea. Unfortunately, despite her best efforts to focus on Priscilla, the Elvis of this tale, played by Jacob Elordi, is far more interesting and grabs the spotlight even when it’s not shining on him. His portrayal is compelling and electric, emphasizing that there was no there there with Priscilla. For every one of his actions we rarely see a reaction on her part. Certainly, part of Coppola’s point is about the disparity of power, and that is on full display. But it is hard to sympathize with a young woman, left by herself so often, who didn’t find something to occupy her time. You never see her with a book in her hand; the television, when on, is tuned into “Petticoat Junction” or “The Beverly Hillbillies,” underscoring a stereotypic view of her world. (On the other hand, we all watched those inane shows; they were fun, not societal statements.) This Elvis, the supporting character in the film, is dynamic; eyes flashing, his very act of walking or lying still is riveting. It’s probably an unfair criticism to compare performances because, as written, either by Coppola or Presley herself, Priscilla is a cypher to which no one seems to have the algorithm.

The movie flows at a steady pace and Coppola establishes the conflict between idolatry and reality. Although I was unappreciative of Spaeny’s performance, clearly Coppola was more interested in the aftermath of the wrong dream than the “why her’’ aspects of the story. But no matter how hard you try, Elvis is always a focus because this Priscilla has been given little or no character development.

The rest of the cast is fine, if not well developed. Lynne Griffin as Grandma “Dodger” brings compassion and warmth to the Presley household. Dagmara Dominczyk as Priscilla’s mother Ann Beaulieu, shows the right amount of worry for her daughter but is inexplicably absent after her daughter moves to Memphis. Did Priscilla’s parents entirely abandon her? The boys in the band, too numerous to mention, bring vitality and controlled chaos to a film that is too often static.

Production Designer Tamara Deverell has captured the era and has recreated Graceland at its shiny best. Costume Designer Stacey Battat has the time period down pat. Cinematography by Philippe Le Sourd is rather unremarkable but wide expansive shots are not characteristic of biopics. A big disappointment is the music. Curiously there is very little rock ‘n’ roll from the era, and the music that is used is distinctly non-distinct.

The pacing of the film is good and you won’t be checking your watch, but overall, this is a bland story about a marriage that was anything but bland. If you are going to make a film about a character’s awakening, you need, at the very least, to have them wake up.

Opening wide on November 3 at AMC theaters throughout LA. 

Neely Swanson spent most of her professional career in the television industry, almost all of it working for David E. Kelley. In her last full-time position as Executive Vice President of Development, she reviewed writer submissions and targeted content for adaptation. As she has often said, she did book reports for a living. For several years she was a freelance writer for “Written By,” the magazine of the WGA West, and was adjunct faculty at USC in the writing division of the School of Cinematic Arts. Neely has been writing film and television reviews for the “Easy Reader” for more than 10 years. Her past reviews can be read on Rotten Tomatoes where she is a tomato-approved critic.

The post ‘Priscilla’—Sad Eyed Lady of the Gracelands appeared first on Beverly Hills Courier.

Michael Chow was born Zhou Yingua in Shanghai in 1939. His father,  Zhou Xinfang, is still considered one of the greatest grand masters of the Peking Opera and his artistry was an important influence on Michael who wanted to follow in his footsteps. The movement, the vibrant colors, the drama, all touched him deeply. Michael began painting at an early age seeing light and motion and colors everywhere in Shanghai. But his art and vision was short-circuited when he and his sister, Tsai Chin, were sent to England by their parents shortly after Mao, claiming victory in the Chinese Revolution, took over as the political leader. Sadly, Michael would never again see his father who would die in 1975 after a long imprisonment during the Cultural Revolution.

Beautiful Tsai, studying at the Royal Academy of Dramatic Art, was well on her way to an acting career, but Yingua, younger, was sent to boarding school where he was ill-equipped to be a total outsider, losing his identity and his name when he became Michael. He eventually enrolled in art school where he studied painting and architecture still hoping to satisfy his need to create. But art rarely pays the bills and Tsai helped him find small roles in mostly B pictures.

Luck, if you believe in such a thing, and timing have played major roles in his life. Unable to support himself as an artist, it was more the connections he made and the people he met that would dovetail nicely into his wildly successful endeavors. Encouraged by friends who recognized his ability to parlay one success onto another, he opened a Chinese restaurant in London. He wanted to introduce upscale, gourmet Chinese food to the Knightsbridge section of central London, an area oozing wealth and sophistication. It wasn’t just the taste of the food but the drama as well, using Italian waiters to serve and displaying the work of emerging artists on the walls.

Still longing for a place at the table, so to speak, Chow befriended artists whose work inspired him, offering meals in exchange for paintings. Those walls held the paintings of artists who would soon become even more famous than his restaurant—David Hockney, Jim Dine, Julius Schnabel and Peter Blake, among others. A short first marriage to Grace Coddington, one of the top models of the day, solidified his place in swinging sixties London. Soon Mr. Chow’s was the hippest of the hip, dripping with the rich and famous. He wasn’t just the friend to celebrities but a world unto himself.

But it’s easy to look all of this up. It’s public record as are his famous couplings, next to Tina Chow, a model whose own jet set celebrity soon surpassed his. When marital difficulties first emerged, he and Tina left London and landed in Beverly Hills where he expanded his restaurant empire. An instant success, he then opened restaurants in New York, always featuring a museum of fine art on the walls. Their estrangement continued, however, in part due to her affairs, and they divorced. His subsequent marriage was to Eva Chun; it too ended in divorce after twenty-five years. There is no real insight into these dissolutions. Coddington, interviewed on screen and still friends with Chow, revealed that she had left him after a year when a previous boyfriend resurfaced. Now married to Vanessa Rano, a woman almost a half century younger, she is an integral part to his self-described Act V.

Both in Beverly Hills and New York, his passion for buying art continued and he began to amass an extraordinary collection of contemporary art—Warhol, Basquiat, Haring, Ruscha to name a very few. So many of these artists painted portraits of Chow that an exhibition of just these paintings was once mounted. Always attentive to his restaurants, he was drawn more and more into the world of art and design. Spreading his expansive wings and returning to an initial interest, Chow designed Giorgio Armani’s signature boutique on Rodeo Drive. Already Chow’s compass was leading him back to his first love.

If there is a primary focus in this documentary, it is the return of Mr. Chow to his passion for art—collecting it, promoting it, creating it. The true highlight of this somewhat meandering film is to witness him in his so-called Act V as the re-emerging artist. Joyously painting and creating massive tableaux in his cavernous studio, he is a gifted artist with a style that both borrows from others and yet is wholly original. His greatest challenge is to be seen as a serious painter rather than a talented dilettante. The biggest obstacle to overcome is his own persona and fame. Gallery owners who might have been inclined to display his work were reluctant. There was always the worry that gallerists were just trying to curry favor with the man who already had everything. Watching him create will disabuse you from thinking he’s a talented amateur. Combining Chinese calligraphy, aspects of abstract expressionism and color field painting, like that of Clyfford Still and Ellsworth Kelly, Chow, or as he now signs himself, “M,’’ has made his own path. Is he in a league with Ed Ruscha or Jim Dine or others in his collection? Only time will tell. A glimpse at his Holmby Hills home gives an idea of his architectural style—modern, stark and extremely functional from the standpoint of displaying his own art and vast collection, a personal museum to be enjoyed by the too few.

My verdict of the documentary is rather mixed. The film itself is little more than an homage to Michael Chow filmed with his approval under tightly controlled constraints. It often feels like a vanity piece with little or no insight into Michael Chow the man. There is no discussion about his architectural projects or the effects divorce may or may not have had upon him personally. Although the interviewees, internationally renowned artists and celebrities, sing his praises, scratching the surface just reveals more surface. Keeping tight control of his narrative, it’s no coincidence that there have been no definitive biographies written about this man who is certainly deserving of one. “AKA Mr. Chow” is far from an in depth portrait of a complicated man;  nevertheless, the opportunity to learn some of his history and see him make his art is well worth the fast-moving 90 minutes Nick Hooker has put together.

Now on HBO and streaming on Max. 

Neely Swanson spent most of her professional career in the television industry, almost all of it working for David E. Kelley. In her last full-time position as Executive Vice President of Development, she reviewed writer submissions and targeted content for adaptation. As she has often said, she did book reports for a living. For several years she was a freelance writer for “Written By,” the magazine of the WGA West, and was adjunct faculty at USC in the writing division of the School of Cinematic Arts. Neely has been writing film and television reviews for the “Easy Reader” for more than 10 years. Her past reviews can be read on Rotten Tomatoes where she is a tomato-approved critic.

The post ‘AKA Mr. Chow’—But Who is ‘M?’ appeared first on Beverly Hills Courier.

The Osage people originally roamed the great plains throughout the Midwest but by the mid-19th century, the United States government forced them off their Kansas lands onto a reservation in desolate northern Oklahoma Territory. It was on this land, several decades later, at the end of the  century, that oil was discovered, making the Osage some of the wealthiest people in the world. Each member of the tribe retained mineral rights to their property and leased the land to outsiders for resource exploitation. The area became the home to wildcatters, thieves, con men and all the myriad bad guys the Old West had to offer with the added benefit that the Native Americans owning the land had little or no legal protection against those plotting against them. And plot they did. The federal government had set up a system where the oil rights were divided equally between all members of the tribe, a system of “headrights.” The system was skewed, however, so that many of the rights owners, the wives, mothers and children of the male heads of household, had to be supervised by white “custodians” who dictated how the members could spend their money. This arrangement was rife with corruption that enriched the so-called custodians at the expense of the actual owners. Nevertheless, there was still great wealth for the members of the Osage Nation and room for its capitalization.

At the heart of this film is the confluence of a Machiavellian conspiracy, brutal murders, a love story and the nascent FBI.

World War I has ended and Ernest Burkhart, in full army regalia, steps off the train in Fairfax, Oklahoma, called there by his Uncle William “King” Hale. King is a wealthy cattle rancher on land just outside the reservation. He has work for his naive and corruptible nephew, joining with his younger brother Byron, also employed by King. A fluent speaker of the Osage language, King has a full grasp of Native American land rights and all the loopholes that can be used to exploit them. One did not have to be a member of the tribe to inherit a headright. Ernest, not exactly intellectually gifted, has been chosen carefully by his uncle for his limited ability to grasp complex situations, his acknowledged love of money, his appeal to the ladies and his absolute loyalty. There are, his uncle knows, two ways to obtain the wealth of the Osage—murder and intermarriage.

Murdering male members of the Osage tribe who had full “headrights,” an unalloyed allocation of the oil royalties without white supervision, pushed the headrights to their heirs, most often women and children whose access to the wealth was more limited. Intermarriage with white settlers would then give the white husbands, appointed supervisors of the family treasure, full access, through their wives and children, to the huge sums pouring into the Osage coffers. If, by unlucky happenstance, those wives were to die, then the children of that mixed marriage would inherit a wealth that would flow to the fathers who would, under those questionable circumstances, be able to control and gain those headrights.

Ernest is pointed in the direction of Molly, a beautiful Osage woman with rights to a part of the family allotment. Single, she quickly falls sway to Ernest. Although lacking in finesse, he is handsome and he, too, is drawn to her. Exploiting their mutual lust, King soon achieves his goal of intermarriage. But Molly and Ernest seem actually to be in love and children soon follow. Uncle King, however, knows Ernest’s true nature, his inherent laziness and his greed for more of everything. Ernest, easily manipulated, is blindly led down a path of murder and mayhem, whether carried out personally or by hiring others to do his uncle’s bidding. His familial loyalty is cleaved between King and the genuine love he feels for his wife. He is not one to question authority, especially not when the carrot at the end of the stick is gold.

Murders and suspicious deaths increase at a dizzying speed. Soon they are hitting Molly’s family and, now the last of her clan, she begins to fall ill and waste away. Even as she hovers at death’s door, she travels with a group of tribe members to Washington to ask President Coolidge for help in solving the murders in their town. Law enforcement  in Fairfax, such that it is, has turned a blind eye to even the most obvious deaths. As one character mentions, “You have a better chance of convicting someone who kicked a dog than of murdering an Indian.” Following the money, however, Coolidge sends a contingent of the new Bureau of Investigation to solve the crimes plaguing this important group of Native Americans.

The broad strokes of “Killers of the Flower Moon” are historically accurate. The characters’ names have not been changed to protect the innocent because, with the exception of Osage tribe members, no one was innocent. Gann, in his award-winning work of non-fiction, told the true story with every ugly detail intact. It was up to Scorsese, a longtime fan of the book, to bring this long-forgotten incident back into the light.

Using a mixture of archival and recreated sepia-colored newsreel footage, he sets the scene of this last vestige of the Wild West. The cinematography is superb, both as lush and filthy as the story itself. Production design recreates the era so well that you begin to feel engulfed in the ever-present mud. But Scorsese is nothing if not an actor’s director and here he has a cast that excels, from the smallest roles to the stars. Actors portraying tribe members were all Native Americans, some with acting experience, some without and all were convincing in their roles. But it is not them that you are coming to see.

Robert De Niro as William “King” Hale is extraordinarily restrained as the true villain of the piece. The evil is in his eyes but the tightness of his lips and economy of movement is what makes him so dangerous. In a morality play, he would be Mephistopheles leading a dull-witted Faust, nephew Ernest, down the path of all the aforementioned seven sins before, too late, he recognizes the danger. De Niro’s restraint should, perhaps, have been peeled away as he approaches the consequences of his actions, but it is too tightly woven into the persona of the God-fearing Christian he believes himself to be. He has convinced himself that his actions are better for society in general, much like Charles Wilson’s alleged quote, “What’s good for General Motors is good for America.”

In what traditionally has been referred to as a “small but pivotal” role, Jesse Plemons as Tom White, the leader of the Bureau of Investigations team, is mesmerizing, full stop. The moment he sets foot in a scene, he dominates it in a quiet, engaging, non-pyrotechnic way. Plemons has a habit of subtly, methodically and emphatically stealing scenes, whether in “The Power of the Dog” or the second season of “Fargo;” you can’t look away when he’s there. Hero or villain, and here he’s a hero, his natural warmth enhances his portrayal.

Lily Gladstone, an accomplished Native American actor, uses her extraordinary natural beauty and stillness of manner to inhabit the role of Molly, the woman with a bull’s eye on her back. A sly combination of weak and strong, she becomes complicit in her marriage to Ernest, seeing but refusing to inhale the evil that surrounds her even as those near and dear start to disappear. There is an ingrained subservience and resignation as she does what authority figures demand of her. Her love for Ernest is unwavering even though all the signs point to disaster. In some ways, she is the star of this filmic retelling of the Osage murders.

Leonardo DiCaprio, in the challenging role of Ernest Burkhart, has the vacant eyes of a lost soul. He is the very embodiment of those Seven Deadly Sins his uncle employs for his own means. His remaining close family ties are his brother and his uncle, working in tandem to use his sloth and greed to their advantage. That he would actually fall deeply in love with the target of King’s machinations highlights the ambiguity of his character and DiCaprio effectively captures the obtuseness of a man who sees only what is directly in front of him without contemplating the consequences. DiCaprio is best when the walls of his actions begin to close in on him. He is the classic patsy, set up to take the fall without the ability to see how it will affect him.

What Scorsese does best is set up situations for characters and let them play out. Here he uses the classic platform of the Western. There are the bad guys and their victims and the cavalry to the rescue, in this case the Bureau of Investigation. It is probably an intentional irony that Ernest is given a white hat by his soon-to-be wife. The plot is straight out of a John Ford Western, whether “My Darling Clementine” or “The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance,” with a bit less nuance. But Scorsese isn’t working with legend, he’s actually working with fact. Here he has turned the old “Liberty Valance” quote on its head – “When the truth becomes legend, print the legend.” Here he prints the truth.

The major failing of this film is its length, 3½  hours. You will never be bored but you will come away with the feeling that Scorsese was way too self-indulgent. This story could easily have been told in 2½ to 3 hours maximum. “Oppenheimer” was 3 hours that flew by without a wasted moment. Such is not the case with “Killers of the Flower Moon.” The story is bloated and suffers from overkill, and I definitely meant that in all meanings of the expression. The coda-type ending was superfluous, regardless of whether or not such an incident occurred (it did). It was unnecessary and takes you out of an important moment that he had been building up to. The end result is that Scorsese has made a very good movie but not a truly great one.

Opening Oct. 20 at the Lumière Cinema at the Music Hall in Beverly Hills, the AMC Century City 15, the AMC Broadway 4 in Santa Monica, the AMC Santa Monica, the Laemmle Monica, the Regency Village Theater in Westwood and many others. See it on an IMAX if possible. Many AMC theaters provide closed captioning. Streaming on Apple TV+ later this year. 

Neely Swanson spent most of her professional career in the television industry, almost all of it working for David E. Kelley. In her last full-time position as Executive Vice President of Development, she reviewed writer submissions and targeted content for adaptation. As she has often said, she did book reports for a living. For several years she was a freelance writer for “Written By,” the magazine of the WGA West, and was adjunct faculty at USC in the writing division of the School of Cinematic Arts. Neely has been writing film and television reviews for the “Easy Reader” for more than 10 years. Her past reviews can be read on Rotten Tomatoes where she is a tomato-approved critic.

The post ‘Killers of the Flower Moon’— Aimed at the Heart appeared first on Beverly Hills Courier.

It is a story that has been told many times before, but never quite as skillfully. The unusual position of the body, the probable distance that it fell and the mysterious head wounds mark this as a suspicious death with only one suspect—the wife, Sandra. Questioned by the police, she recounts an uneventful life, placid, peaceful, full of bilateral compromise that allowed the couple to maintain separate interests. She and Samuel, her husband, met years ago in London where they were struggling writers. In recent years she had succeeded, with several novels to her name. He was still teaching and trying to complete a novel started years before. She admits that their relationship showed signs of stress when young son Daniel lost most of his sight in an accident, an accident Samuel blamed on himself and Sandra did not disabuse him of this notion. Still, she preferred to live in the present and work with Daniel’s new normal; Samuel could not, home schooling him, ever watchful of dangers and cocooning him from outsiders entering his world. But, she explains, they moved on and had a happy marriage.

Samuel, French, and Sandra, German, communicate in English, neutral ground for them both because Sandra’s French is not fluent and Samuel’s German is non-existent. Already the scene was set, like a U.N. meeting, for partnership negotiations in language, setting, child raising and domestic duties. But mainly, the undercurrent of tension between them was about time—having it, wanting it, losing it. That they slept in separate rooms indicates a lack of romance or maybe it was just a tolerance for each other’s conflicting schedules. Still, as the investigation by the police begins, she insists that there were no fights, something corroborated by Daniel who insists he never heard his parents arguing.

Knowing she will need a lawyer, Sandra enlists a friend, Vincent. He demurs; she needs a more experienced lawyer. She insists; she needs a friend by her side. The wheels of justice turn slowly but inexorably toward a murder trial. Neither is prepared for the maelstrom that awaits them in court as the prosecutor, zeroing in on all the inconsistencies present in the crime scene, ruthlessly attacks the stoic Sandra, sometimes using a scalpel and other times an ax. This is the French judicial system, messier than ours and less accepting of objections. The courtroom scenes are uncomfortable, and the prosecutor’s skill is a barrier that Vincent finds difficult to overcome when trying to propose a theory of suicide.

And herein lies another reason Triet’s film is exceptional. This is not “LA Law” and certainly not “Law and Order.” There are no histrionics, no Perry Mason moments, only the steady, realistic chipping away at a presumed guilty party. The prosecutor, as much as you’d like to hate him (and I did) is doing his job. It’s not to find Sandra innocent; it’s his job to prove her guilt. Her unemotional demeanor doesn’t shout innocence nor do the things she kept hidden; her lawyer finds little ground to object to in the questioning of witnesses. That he often doesn’t make the best use of his cross-examinations is a signal that Sandra may have chosen poorly. No weapon is found; no motive screams out; everything is circumstantial. Samuel is dead from a suspicious fall and Sandra was the only one home. Even her son, her greatest ally, begins to have doubts.

What makes this all so extraordinary is the synergy of the filmmaking. The acting, writing and directing are in such perfect sync that you feel like you’re cohabiting this scene. So in tune is everything that a totally realistic environment is created, especially in the courtroom where you begin to feel like you are not just an observer but part of the jury, wanting to believe, unable to believe. Triet trains her camera close up on the prosecutor’s face, so much so that you can feel the venom spit from his lips; she gives no space between the viewer and the villain of the piece. He is both seductive and repellant. Triet takes you so thoroughly into each scene that you become part of it. Naturalistic is the descriptor that comes to mind. Gradually, inexorably, tension continues to build as the prosecutor excavates more and more about the couple’s troubled relationship and Sandra’s inexplicable lapses in relating their troubles to the initial investigators. Triet forces you to see Sandra from all angles, something that makes the viewer continually vacillate between her guilt or innocence. Nothing is ever completely clear; you are constantly thrown off balance in any allegiances you may have formed. The earth is shaky and the foundation is never solid.

Language plays a major role, its intricacies, its subtleties and its obtuseness. Gliding back and forth between French and English, Sandra’s lack of fluency is a major stumbling block to her defense when the court insists that all testimony be given in French. Eventually unable to express herself and understand the nuances, she must rely on interpreters to translate her English, something they can do quite ably. What they can’t do is communicate the emotions she can express in a language she is comfortable with.

All the more unusual is the fact that Samuel is a completely developed character despite the fact that he is unseen until one critical moment in the trial when an audio tape of an argument is introduced by the prosecutor. Triet chooses to dramatize the end of the tape by filming Samuel as he escalates the disagreement into a full-scale fight with Sandra. What is most jarring is the realization that this is your very first glimpse of Samuel, mentioned so many times previously that you were certain you had seen him.

The acting is part of what makes this such a realistic experience and everyone contributes. Swann Arlaud as Vincent, Sandra’s lawyer, has the sympathetic eyes of the smitten; overwhelmed but striving. Antoine Reinartz as the prosecutor is the man you want to hate. Eyes bright, movements choppy, shining in his many closeups, he is the master of rhetoric and duplicity. He is able to evoke a range of emotions from the viewer, all of which contribute to his believability as someone who has his prey in sight. Samuel Theis as Samuel makes the most of his short time on screen, communicating the frustrations of a man incapable of taking command of his situation and needing to blame it on others. Milo Machado Graner, Daniel, was an amazing find. His transformation from innocence, believing in what he thought was his life, to the childhood version of cynicism where his beliefs and past memories are challenged beyond his comprehension would have been a difficult role for an adult, let alone a child whose previous few roles were very minor.

But this is really all Sandra Hüller who, as Sandra, dominates the story and screen with her quiet, stoic presence. Preternaturally calm, the hardened lines at her mouth are in sharp contradiction to the softness of her skin. Her eyes betray the fear that her body language covers up. She is an actress able to convey a million thoughts while hiding any outward emotion. Mesmerizing, you can’t take your eyes off her. The sag to her shoulders betrays the sangfroid of her demeanor. Having worked with her before, Triet wrote this role with Hüller in mind. It is inconceivable that anyone else could have played it as well.

This is a must-see film that will surely be remembered for many years to come.

In English and French with subtitles.

Opening Oct. 13 at the AMC Century City 15 and The Grove 14. 

Neely Swanson spent most of her professional career in the television industry, almost all of it working for David E. Kelley. In her last full-time position as Executive Vice President of Development, she reviewed writer submissions and targeted content for adaptation. As she has often said, she did book reports for a living. For several years she was a freelance writer for “Written By,” the magazine of the WGA West, and was adjunct faculty at USC in the writing division of the School of Cinematic Arts. Neely has been writing film and television reviews for the “Easy Reader” for more than 10 years. Her past reviews can be read on Rotten Tomatoes where she is a tomato-approved critic.

The post ‘Anatomy of a Fall’ – Fully Dissected appeared first on Beverly Hills Courier.

The Macleod family, led by mother Mairi, has lived a hardscrabble existence on this unforgiving landscape since her husband, a fisherman, died and left her alone to raise their two daughters, Kirsty and Annie. Their income is as limited as their prospects, with only the church and Evangelical Minister Maciver to provide the guidance of a vengeful Lord. Carrying the Bible with her at all times to avoid the unforgiving glances of neighbors who don’t hide their disapproval of reading material that isn’t about Jesus, Kirsty has the larger dreams of the adventures contained in the books she secretly explores. Kirsty sees beyond the limits of her island and dreams big in this village of small ideas. A beauty, she is sought after and resented by the young men who pursue her unsuccessfully. The notable exception is Murdo Macaulay, a handsome youth who shares her dreams. Murdo, an aspiring poet, introduces Kirsty to the works of Robert Frost, sent to him by his uncle in New York. We are allowed to glimpse at the page he shows her from “The Road Not Taken.” Someday, he tells her, they should leave Scotland for the United States and expand their horizons and possibilities; they’ll take that road “less traveled by” together.

But sometimes dreams are cut short and abandoned for right and wrong reasons. It is 1916 and World War I is still raging, necessitating universal conscription. All the young men of the village are called up. But before they report, Murdo and Kirsty express their undying love and hopes for their future. The town sponsors a Road Dance to commemorate the departure of the boys, because they are little more than that, and the act that will upend and come close to destroying Kirsty’s life occurs. Everything that happens on this fateful night will have a shattering effect on Kirsty’s life as Murdo disappears into the Western Front. “The Road Dance” is Kirsty’s story of sorrow, perseverance and growth with the solid support of her family. It would be unfair to reveal any more.

Moving deliberately, Adams paints his characters in the muted colors of the harsh landscape. They have been trapped voluntarily on this isle for generations, fisherman and subsistence farmers, eking out a living far from the noise of the mainland. As mistrustful of one another as they are supportive, most of them see no farther than the next winter. Kirsty and Murdo are different; they dream of other lands, lands that have been seen by the town doctor, Dr. Maclean, who landed there from London.

As much a character as the people themselves, cinematographer Petra Komer has painted the wind-swept hills, rocky landscape and rough waters, much like the scenes in the gothic tale of “Wuthering Heights,” to help tell this story. The choppiness of the gray waves hitting the black cliffs serves to underscore the dangers of fishing in these waters where so many have perished. Struggling against the wind, the difficulty of living in the poorly heated sod roofed cabins is clear. Dialogue is unnecessary to enhance the dangers and highlight the simple joys of village life. The brighter colors of the road dance are offset by the ochres of the adjacent countryside, each symbolic. The occasional glimpses of life on the front in Europe serve to illustrate that life on the island is, despite its limited offerings, a safe haven from the difficulties faced abroad, including the mainland of Scotland. But as distant as the war is, it will have an outsized impact on Kirsty and all the others who remained at home.

The day-to-day lives of Kirsty and those around her begin slowly but build, not to a fever pitch, but to an absorbing resignation and understanding of the status quo. Kirsty, previously curious, has acquiesced to her surroundings. The secrets she carries have weighed her down and all but extinguished her previous dreams. You feel the weight of this seclusion as Kirsty trudges down the paths delivering eggs and baked goods to her neighbors. Still, there are glimpses of sunshine in the heavy weather and you go with Kirsty toward an as yet unseen rainbow after the storm.

The casting is pitch perfect, filled with people who are more well known as supporting players in independent movies and British television series. Perhaps the best-known actor in the movie is Mark Gatiss, a well-respected theater actor who is recognizable from “Sherlock,” a series he created. Gatiss brings warmth and a bit of mystery to the character of Doctor Maclean. His apparently small supporting role is anything but. Morven Christie (Mairi) has had important roles in a number of British television series, most prominently as the love interest in “Grantchester.” As Mairi, Kirsty’s mother, she embraces all the emotions of a widow who must nurture a daughter she doesn’t entirely understand.

Will Fletcher, in his very first feature role, plays Murdo with a 19th-century romantic understanding of what the world is capable of being, especially if he can have the love of his life, Kirsty, an equal at his side. Dreamy-eyed without ever being saccharine or sentimental, he is able to embrace a larger world than the one he has and instill that feeling into his love.

Finally, there is Hermione Corfield as Kirsty, upon whose shoulders the entire film rests; she does not disappoint. Her pretty, slightly asymmetric face and large eyes are filled with warmth and intelligence. She is as adept at playing tragedy as she is at displaying hope. She makes you care for her and her outcome, despite the boulders strewn in her path. This film should help establish her as an actress who belongs closer to the top of the credits than she has been in the past.

“The Road Dance” is well worth a turn on the dance floor, delivering nicely on the time you invest in these characters and their situation.

Opening Oct. 13 at the Laemmle Royal. 

Neely Swanson spent most of her professional career in the television industry, almost all of it working for David E. Kelley. In her last full-time position as Executive Vice President of Development, she reviewed writer submissions and targeted content for adaptation. As she has often said, she did book reports for a living. For several years, she was a freelance writer for “Written By,” the magazine of the WGA West, and was adjunct faculty at USC in the writing division of the School of Cinematic Arts. Neely has been writing film and television reviews for the “Easy Reader” for more than 10 years. Her past reviews can be read on Rotten Tomatoes where she is a tomato-approved critic.

The post The Road Dance—Difficult Steps appeared first on Beverly Hills Courier.

The Northwest Passage has an allure that has captivated travelers and explorers for hundreds of years. Captain Cook approached the Passage from the west in 1776, making one wrong turn after another and never quite got past what we now know as the Bering Strait. Recognizing the value of a shorter passage across North America, the British continued to fund expeditions, the most famous of which was in 1845, led by Sir John Franklin, a marginally qualified, under-funded and poorly prepared naval officer. Full speed ahead in two ill-suited ships, he made it farther than most before disappearing. His ships became mired in ice and eventually all crew died of a combination of scurvy, starvation, exposure and, as it turns out, lead poisoning from their canned goods. After his disappearance, rewards offered by the government and the tabloid press attracted a massive search. Although most of the buccaneers who followed in pursuit died, the end result was a more complete map of the Northwest Passage waterways. It wasn’t until many years later, in 1906, that Norwegian explorer Roald Amundsen triumphed in traversing the passage. Amundsen, with a small ship and a crew of six, often having to winter over when his ship became ice-bound, interacted with the native Inuit, something the Brits refused to do. From them he learned how to survive the winters and how dogs could be used to traverse the ice (a technique he would use successfully in becoming the first to land at the South Pole). Cruising the Northwest Passage in luxury is a very recent phenomenon.

Our trip began in Reykjavik, Iceland, a truly charming and interesting location offering tectonic plates, massive fjords and glaciers, geysers and beautiful waterfalls. From there, we were flown to Kangerlussuaq, Greenland to board our ship, the Seabourn Venture. Kangerlussuaq, a desolate spot on the sea where the remains of the World War Two air force base are still visible, did, however, give us an introduction to the kinds of glaciers we would see throughout the cruise. So much of this very brown landscape was created by the silt deposited by the glaciers pulled by gravity inexorably to the sea.

Our first port stop was in Sisimiut, 24 miles north of the Arctic Circle. That it is the second largest city, 5,600, gives you an idea of the sparse population spread out over 836,300 square miles, 80% of which is ice. We toured the village with its colorful buildings, each color signifying a specific purpose: Blue – fishing; Grey – community government; Yellow – schools; and Red – historic preservation. It rained incessantly and foolishly forgoing our “wet” wear, the protective overpants worn for landings, we returned soaked to the gills. Luckily each stateroom had a “warming” closet equipped with a high powered towel warmer where we could hang our clothes and set our shoes out to dry.

Our next stop, and in retrospect my favorite, was Ilulissat, located on a fjord. It has been populated for 4,000 years, but the story of the Inuit migration from Siberia over millennia is another story entirely.  It is not coincidental that Ilulissat in Greenlandic means iceberg because it is home to the Jakobshavn Glacier that produces 10% of all the Greenlandic icebergs. Learning from our previous mistake, this time we layered up properly, beginning with a pair of woolen socks followed by long underwear, over which I added a pair of ponte pants and another pair of socks. Then came the base layer T under a turtleneck nylon shirt topped with a cotton T; nylon rain pants were pulled on over the bottom layers which would then be pulled over rubber boots. Finally the bright orange winter parka, lined with another jacket, a wool beanie and warm gloves finished the look. 

One enters Ilulissat through the mandible of a whale, much like a bower greeting the many passengers that stop there. The smell of fish permeates the air where halibut and turbot are the big exports. Walking south to the Ice Fjord Center, Dore Mandrup’s gorgeous undulating building nestled into the hillside, we climbed up the roof for our first view of the fjord’s icebergs. A long wooden boardwalk leads most of the way down to the Kangia icefjord through yellow tundra speckled with tiny red flowers. A mud and rock path leads the rest of the way. The sheer expanse of the icebergs, riddled with fissures and literally sculpted into unearthly shapes, is breathtaking. Later that afternoon we returned for a boat tour. Zipping around the icebergs, the captain asked if we’d like to see whales. There’s only one answer to that question and we began to follow the gulls that flew overhead, a sure sign of the presence of whales who are a harbinger of fish. We soon found ourselves in the midst of an area brimming with humpbacks playing, flapping their white flippers, and waving their tails as they pec slapped mere feet from the tiny trawler.

The Karrat Fjord was our final Greenlandic excursion where we sailed between two glacier land masses that are over 150 million years old. Careening around the myriad-shaped icebergs in our zodiac (a 12 passenger rubberized motor boat), occasionally reaching down to touch or bring an iced tidbit aboard, something for which Martha Steward was vilified that very morning.

Crossing Baffin Bay to the Nunavut Territories and the Canadian Arctic Archipelago, we left Greenland, arriving in Pond Inlet, an Inuit village with no visible source of income. Although the waters are rich with Arctic char and cod, the fish are not exported globally like they are from other Nunavut villages. There is a modest industry of hunting and fishing tourism for the polar bears and caribou that populate the hills. This is a very isolated and private area where photography of residents is restricted and in some cases forbidden, something that is probably true of all Inuit cultures and villages. Our walk through town revealed a very barren landscape and neighborhoods of manufactured homes. Accompanied everywhere by a local villager, ostensibly to protect us from cars (of which there were very few), all roads led to the community center where a show was staged for us, narrated by a local woman who explained the significance of what we watched. Demonstrations included the “lip pull” (exactly what it implies) contest and the amazing “throat singing.”

On Philpots Island, we toured the icebergs and shore by zodiac as our guide, Peter, gave us a lesson in global warming as he explained that as the ice cap increasingly melts, the water level and temperature rises. That afternoon, climbing on land, we saw several walruses as we explored the tundra and rocky hills that yielded great views of the surrounding islands.

Croker Bay, a fjord on the south coast of Devon Island, was where we had our first polar bear sighting. Sighting may be a slight exaggeration since the bear was a tiny dot. Through the GSS (Gyro-Stabilized System), the ship’s super high powered camera capable of zooming in on distant objects, it looked like a giant white anteater with long legs, nose to the ground searching for food in the barren landscape. Looking forward to the zodiac ride that would follow the bear along his shoreline excursion, we had to keep a considerable distance between the zodiac and the land because these lumbering creatures are surprisingly agile, fast, graceful and capable of swimming swiftly for prey. And that’s what we were in our zodiac—the bottom half of an Eskimo Pie.

Next stop was Beechey Island, famous for its role in the Franklin expedition. It was here that the graves of several seamen from his ill-fated trip were buried, headstones marking the graves. Recent exhumation revealed a great deal about their lives, cut short, as suspected, by the aforementioned scurvy, starvation, lead poisoning and exposure. It’s difficult walking terrain with no growth, just rocks, shiny pebbles and some ancient coral reef riddled with lichen but worth it for the views of its yellow-gray buttes reminiscent of Arizona’s Monument Valley;  sheer cliffs of rock slabs with pebble slides cutting through them. Beechey Island was also the scene of my greatest humiliation as I tried to lift my leg over a pebbled shelf and fell forward in slow motion. Immobile, dressed like Randy in “A Christmas Story,” only my pride was hurt as I needed the help of three people to pull me up.

The first of several days at sea began promisingly enough with a pod of bowhead whales in the distance, recognized by their spouting. But that’s all we got, blows. Truly they were teasing us because they put on a water spray show worthy of the Bellagio Hotel.

Closer to shore, as we passed through the Bellot Strait, there was another polar bear sighting in the distance. They could have been small white rocks, but wishful thinking made them bears. As the temperature dropped, everyone moved indoors from the observation deck, some heading for cocoa and others for the lecture on the doomed Franklin expedition when the announcement went out that musk ox had been sighted on land. We, the now jaded passengers, knew to head to the ship’s cameras in the observation deck. Seen on the GSS , they looked like brown buffalo dripping in fur.

Continuing around the Nunavut Territory on our way through Coningham Bay on Prince of Wales Island, we are delighted to see three polar bears—a mother on land and two cubs frolicking in the water. Clearly mom was looking for some quiet time away from the kids who would be staying by her side for three years. Farther to the left, three more adult bears appeared. The afternoon zodiac ride was very eventful as we got an up close and personal view of more bears, one of which was deader than a doornail, lying on his back, massive paws in the air. Several previous zodiac guides had informed their passengers that the bear was resting after a big meal, especially because there was a beluga whale carcass close by being pecked by gulls. But no, this bear was going to feast no more. Swinging left in the water, we spied another three bears, the smaller of which had recently laid down. He, too, was a goner by the time we got close (a relative term); he was definitely not moving. The others continued up the hill, leaving their friend behind.

After another day at sea and the endless blue of the water, we landed in Cambridge Bay, population 2,000, the largest of the Inuit towns we would visit. It was here that Roald Amundsen’s historic ship, the Maud, ended up. Bought by the Hudson Bay Company in 1925, it sank in the harbor and was left  in the mud for almost 100 years. Recently a small band of Norwegian “tourists’ rescued it and brought it back to Norway for restoration. The smart bet is that it never returns to Canadian shores and will be permanently displayed in Oslo, near the Fram, the historic vessel that Amundsen used in his successful expedition to the South Pole.

The highlight of Cambridge Bay was the recently completed Canadian Arctic Research Center, a scientific center that conducts research on all plant and animal life in the polar regions. It was also here in the bay that the Martin Bergmann, the ship used by the Arctic Research Foundation (ARF), was docked. The ARF recently discovered the long lost “Terror,” one of the two ships in Franklin’s ill-fated attempt to cross the passage. Ironically, the “Terror” was found beneath Terror Bay. Had anyone asked the Inuits in the region, they’d have found the ships long ago. Had Franklin asked their advice, he might have lived.

Continuing along the shore of Victoria Island, we visited Johansen Bay by zodiac. Overcast and cold, we were treated to the sight of two whiskered seals frolicking in the choppy water. The rock strata on shore were magnificent, manifesting many colors. As the weather became more threatening, our zodiac guide Sierra, a California girl with degrees in arctic ocean sea life and archeology, booked it back to the ship. Husband Larry, sitting in the bow, was soaked from head to toe, despite his rain gear. The afternoon was spent on Edinburgh Island where the flora and lichen were exceptionally bright and, like Johansen Bay, the rock strata exhibited many colors. An ambitious group of hikers working their way up the hill spotted a grizzly bear in the distance (actually a brown dot that was eventually revealed by high power photography to be a bear).

A dense fog settled in, preventing us from seeing the famous Smoking Hills, a natural phenomenon caused by sulfuric ponds and smoking rocks. The fog lasted several days, a monotonous gray over choppy waves. Finally, on the morning of September 14, close to the end of the tour, we opened our curtains to find sun and a horizon in view; even better, a sea of small ice, more cubes than floes, appeared, making it more scenic for those hardy souls to take the polar plunge scheduled for later in the day. Hardy, in this case, is a euphemism for anyone crazy enough to jump into 31 degree water primed only with a shot of vodka and an awaiting sauna several decks up. It would turn out that it was even too cold to watch from our balcony. My idea of adventure is binoculars in one hand and a tumbler of Grey Goose in the other.

This day was magical for reasons other than watching people jump into ice cold water. We were soon treated to the sight of families of walruses lined up on the ice floes, visible to the naked eye but better seen through binoculars. Their large brown bodies looked like fat blobs on the ice; groups huddled together keeping warm 100 miles from shore. Due to the shallow depth (47 meters), it was a prime feeding area. The ship was able to maneuver silently toward them to give us a better look. A polar bear eventually popped into view, necessitating a move and delay of the polar plunge. Later that evening, a pod of gray whales was spotted off the bow. Although it was 10:15 pm, they could still be seen spouting and occasionally tail slapping.

The next day we spotted a couple of humpback whales. Avoiding the observation decks, we went up to the Bridge where we were the only civilians with a bird’s eye view of the whales, receiving a personal running commentary by one of the in-house photographers. It was really special and informative and believe me, a whole lot warmer. That evening we left the drapes open, hoping for the Northern Lights, nirvana to Arctic travelers. Roused from a sound sleep at 1:00 am, the hoped for announcement came that the Northern Lights could be spotted. Groggily rising from bed and throwing on a robe and slippers, we ventured out on our veranda where above, a green haze filled the sky.

These three weeks were a slow motion riot of all things promised — whales, walruses, seals, polar bears, magnificent land formations, historical sites and peoples, cultural education and Northern Lights. We saw climate change close up in its most undeniable form. The experience of passing where so many tried and failed is extraordinary. So is the realization that what we experienced is not only irreplaceable, but also disappearing fast. You become part of history.

Neely Swanson spent most of her professional career in the television industry, almost all of it working for David E. Kelley. In her last full-time position as Executive Vice President of Development, she reviewed writer submissions and targeted content for adaptation. As she has often said, she did book reports for a living. For several years she was a freelance writer for “Written By,” the magazine of the WGA West, and was adjunct faculty at USC in the writing division of the School of Cinematic Arts. Neely has been writing film and television reviews for the “Easy Reader” for more than 10 years. Her past reviews can be read on Rotten Tomatoes where she is a tomato-approved critic.

The post Northwest Passage appeared first on Beverly Hills Courier.

There is so little I can actually reveal without spoiling some of the fun, because it is fun in a chilling way. The lynchpin of this diabolical story is a young woman who works at an anchovy packaging plant. Is it ironically fitting that her specific job is to place the sliced olives on the finished product before the tin is sealed? Think of it as the cherry on top except this sundae is smelly, tedious and repetitive. It’s no wonder that she longs for a better life than what she has, the one that just seems to be headed down an execrable slide toward oblivion.

Her longing for connection is reflected both in her relationship with her girlfriend, an inmate at the local prison, and her dependence on her landlady from whom she rents a room. But such small pleasures are fleeting. Her girlfriend has a tendency toward hostility and our “heroine” steps around the cause and effect of this love affair. The yardbird is there because she threw over her previous amour; threw over as in a balcony, and her anger management skills have not gotten much better. The tension is palpable and the rewards seem minimal, at least from our point of view. And the landlady? Despite their obvious closeness, our protagonist has been given the boot with essentially no notice. The landlady’s estranged daughter has lost her job in a neighboring town and despite their mutual antipathy she wants her room back. Blood is thicker than water, or at least it’s thicker than the attachment she feels toward her renter and out she goes, rolling suitcase trailing behind her. Respite, no matter how temporary, is at the apartment of a very reluctant friend. Charm is her secret weapon and she has a small network of previous associates who have a hard time saying no despite prior experience.

The sympathy she engenders has not led to the deep ties she so clearly needs and wants, but that will soon change when she enters the magnetic sphere of the wealthy and highly dysfunctional Dumontet family. And that is where I must end all further story points, instead focusing on the elements that make this thriller so effective.

For story, Marnier and Burdino have channeled the great noir thriller novelist Patricia Highsmith known for her mean streak, whose specialty was a deep dive into the off-kilter psyches of her characters, both the hunters and the prey. For direction, Marnier has created an homage to Hitchcock highlighting the black comedy elements found within the threatening situations faced and created by our pretty little anchovy packer.

The cinematographer, Romain Carcanade, varies his color palette according to situation and location. The packing plant is bleak and dreary; you can smell the fish aromas that she tries so hard to wash away. The streets traversed by our protagonist are dark and ominous, highlighting the differences between the living conditions of the laborers in the working-class neighborhoods of Hyères, a Mediterranean city so near and yet so far from the Riviera of St. Tropez and Cannes, and the bright colors of the yachts, beaches and villas of Porquerolles, the wealthy island a short ferry ride away and home to the Dumontet family that figures so importantly in this story. The underlying score underpins the ever-present tension.

But wealthy or poor, no one is content. As one character exclaims, “Family is a poison in your blood.” Everyone is in a prison either created by society or by oneself. And family is everything.

Reluctant to reveal plot points, I am happy to share information on the fantastic cast assembled by Marnier. Each of the characters portrayed by these actors is pivotal as the story lurches from one related arc to another. Every supporting role is a puzzle piece that plays an important part in understanding the main character.

Suzanne Clément plays the prison inmate whose reckless behavior and insecurity manifests itself in bursts of anger that unhinge her and her girlfriend. It is her character’s inability to control her emotions that reveals the volcano about to erupt upon which so much will depend. She effectively subverts her natural beauty with the anger that explodes.

Doria Tillier, George, the willowy eldest daughter in the Dumontet family, is a beautiful, seething tornado of anger; an exterminating angel determined to wreak havoc and vengeance for sins of the father. Tillier, seemingly going over the top for the retribution she demands, manifests a cold control that becomes clearer and clearer as the story progresses. Véronique Ruggia is Agnès the factotum and spy for the distaff side of the Dumontet family. A servant, but one with a mysterious hold over her mistress, she’s lurking around every corner waiting to pounce on the unsuspecting. Her dark scowl and off-kilter gait add weight to the ominous nature of this thriller, while the overall awkwardness of her character contributes to the black humor.

Her employer, Madame Louise Dumontet, is played by Dominique Blanc whose long career has included “Angels in America,” the TV series “Versailles,” and numerous César (the French equivalent of the Academy Award) nominations and wins over the years. Blanc, who has channeled the look and demeanor of both Bette Davis in “Whatever Happened to Baby Jane” and Gloria Swanson at the end of  “Sunset Boulevard,” excavates the neediness of a neglected wife whose mania manifests itself in an addiction to the Home Shopping Network and the inappropriate dress of a woman long past the age of transparent attire. Watch for the moment when she is on the phone excoriating a customer service representative as she forcefully demands the delivery of a long overdue state of the art treadmill, an apparatus to be added to all the other purchases that remain unopened. The mere thought of this overwrought woman in grand Guignol makeup stepping onto a piece of exercise equipment in her backless slippers and diaphanous peignoir is one of many chokingly funny moments that center on her. But more importantly, she is the most sympathetic character in the film, one who understands much more than is acknowledged and displays a remarkable amount of empathy.

Jacques Weber as Serge, the patriarch of the Dumontet family, is the fulcrum on which the entire mystery hinges. Charming, diabolical, hated by his daughter George, tolerated by his quietly crazy wife, and displaying signs of dementia (or is he?), Weber skillfully and convincingly is the off-center soulless heart around which all things move.

But there is no film without Laure Calamy, the protagonist about whom I dare say nothing. You may recognize Calamy from her role as an assistant in “Call My Agent.” She is an actress who subtly, quietly but assuredly becomes the person you can’t ignore. Her piercing eyes, as likely to convey hope and joy as they are to show terror and insecurity, tight lips that open into a tentative smile, and lovely nose that doesn’t quite fit with the rest of her features contribute to an overall look that is just short of conventional beauty. Her soft voice and awkward movement add to the feeling that she doesn’t and never will quite fit in or be in control. And that is the beauty of her performance because she’s both more and less than she appears. This creepily absorbing movie would be nothing without her presence, a presence that seeps into the pores of this film. She is the very definition of a tightly-wound cable that is constantly on the verge of unraveling. Calamy is an actress whose performances have a habit of sneaking up on you but they are highly regarded as measured by her starring roles on stage and her César nominations, one each year since 2018 including a win in 2021.

Pay close attention to every detail because every minor piece of dialogue, seemingly like a passing glance, reveals a key to the puzzle that is “The Origin of Evil.”

In French with excellent subtitles.

Opening September 22 at the Alamo Drafthouse downtown and the Laemmle NoHo. Also available on VOD. 

Neely Swanson spent most of her professional career in the television industry, almost all of it working for David E. Kelley. In her last full-time position as Executive Vice President of Development, she reviewed writer submissions and targeted content for adaptation. As she has often said, she did book reports for a living. For several years she was a freelance writer for “Written By,” the magazine of the WGA West, and was adjunct faculty at USC in the writing division of the School of Cinematic Arts. Neely has been writing film and television reviews for the “Easy Reader” for more than 10 years. Her past reviews can be read on Rotten Tomatoes where she is a tomato-approved critic.

The post “The Origin of Evil” – A Fitting End appeared first on Beverly Hills Courier.

“Only Murders in the Building: Season 3”

They’re back and they’ve got another murder to solve. Almost two murders because following up on last season’s finale, Oliver (Martin Short) has been given the opportunity to bring a play to Broadway and nobody can murder theater like he can. He hires Charles (Steve Martin) as one of the characters, which will bring its own challenges, not to mention quirky producers and casting issues. With her partners in podcasting otherwise occupied, Mabel (Selena Gomez) feels abandoned, especially because her aunt has sold the apartment in the Arconia out from under her.

Oliver has the good fortune to have action superstar Co-Bro himself, Ben Glenroy, as his lead, something that is both a blessing and a curse. A jerk of the first order, it’s not much of a spoiler to let you know that he’s not long for this world and there are plenty of people who would have liked to see him gone. Joy (Andrea Martin) makes another appearance as Charles’ girlfriend and the always hilarious Jackie Hoffman as Uma, the building busybody, does not disappoint. The stunt casting is extraordinary, exceeding the previous seasons. Paul Rudd (Ben) made an appearance at the end of the last season, but nothing can top the casting of Meryl Streep as an actress auditioning for Oliver’s play who ends up playing a major role in his life. Playing an actress who’s never quite made it, she is hilarious when she’s bad.

John Hoffman and the other writers have to be faithful to the franchise that they’ve created and try to hew to the pattern already established but, excellent actors notwithstanding, this particular series of episodes feels bloated and even more over the top than before.

Fans of the series will stay with it, but, for me, most of the magic is gone.

The first two episodes streamed Aug. 8 on Hulu, with subsequent episodes appearing weekly after that.

“Harlan Coben’s Shelter”—Hide and Seek

Harlan Coben, mystery writer par excellence, is known for his convoluted plots, strong characters and endless red herrings that have nothing to do with the solution of the mystery. “Shelter,” the miniseries, definitely has very strong characters and enough convoluted plots to keep your head spinning. 

Mickey Bolitar has been sent to live with his unmarried paternal Aunt Shira in New Jersey after the horrific traffic accident that killed his father and sent his mother to a long-term rehab facility. The family had just moved to California after living in Europe for Mickey’s entire life. New Jersey is a major culture shock. As the new kid in town, he is on the outside looking in but so is recent transfer student Ashley Kent and they bond immediately. Arthur Spindell aka Spoon, resident nerd, adopts Mickey and the goth Ema gets brought along against her will. When Ashley mysteriously disappears, this oddball trio starts investigating. Their hunt will take them to the local haunted mansion and its mysterious owner, not so affectionately called the Bat Lady. Along the way they will stumble on the case of the boy who vanished 20 years before, something that makes everyone even more wary of Ashley’s disappearance. But this is high school with all the drama it entails. So, add jealousy and envy to the already raging hormones.

Most of the episodes were written by Coben and his daughter Charlotte. The cast is outstanding, led by Jaden Michael as Mickey Bolitar. His accomplices in mystery solving are Abby Corrigan as Ema and Adrian Greensmith as Spoon, and both of them grow on you. Brian Altemus is Troy, Mickey’s nemesis and Sage Linder plays his girlfriend and head cheerleader Rachel. The grownups are an especially stellar group led by Constance Zimmer as Shira, Missi Pyle as Hannah Taylor, Didi Conn the chirpily cheerful teacher with a secret, and the well-disguised Tova Feldshuh as Bat Lady. 

Although not a fan of Coben’s work—hard to follow—I found myself hooked by the third episode and you probably will be too. Sometimes it’s just fun to be totally lost in something. 

Eight episodes streaming on Amazon Prime. 

“Crime is Her Game”

Mismatched police detectives are a familiar genre, but mismatched distaff partners are often more interesting. “Cagney and Lacey” was the best of this category. The Brits have used this dynamic successfully in “Murder in Suburbia” and in one of my personal favorites, “Scott & Bailey.” Like “Cagney and Lacey,” those two British shows also played on the privileged vs. streetwise cop pairs, something that  “Crime is Her Game,” the new French language series on MHz does very well. 

Gaby Molina, an up from the lower ranks police captain, prefers going solo. She is not pleased when her boss assigns Lieutenant Celine Richer, recently transferred from Paris, to be her partner. Celine’s elite background as a lawyer-turned cop who insists on following all the rules, grates on Gaby’s streetwise sensibilities cutting whatever corners are necessary to get the job done, including overlooking the criminal activities of her best snitch, Vargas, an unreliable source if ever there was one. Like most series, some of the episodes are better than others, but it’s the characters that have you coming back.

The casting is excellent with Claudia Tagbo especially engaging as Captain Molina. Besides her police work, she is trying to make a go of the farm she inherited from her adoptive parents. Lucky for her, she has a dog who can sniff out the truffles that keep her from going under in the agriculture game. A Black actress primarily known for comedy, she has the presence and timing to lead the ensemble. Hélène Seuzaret plays Céline as the uptight partner with a secret. Bruno Lochet is hilarious as Vargas the snitch who is always looking out for his own best interests, often scamming Gaby until she knocks the wind out of his schemes. 

In French with English subtitles,

Streaming on MHz Choice 

“The Other Black Girl”

Zakiya Dalila Harris’s delicious twisty-turny novel, “The Other Black Girl” is now a delightfully edgy 10-part limited series. Nella (Sinclair Daniel), an assistant at Wagner Books, aspires to be an editor. She’s talented, fast, smart and accomplished. Nella has made tremendous headway and is on track to become Wagner’s second Black editor in more than 25 years. Then into the office arrives the beautiful and mysterious Hazel (Ashleigh Murray), the other Black girl, who immediately charms all she meets in ways beyond Nella’s comprehension. Even company owner Richard (Eric McCormack) falls under her spell.

Hazel, looking to Nella as her touchstone, encourages Nella to be true to herself and her work, pushing her to be honest about the new book she’s been assigned to give notes on. But this is not just any book, this is a book by Wagner’s cash cow Colin and it’s incredibly racist in tone. Nella, conflicted, goes to her boss Vera for advice and that advice is to put her concerns aside and compliment their lead author for his brilliant work. Hazel, having read the book, pushes Nella to be honest in her assessment. And this is where things get sticky. Nella points out the troublesome aspects in the editorial meeting and Hazel publicly disagrees with her. In one fell swoop, Nella’s promotion possibilities have taken a nosedive and she now has a rival rather than an ally in the office.

The writers, including Harris, have found a way to ground this series in issues of racism, trust, competition, office politics and betrayal in ways that make this a thriller that keeps you watching until the end. I would have preferred a less bloated series (it’s at least two episodes too long) but it works well enough and the ending is particularly satisfying, 

Streaming all 10 episodes Sept. 13 on Hulu. 

“The Swarm”

Based on the bestselling novel by Frank Schätzing, “The Swarm” is an ambitious international production. Deadly attacks are happening around the world in the ocean. The CW released only one episode for review but it’s a thriller. It’s man versus the sea and man is not coming out ahead. Opening on an Indigenous fisherman entering the sea in a reed dugout equipped only with a net, he paddles out and casts his fishnet off the side of his boat. Feeling a tug, he realizes that it’s caught on something, and he must untangle it or lose a valuable piece of equipment and a day’s work. Diving down, he finds the mesh has caught on rocks. As he pulls out his knife and begins the process to free it, a school of fish circles him, forming a funnel…fade to black. The scene immediately switches to Vancouver Island where an Orca has washed up on shore. Riddled with slashes, it has been killed by fishermen trying to protect their boat from an attack by the Orca who had repeatedly rammed it, causing damage that endangered their lives. This is very atypical behavior. Sea life throughout the world is behaving mysteriously. Fast cutting between Marine Biology stations in Germany, Canada and England, bizarre occurrences are threatening the lives and livelihoods of those who work and inhabit the waters. Is this the aftereffect of increasing pollution and climate change? Is there something more sinister occurring?

The cast, as international as the storylines, is a panoply of stars you may or may not know, including Cécile de France as Dr. Cécile Roche and Barbara Sukowa as Prof. Katherina Lehmann. The direction of the first episode is taut and moves so quickly that you may miss some details but you won’t miss the overall feeling of foreboding. Composer Dascha Dauenhauer has created a score that is reminiscent of John Williams’ music from “Jaws” in the psychological unease that it triggers with certain melodic threads. If the rest of the episodes live up to the pilot, this will be a must-see adventure where nothing less than the world itself is in danger.

Premiered Sept. 5 on the CW, with episodes are released weekly at 9 p.m.  

Neely Swanson spent most of her professional career in the television industry, almost all of it working for David E. Kelley. In her last full-time position as Executive Vice President of Development, she reviewed writer submissions and targeted content for adaptation. As she has often said, she did book reports for a living. For several years she was a freelance writer for “Written By,” the magazine of the WGA West, and was adjunct faculty at USC in the writing division of the School of Cinematic Arts. Neely has been writing film and television reviews for the “Easy Reader” for more than 10 years. Her past reviews can be read on Rotten Tomatoes where she is a tomato-approved critic.

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An opening montage of archival news clips travels quickly over highlights of Israeli history. We witness its birth in 1948, punctuated by the many Egyptian invasions and ceasefires leading up to the lightning speed vanquishing of Israel’s Arab enemies from Egypt, Syria and Jordan in the Six-Day War of 1967. Israel’s stunning David versus Goliath victory was credited to legendary military leader Moshe Dayan. But there was to be another war, sooner than Israeli leadership anticipated, and it is that war and Golda Meir’s role as Prime Minister that is the subject of the biopic “Golda” directed by Guy Nattiv and starring Helen Mirren.

In 1974, Golda was called to testify in front of the Agranat Commission to justify her actions during the Yom Kippur War of 1973, a war that caught the Israeli government completely unprepared. Using this inquisition as a framework for the film, the viewer is taken into committee meetings where the possibility of an Arab invasion is discussed. The spy agency has had many indications that the Egyptians and Syrians were amassing weapons at the borders but the cabinet is skeptical. Dayan is in favor of only the most minimal protective measures. The disagreements are heated with General David “Dado” Elazar who favors full mobilization.

With a bird’s eye view of the inner workings and disagreements in such a high-powered cabinet led by a woman whose role in the birth of Israel was legendary, one would expect a feeling of urgency and foreboding. And therein lies one of the many problems with this film. It is the eve of Yom Kippur, the highest and most somber of holidays, and there is every evidence that an attack is imminent. Instead, you would think the cabinet was discussing the price of wheat in Russia.

Trailed constantly by her personal assistant Lou Kaddar, Golda is never without a cigarette. Chastened by her doctor for the personal habits endangering her life—cigarettes, coffee and lack of exercise—she is passive and unmoved. When faced with rivals and supporters alike in the cabinet, she is passive and unmoved.

At this critical juncture in the life of Israel, when unthinkable defeat is possible because they were caught off guard, we are treated to never-ending shots of Golda walking slowly down narrow corridors. In lieu of dialogue expressing her anxiety, we are given close-ups of Golda wringing her hands.

Golda Meir, a leader in the free world, one of the architects of her country, was renowned for her steely attitude and straightforward approach through crises. Nowhere is any of this steeliness in evidence. This was the woman who ordered the Mossad to hunt down and assassinate the leaders of Black September, the terrorist group that massacred members of the Israeli Olympic squad in Munich. Diplomatic when necessary, she made clear her displeasure with leaders who crossed her, like the Austrian Chancellor who closed a Jewish Agency transit center under pressure from Palestinian terrorists. A passing reference is made about her anger with Austria but it is given no context.

But it is not just Golda who is given short shrift. Moshe Dayan, the military genius who led Israel to defeat their Arab enemies in the Six-Day War, the spoils of which were the Sinai Desert and the Golan Heights, shows none of the characteristics that made him so influential. Dayan, the Minister of Defense under Golda, is silent and almost jocular in his dismissal of the threat of war on Yom Kippur. He is the polar opposite of “Dado” Elazar, the General who vocally advocates for a full deployment of the army against what he is sure is the buildup to war.

General Elazar, as a character, comes off considerably better. A forceful advocate for his position, he is proven right. His relationship with Golda is respectful of her position and her advice. The interaction between the two of them almost borders on a viable and convincing portrayal.

Clearly, the film is a disappointment. The script is chock full of clichés and rife with cheap sentimentality. Illustrative is this line at the beginning of the war as the Egyptians continued to advance into Israeli territory: “The enemy has tasted blood. We are fighting for our lives.” This is a statement that comes under the category of the bleeding obvious. But it may be unfair to blame so much of it on the scribe, Nicholas Martin, a successful television writer with one feature to his credit. That film was “Florence Foster Jenkins,” and, like this film, was full of flat dialogue and wasted its primary assets, Meryl Streep and Hugh Grant.

Director Guy Nattiv failed to capitalize on all the advantages he was given. Performance and script were hampered by the slow pace he used throughout. As already mentioned, there was no sense of urgency, even when it looked like the war might be lost. He had his Golda endlessly walking the same hallways. Purposeful or not, there is little drama in a meander down a corridor. Nattiv was endlessly looking for the shot and forgot to find the emotion. Yes, Golda smoked a lot, but it’s not a point-of-view shot. Smoke might be a metaphor for what was going on but he needed to frame it better. He would try trick shots like the one of an upside-down desk, a package of “Missile” cigarettes (seriously?) or the top of Golda’s head. Because of the languorous pacing, performance was missing. It’s tough to express anxiety verbally when you can drive a truck through the interactions.

The score by Dascha Dauenhauer is completely unmemorable and fails to underpin the action. Perhaps because this was filmed entirely on sound stages (unless I’m very much mistaken) there is little of note in the cinematography and production design.

It is the makeup that is most notable for the multiple prostheses worn by Helen Mirren in an attempt to resemble Golda Meir at that stage of her life. One would think that it might be the facial aspects that would be the most distracting but they’re not. It’s the exaggerated leg add-ons that overwhelm the look Nattiv was trying to achieve.

But let’s take a moment to discuss the elephant in the room—the casting of Helen Mirren as Golda Meir. She was not the first non-Jew to portray Golda. Such luminaries as Anne Bancroft, Judy Davis, Ingrid Bergman and Colleen Dewhurst have all portrayed her on stage and screen. It’s not a question of who but of how well. We will never know whether Helen Mirren could have been a viable Meir because this film fails to deliver on so many levels. It is possible she is chosen as a bankable star because most of the cast were Israeli or British actors with whom most of the audience will be unacquainted. The exceptions to this were Camille Cotton (“Call My Agent”) as Golda’s assistant who trails after her with cigarettes, Henry Goodman (“Woman in Gold”), the chairman of the Agranat Committee, and Liev Schreiber (“Ray Donovan”), a laconic Henry Kissinger. But they, like everyone else, were not given viable characters to perform.

Now playing at the AMC Century City.

Neely Swanson spent most of her professional career in the television industry, almost all of it working for David E. Kelley. In her last full-time position as Executive Vice President of Development, she reviewed writer submissions and targeted content for adaptation. As she has often said, she did book reports for a living. For several years she was a freelance writer for “Written By,” the magazine of the WGA West, and was adjunct faculty at USC in the writing division of the School of Cinematic Arts. Neely has been writing film and television reviews for the “Easy Reader” for more than 10 years. Her past reviews can be read on Rotten Tomatoes where she is a tomato-approved critic.

The post ‘Golda’ – At War appeared first on Beverly Hills Courier.

Ostensibly about a Home Owners Association (HOA) meeting, I doubt there’s anyone among you who hasn’t experienced the horror of an endless committee meeting, trapping you in a version of hell on earth where, much like the victims of Buñuel’s “Exterminating Angel,’’ you are unable to leave. Havelka takes that and goes from there to the farthest reaches of self-dealing and political ideology.

As a metaphor for the collapse of democratic rule in general, but Czechoslovakia in particular, Havelka assembles the board of a deteriorating co-op apartment building. There are important issues to discuss, but this is the hell of other people as each member fights tooth and nail to block proposals that go against their self-interest. A character study par excellence, each member of the board is painstakingly analyzed for better or for worse and that, in essence, is the entire story. There is no plot, there is no mystery, there is, purely (rather impurely) and simply the disparate characters, each, in his or her own way, representing an aspect of present day society.

The apartment building in question, built during the post-war Soviet era, is badly in need of maintenance and repair. There is no elevator in this seven-floor walk up; the pipes are starting to rot; the electrical wiring is frayed; critters live in the attic and the roof has lost many tiles. But this costs money and the common fund is so limited that it might only cover the replacement of light bulbs in the building hallways. Most of the movie is filmed in one room that becomes more and more claustrophobic as frustrations increase and temperatures rise.

Mrs. Zahrádková (Tereza Ramba), president of the board, has approached this honorary position, one without actual power, idealistically believing that her fellow members will support the common good in upgrading the building and acquiesce to the democratic process. Not entirely naive, she has surreptitiously bribed Mrs. Roubíčková (Klára Melíškov), board parliamentarian, with an expensive bottle of wine (with a cork, not a twist top) so that she will vote with her on the one issue that matters the most to her. Mrs. Zahrádková may be the ostensible leader, but it is Mrs. Roubíčková who has all the power. With her tight lips and hooded eyes, she makes up the rules and executes (emphasis on executes) them as she sees fit.

Each of the other members of the board insist on exercising their rights to block everyone else’s. No doubt suppressed in earlier times, Ms. Horvátová (Dagmar Havlová) will exercise her right to disagree, no matter how illogically, contradicting everyone else without knowledge, context or reason. Mr. Nitranský (Andrej Polák) would like to see an elevator put in, something blocked by Mrs. Procházková (Pavla Tomicová) who lives on the first floor. She, a self-styled entrepreneur in the post-Soviet mold of corrupt oligarchs, but without the means, is always accompanied by her enforcer, a minor gangster who promotes his marginal businesses at every opportunity. Questions about her African renters reveal the horrifically funny racism expressed by almost every participant. This, added to the overtly expressed homophobia toward Nitranský, leaves a jaw-dropping impression. The laughter, as uncomfortable as it might be, is just one more element in the many excruciating moments that follow.

But there are others at this table, others whose votes are equal, like sweet Mr. Švec (David Novotný), a man of indeterminate age but definitely on the far side of the middle, who lives with his mother in their small apartment. But now his aged mother is in a coma at the hospital and it is unlikely that this innocent creature who is a few bricks short of a load has the skill to live on his own. He spends most of his time at the meeting wolfing down sugar and cakes and partaking heartily of the whiskey provided by the Čermák brothers (Kryštof Hádek and Stanislav Majer), the newest owners. And who are they really? And why, one must ask, were they already in the room before the meeting? They are charming and knowledgeable with a courtesy that easily leads to seductive manipulation.

Finally, last but definitely not least, is Mr. Kubát  (Jiří Lábus), the first proprietary tenant and owner of three apartments, only two of which were obtained “legally” from his connections at the housing authority during the Soviet era. Kubát, with his distinctive “hedgehog” haircut, blocks every expenditure and punctuates every sentence with “In my day it wasn’t like this.” He is the perfect embodiment of the reemerging Socialists, tired of the economically failing Democracy that promised much but didn’t come through, as far as the Kubáts of the world were concerned.

Those are the characters, that is the setting. Revealing more of this claustrophobic portrait of a deteriorating microcosm of society would spoil the joy of discovery. It is a film that will definitely make you squirm. Even without the experience of shared ownership, this exercise in futility closely mirrors every committee meeting ever held, whether academic or business, where different viewpoints are squashed and the loudest voice wins. There is never a sense of fulfillment or “enough.”

Remarkably, this was Jiří Havelka’s feature film debut. Known widely in the Czech Republic as a television personality and actor, he set up this movie as a theater piece and filmed it in 10 days. The actors, all extraordinary, anchor this tense exercise in character development realistically and hilariously where the humor is grounded in the seriousness of the low stakes, which may not, after all, be so small. Don’t miss this one!

In Czech with English subtitles.

Opening August 25 at the Laemmle Royal. 

Neely Swanson spent most of her professional career in the television industry, almost all of it working for David E. Kelley. In her last full-time position as Executive Vice President of Development, she reviewed writer submissions and targeted content for adaptation. As she has often said, she did book reports for a living. For several years she was a freelance writer for “Written By,” the magazine of the WGA West, and was adjunct faculty at USC in the writing division of the School of Cinematic Arts. Neely has been writing film and television reviews for the “Easy Reader” for more than 10 years. Her past reviews can be read on Rotten Tomatoes where she is a tomato-approved critic.

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Renowned author Marianne Winckler (Juliette Binoche) has chosen her next project. Leaving the comforts of Paris and traveling to the depressed port of Ouistreham on the coast of Normandy, she goes undercover to investigate the lives of those on the fringes who are barely able to sustain a living working for cleaning companies. Dependent on these jobs to supplement the meager payments they receive from the state, there is stiff competition for these positions, even necessitating training courses. It’s not so much expertise at running a floor polisher that will get them ahead, it’s the ability to clean a hotel room in under five minutes that will keep them employed.

Applying for benefits at the local employment agency, Marianne claims that her husband abandoned her for a younger woman and now refuses to pay support. Although educated, she hasn’t worked in more than 20 years and has no viable skills. Cleaning is what she knows how to do. Given instruction on how to maximize her chances with one of the larger cleaning companies, Marianne is sent to a job fair to try to get hired.

She meets others, all searching for a way out of their poverty, trying desperately to get ahead. But cleaning is all they know and, like the very bitter Chrystèle, raising three children on her own, they cling to whatever crumbs are thrown their way.

We first meet Chrystèle when she arrives at the employment agency without an appointment on the same day as Marianne. The agency has lost her employment files and without them she is ineligible for the benefits necessary to put food on the table and pay the rent. Angry, she makes it clear that she will not leave until those responsible for the screw up correct it. It is clear by her actions that this is not the first time something like this has happened and she is tired of being treated like a small, insignificant cog in a large wheel. Marianne will cross paths with Chrystèle again very soon.

Marianne, smiling, extolling the virtues of cleanliness and her expertise at wielding a toilet brush, interview skills taught her by the employment counselor, is immediately hired by a maintenance company and sent on her first hotel job. Instructed by the supervisor, she is assigned to a team to learn what is necessary. The pace is grueling, the hours difficult and the satisfaction non-existent. The team continues on to a hostel where the expectations are even more unrealistic. When the owners complain that the women have not done their jobs, Marianne protests, refusing to acquiesce to their unrealistic demands. She may have gained the gratitude of her fellow workers but she is fired from the company posthaste. Impressed, one of her co-workers, Chrystèle, gives her a lead to another job.

Ouistreham is a ferry port to Portsmouth, England, with three landings a day. Working non-stop, Chrystèle is able to handle all three shifts, five or six days a week to keep her kids clothed, fed and in school. The work is excruciating and the turnover is constant. New workers come and go on a regular basis and the need for employees is constant. She recommends Marianne for the job and she’s immediately hired. Each of the 30 cabins must be completely turned over in 1 1/2 minutes, changing the sheets, scouring the bathroom, cleaning the floors before the next group of passengers sets foot on board. Working as a team, dividing up the tasks, this group of disparate men and women help each other and make sure that Marianne doesn’t fall behind. It is here that she finds her support system and her story. These are the invisible workers in the shadows that are responsible for making everything come together seamlessly.

Riding home on the bus, exhausted, Marianne begins her diary on the women she meets, the jobs they do and the circumstances under which they must work. They embrace her as one of their own understanding where she’s come from, not knowing that all of it is a lie. She is included in their celebrations, their family activities, their innermost thoughts and dreams. If she succeeds in revealing their world to others, she believes it will mitigate any damage she might do to their trust. Her goal is to make the invisible visible and recognize their value in the process. It is this theme, the weighing of the greater good over the individual, that is tackled so well in this film.

Juliette Binoche, Marianne, was the force behind this project from the beginning. Trying for years to option the book, Florence Aubenas had refused Binoche repeatedly until finally she agreed. Binoche’s belief in the premise of the book guided her characterization. It is hard to imagine anyone other than Binoche in the role. Her lack of vanity, her capacity for empathy, believability and ambivalence all added to the depth of this complex woman. But even more, it was her inclusiveness and approachability that helped the other actors find their footing. Here’s the rub; none of the players were actors. All of them were women, and in a couple of cases men, reenacting their day-to-day lives as the cleaners they portrayed.

Evelyn Porée, the forewoman of the ferry cleaners, and Emily Madeleine as Justine, one of the cleaners, were actually profiled in Aubenas’ book. Didier Pupin who plays Cédric, the man with the sad eyes and the ever-hopeful attitude who has a crush on Marianne, is, like the others, a non-professional actor who brought a believability that might not have been possible otherwise. But the two standouts who elevated the material and illustrate the boundaries between respect and betrayal are Léa Carne and Hélène Lambert. Carne, as Marilou, illustrates the naive hope that this is only a stage in her life and Lambert, Chrystèle, is the lynchpin on whom Marianne’s ruse rises and falls. I was positively floored that these two women had never acted before. Certainly, the use of non-actors adds a cinema verité feeling to the action, but I was convinced that both of those women had enjoyed long careers in film and television. Actually there aren’t any false notes in any of the performances of the men and women “portraying” their real life experiences. It is important to keep in mind that, besides working with an excellent script, they also improvised expertly and seamlessly, adding an extra layer of truthfulness.

Cinematographer Patrick Blossier, whose illustrious career stretches back to the 1970s with directors like Agnès Varda, Costa-Gavras and Dominik Moll, among others, worked with Carrère on his previous films. He brought an authenticity that underpinned the action and whose use of lighting deepened the action and heightened the claustrophobia of the interiors.

Carrère knew just how to enhance the comfort level of his cast and successfully produce a film that illustrates a life unknown to most. He tells a straightforward story that has a philosophical undercurrent. When you lie for a good cause does it make it any less of a lie? When you cross a boundary for the greater good is it still a betrayal? You’ll have to see the film and answer these questions yourself.

Now playing at the Laemmle Monica Film Center. 

Neely Swanson spent most of her professional career in the television industry, almost all of it working for David E. Kelley. In her last full-time position as Executive Vice President of Development, she reviewed writer submissions and targeted content for adaptation. As she has often said, she did book reports for a living. For several years she was a freelance writer for “Written By,” the magazine of the WGA West, and was adjunct faculty at USC in the writing division of the School of Cinematic Arts. Neely has been writing film and television reviews for the “Easy Reader” for more than 10 years. Her past reviews can be read on Rotten Tomatoes where she is a tomato-approved critic.

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Ben and Miko, live-in lovers who are both aspiring filmmakers, attend the new Asian American Film Festival in Berkeley. Miko is thrilled with the entry of one of their friends featuring Asian American protagonists triumphing over the petty prejudices of mainstream society. That’s a lofty explanation for something about a very rich Asian couple who have been denied residence in the penthouse apartment of a luxury condo. As the couple recovers from the rejection, the husband makes a call; the two smile at the result. The wife returns to the supercilious manager to announce that they have just bought the building and he should go to the curb and pick up the trash. The crowd cheers the end of the movie, starring Ronny Chieng (“Crazy Rich Asians”) and Stephanie Hsu (“Everything Everywhere All at Once”)  and the after-party begins.

Miko is effusive in her praise; Ben is less than polite in expressing how unimpressed he was, privately decrying to Miko that it pandered to fans of rom-coms and the ending was unrealistic. That ending, by the way, was “borrowed” from the real life story of Merle Norman, the cosmetics queen. Richer than Croesus at the time, she desired the penthouse apartment of a “restricted” building. Jewish, she was denied ownership, so she bought the building and fired the management. But realistic ending or not, Ben carries his film snobbism everywhere he goes.

A so-called classicist, Ben holds out for the values of the New Wave. Eric Roehmer knew how to tell a story and these wannabes don’t. He is gradually wearing down Mika’s positive attitude toward life. She, too, lives for film but in her view, a positive step is a forward step. Ben’s self image as an intellectual hewing to higher standards is unmoved. There is a friction developing between the two of them caused by his so-called purism. The unacknowledged elephant in the room is that he tried making a film once and failed, retreating to a place where he could be the smartest person in the room—the manager of a broken-down revival movie theater in Berkeley.

The glitch in his high standards and quest for Asian authenticity is his secret love of blonde, white girls. Mika, non-judgmental, tolerates his negative personality and his proclivity towards blondes as rooted in a childhood where he was the only brown face in a sea of white. In her eyes, he’s smart, handsome and hides his insecurities by building a wall of criticism. Mika is secure, beautiful and comfortable with who she is. That she comes from money is another source of Ben’s insecurity. She is, however, happy that he has a close friend in whom he can confide.

Alice, a lesbian grad student who’s never met a woman she didn’t want to love and leave, dines frequently with Ben, both of them feeding off each other’s lack of passion and goal fulfillment. She, struggling with her absence of interest in her thesis project, and he, admitting that he may not have what it takes to be a filmmaker. Still, even between these two, there is a lack of depth to their analyses and honesty with others. Alice has never come out to her Evangelical parents who punctuate each conversation with “Jesus loves you.” She uses Ben as a beard when she needs a plus one, introducing him as her Korean boyfriend. This, she explains, is necessary because in the list of acceptability, Japanese is at the bottom. Judging by his evil eye, her grandfather is not fooled by this ruse. (As an ironic aside, Justin Min, the actor playing the Japanese American Ben is actually Korean American).

When Mika announces that she is leaving for a three-month film internship in New York, Ben is confused by what is expected of him. Left to his own devices, which includes not one but two blondes, he is no happier than before. Flailing on his own, he is completely upended when Alice, suspended from school, announces that she, too, is leaving for New York. Ben tries to get his footing without the two women who anchored him, but this earthquake of loss is too disorienting. He decides to try to recoup what he thinks he has lost by going to New York. What he will discover is what he has been avoiding. He will be confronted by the harsh reality of his shortcomings and the difficult decision of facing them with honesty.

Ben is truly a negative personality, one that all of us have encountered in the past. He’s handsome, something that buys him time and indulgence, and very smart. None of his criticisms or comparisons are incorrect but they are often made without accounting for the mitigating context or offering possible solutions. His refusal to confront his own proclivities while denouncing those in others results in a very amusing hypocrisy. He is that proverbial smartest person in the room who can’t take the temperature of his surroundings or acknowledge other viewpoints. Amazingly, Ben is an almost entirely unsympathetic character, but you never hate him. He elicits an amusing amount of pity because his superiority is based on so little. He’s close to rock bottom and he doesn’t know it, but you do. You want to be there when it hits because it is then that he’ll grow. This is about growth and lack thereof. He has not yet come of age, although he’s well into his 30s.

“Shortcomings” succeeds on many levels beyond being the story of a young man who’s lost his way and doesn’t recognize it. It’s a quietly universal film that has the added benefit of focusing on an underrepresented group whose problems are those of their generation with the cherry on top being their ethnicity. Park is telling a “coming of age” story where the protagonist has yet to realize that intellectual ability is not a sign of maturity. Alice, herself, suffers from that same lack of maturity, but her growth is more apparent. This isn’t your typical story about a slacker who sees the light. Ben isn’t really a slacker; he’s just someone who has disguised the terror of admitted failure by making himself the judge of the society around him. To borrow from “The X-Files,” “the truth is out there,” he’s just not ready to see it. There are many laugh-out-loud moments in Ben’s cringe-worthy actions, and anyone with adult children (or even teenagers) will recognize the deliberate counterproductive rebellion for rebellion’s sake.

But there is another character in this story that is introduced lovingly by the director and writer: Asian American neighborhoods in the East Bay of San Francisco. For people like Ben, denied a community when growing up, his new home is a security blanket where he feels he can be himself. What he doesn’t acknowledge is that he has not yet found that authentic self. What he has found is a comfort zone and we see and experience it from the standpoint of everyone inhabiting those streets. Ben, Miko and Alice’s Berkeley and East Bay are not necessarily Asian neighborhoods, but they are places where they don’t feel their minority existence as much as they would in other places. For Miko, New York is a new place to experience; for Alice, it is a challenge to meet and overcome; for Ben, it’s downright terrifying.

The cast is uniformly terrific. Ally Maki, Miko, generates warmth, patience and confidence. Her Miko is driven by empathy, which may be one of the reasons she stays with Ben. Maki’s beauty is almost beside the point but it underscores the fact that Ben has no idea what he’s missing until he does.

Sherry Cola, Alice, a well-known stand-up comic, has the impeccable timing to keep this film moving. Snarky, she is still able to maintain the sympathetic edge that drives so much of the action (well, maybe not action but at least story). Whenever she is on screen, it’s difficult to watch anyone else.

In a very small role at the end of the film is Timothy Simons, Leon, playing a love interest for Miko. Simons, who played someone called “the stupidest man on the face of the earth” in “Veep,” is no less compellingly funny here, but a lot more empathetic, not to mention smarter.

Justin Min, playing the Japanese American Ben, has real star quality. Handsome with an insouciant manner that disguises his real insecurities, he displays enough vulnerability that the audience never quite hates his character. That’s not to say Ben is likable, because he’s not, but his negativity is underscored by his ability to imply weakness of character. If there is justice in the world, all three of these actors should become major stars in mainstream films, movies that see beyond color and ethnicity.

Like many filmmakers in racial minority communities, one of Park’s goals was to give Asian Americans a chance to see themselves on screen. Written by Adrain Tomine, based on his graphic novel of the same name, Toumine displays amazing strength in describing complex characters and dissecting relationships. The outstanding recent French film “Paris, 13th District” was based on a trio of his graphic novels (“Paris, 13th District”). A fourth-generation Japanese American, he understands his characters implicitly. There is a depth to his writing that is embedded in the development of each person in the film.

At a fast-paced 90 minutes, you’ll never be bored and often amused. You might even recognize some of the traits portrayed on screen in yourself or those you know.

Now playing at the Laemmle Monica Film Center. 

Neely Swanson spent most of her professional career in the television industry, almost all of it working for David E. Kelley. In her last full-time position as Executive Vice President of Development, she reviewed writer submissions and targeted content for adaptation. As she has often said, she did book reports for a living. For several years, she was a freelance writer for “Written By,” the magazine of the WGA West, and was adjunct faculty at USC in the writing division of the School of Cinematic Arts. Neely has been writing film and television reviews for the “Easy Reader” for more than 10 years. Her past reviews can be read on Rotten Tomatoes where she is a tomato-approved critic.

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Based on what is arguably considered the best biography written about Oppenheimer, “American Prometheus: The Triumph and Tragedy of J. Robert Oppenheimer” by Kai Bird and Martin J. Sherwin who spent 25 years researching and writing it, Nolan took this base material and focused on the successful attempt to dismantle Oppenheimer’s reputation, building the background by going backwards and forwards in Oppenheimer’s life. Much like Prometheus, the Greek god of fire who was punished by Zeus for giving fire to humans, the post World War II life of Robert Oppenheimer doomed him to serve penance for what many saw as conceit compounded by his many human frailties—sexual, political and intellectual. But this modern day Prometheus who unleashed the  power of atomic energy could be more closely associated with Icarus, the mortal who dared to fly too close to the sun. In Greek mythology, Icarus and Daedalus, his father, devised wings made of threads, feathers and wax to flee their labyrinthian prison. His father warned him to beware of the sins of hubris and complacency, advising him not to fly too high lest the sun melt his wings. But Icarus refused to listen and the sun melted his wings, whereupon he fell into the sea and drowned. And a labyrinth of storytelling is what this movie is.

Tracking between time frames in his life, Nolan smoothly transitions from the 1953-54 Atomic Energy Commission (AEC) Kangaroo Court instigated by AEC Chairman Lewis Strauss to relieve Oppenheimer of his security clearance, to Oppenheimer’s early career as he finds his way to theoretical physics in England and Germany. From his ambivalent dabbling in left wing and Communist circles, to his leadership in the Los Alamos branch of the Manhattan Project, the vast, decentralized program to harness nuclear fusion and create enough energy to power an atomic bomb, and the consequences of Strauss’s harassment of an intellectual foe with a still deep base of support from the scientific heavyweights of the time. In poker terms, this is a study of the consequences of overplaying your hand.  It is a complicated story centered on a complex individual who is understood by many and misunderstood by most.

Oppenheimer’s initial focus was in chemistry, his major at Harvard, but he soon found his way to physics and pursued that course at Cambridge. It was there that he discovered he loathed lab studies and was unsuited for experimental physics. An encounter with Max Born (Nobel Prize 1959) led him to the University of Göttingen in Germany where the field of theoretical physics and quantum mechanics were starting to take hold. Under the tutelage of Born, Oppenheimer received his PhD in 1927. It was here that he encountered and befriended future theoretical physics giants such as Werner Heisenberg and Pascual Jordan, both pioneers in quantum mechanics and future Nazis. Also with him at Göttingen were Edward Teller and future Nobelists Erwin Schrödinger (as in the cat), Paul Dirac, Wolfgang Pauli and Enrico Fermi. Fermi would later lead the University of Chicago section of the Manhattan Project; Teller would join Oppenheimer in Los Alamos.

Returning to the United States, Oppenheimer received appointments at both CalTech and Berkeley. His residency at Berkeley was significant both for his championing and establishing a group focusing on theoretical physics, where none previously existed, and his association with experimental physicist Ernest O. Lawrence, the pioneer of the cyclotron that would be instrumental in developing the atomic bomb. It was also at Berkeley, a bastion of left wing ideology long before the 1960s, that Oppenheimer flirted with Communism, never joining but always cavorting. His brother Frank, urged on by his wife at the time, joined, and Oppenheimer’s lover, the volatile Jean Tatlock, was an active member. Oppenheimer’s political leanings were decidedly to the left of center, possibly far left, but his ambivalence was probably more fueled by his avoidance of being identified as one thing or another. Thus, all sides of the pro and anti equation thought he was something he wasn’t. 

As war started to rear its head in Europe and rumors of Jewish annihilation in Nazi Germany began to surface, Einstein, now living in the United States, wrote a letter to President Roosevelt warning him that Germany was researching the use of uranium in bombs and that the U.S. needed to begin such a project immediately. Thus were born the seeds of the Manhattan Project, a multi-pronged, rather decentralized program to harness the new physics of the atom into practical military usage. General (or soon to be) Leslie Groves was appointed to head the project and choose the sites for research as well as those individuals to head up each division. In typical Army thinking, Groves previous experience was in the construction of the Pentagon, something that was deemed suitable experience for supervising a high level physics project. But his skill area was actually in choosing the right people to head each program and he chose Oppenheimer, a curiously counter-intuitive selection based on his assumed politics and lack of managerial expertise, for the Los Alamos project, a site suggested by Oppenheimer.

Cutting back and forth between the history of Los Alamos and the creation of the atomic bomb and events that would be his undoing after the war, Nolan creates an urgency that lends a thriller aspect to the film that leaves the viewer even more invested in Oppenheimer the man. Nolan leads us back into the ugliness of the one-sided hearing in 1953 orchestrated by Lewis Strauss, chairman of the AEC, to determine the continuation of Oppenheimer’s security clearance. The committee, fed by secret FBI files and testimony by Edward Teller against Oppenheimer, refused to renew his clearance. There would be consequences for Strauss, told in magnificently filmed black and white sequences as the Senate hearings for his proposed appointment as Eisenhauer’s Commerce Secretary  in 1959 are relived with Strauss facing some of the same kinds of hostile rhetorical questions his earlier committee posed to Oppenheimer

It is Strauss’s animus that shades so much of the film. By the time they first meet, it is after the war and Strauss offers the now famous and lauded Oppenheimer the directorship of the Institute for Advanced Study in Princeton, long the home of Einstein. It is here that Strauss’s multi-pronged hostility takes root when he is convinced that Oppenheimer turned Einstein against him. Whether this actually happened or not, what is unmentioned is that Strauss, a Trustee of the Institute, was, himself, a candidate for the directorship. Losing it may have been hard (he was 5th choice) but having to give it to a left winger like Oppenheimer was a humiliation, but only the first. Strauss, a Jew committed to many religious organizations, was disdainful of Oppenheimer’s secular attitude. A wealthy, self-made man without a college education, Strauss was both proud and defensive of his origins. 

Strike two came later when Oppenheimer, as a member of the General Advisory Committee of the newly formed AEC ridiculed Strauss’s position that the humanitarian provision of radio isotopes to our allies was a security risk. Worse, the full AEC board, of which Strauss was a member, voted four to one to release the isotopes, leaving Strauss on the fringes. 

Returning to the Los Alamos years, Oppenheimer, Oppie as he was affectionately called, made sure that Groves’ dictum that all research be compartmentalized for security reasons was followed, at least in practicality if not in spirit. Alien to Oppenheimer’s nature, he created committees and subgroups across divisions that discussed relevant findings that could dovetail into furthering the work and speeding their results. 

As chronological as this retelling may be, the most important takeaways about Oppenheimer’s personality are his inclusiveness and ability to stay out of the way of the men he hand picked. His brilliance, as viewed by others, was his incisive mind; but from my standpoint, his brilliance was in recognizing his own intellectual shortcomings and refusing to interfere in arenas where others had skills that surpassed his own. Of the scientists he chose to join him in Los Alamos, seventeen would go on to win Nobel Prizes. Abraham Pais, a colleague of Oppenheimer’s at the Institute for Advanced Study, said of him “there was no greater satisfaction for him than to see such efforts bear fruit and then to tell others of the work that someone had done.” (“J. Robert Oppenheimer: A Biographical Memoir” by H.A. Bethe. National Academy of Sciences.)

Oftentimes accused of arrogance, I believe it was more a recognition of his own worth that may have grated on those who did not fly in his circle and Strauss was one who did not. Humility is generally not a characteristic associated with genius. To quote David Lillianthal, first chairman of the AEC: “He was the only authentic genius I have ever met.”

But there is no doubt that our modern day Icarus flew too close to the sun. He was against the creation of the Hydrogen Bomb and nuclear proliferation, both loudly supported by Edward Teller and Lewis Strauss. Never apologizing for the use of the atomic bomb on Japan, Oppenheimer campaigned against its further implementation. Teller never forgave Oppenheimer for not pursuing his model of the Hydrogen Bomb at Los Alamos despite the fact that Oppenheimer allowed him to continue his research on this infinitely more powerful weapon undisturbed. That Teller testified against him at Strauss’s 1953-54 hearing would eventually have negative consequences on Teller’s acceptance in the academic community. 

Oppenheimer’s inability to control his libido didn’t help him in his personal life, choosing his paramours from among the wives of his colleagues. His own marriage and its shotgun aspect may have fueled some of his ambivalence to fidelity but his leanings were well-established early on. 

Nolan assembled a cast of thousands, well at least many, and all of them deliver some of the best work in their vast repertoires. Cillian Murphy as Oppenheimer is a revelation of depth, drama, intelligence and complexity. He is in almost every frame and holds us in the intensity of his haunting blue-eyed gaze. Like others in this film, it is impossible to think of any other actor who could play this role. Nothing in his previous work with Nolan (“Dunkirk,” “Inception”) would lead you to believe that he would be the natural lead for a movie about one of the most important scientists of our time and yet he is.

Robert Downey Jr. as Lewis Strauss gives the performance of his career, one that will allow you to forget that he has spent the last decade playing comic book superheroes. His Strauss is subtle, devious and duplicitous all couched smoothly in the skin of a patriot. The very embodiment of a paranoiac, Downey effectively conveys the feelings of the very smart when they encounter true genius. The dismay reveals itself in his body language as Strauss is left on the sidelines instead of the center to which he is accustomed. The expression “revenge is a dish best served cold” comes to mind as you witness the machinations played out tiny bit by tiny bit. Bland, almost obsequious in his early dealings with Oppenheimer, he is the proverbial wolf in sheep’s clothing, luring his surprisingly naive and blindered prey to cliff’s edge where only a tap on the back will yield the precipitous fall he has engineered almost from the start of their relationship.

An unrecognizable Emily Blunt plays Kitty Oppenheimer, the long suffering and insufferable wife. The anger smoldering just below the surface and her overall dissatisfaction is one that she makes understandable to all who would laud her husband. She is an actress of incredible range and Nolan successfully makes use of it. 

There are far too many amazing actors, most of whom make a meal of the small roles they play. Foremost among them is Matt Damon as General Groves. One never doubts the seriousness of his task and yet Damon is able to leaven many of his moments with a subtle humor that makes you smile. His was one of my favorite roles. 

Florence Pugh plays Jean Tatlock as the unhinged and passionate temptation that Oppenheimer is never able to resist. Josh Hartnett portrays Ernest Lawrence as a charmer, one who is comfortable in his brilliant skin. Tom Conti has a wonderful cameo as Einstein and Benny Safdie is a very petulant Edward Teller who can see no other way than his own. Gustaf Skarsgård, son of Stellan and brother of Alexander, is a sympathetic Hans Bethe, a friend through thick and thin of Oppenheimer, but then again, Oppie probably didn’t sleep with his wife. Kenneth Branaugh plays Niels Bohr (interesting side note, Bohr’s son Aage Neils Bohr worked alongside him in Los Alamos and would also go on to win his own Nobel Prize, making them one of the only father-son Nobelists). And, in a notable role as Roger Robb, the vengeful Strauss loyalist and lead of the secret committee meeting to emasculate Openheimer, Jason Clarke gives the kind of chilling performance that makes the hair on your arms stand up. But these are only a few of the more recognizable actors among the many, many fantastic men and women who play noticeable roles in “Oppenheimer.”

As a side note, in 2022 Jennifer Granholm, U.S. Secretary of Energy, ordered that the decision to revoke Oppenheimer’s security clearance be reversed. 

The score by Ludwig Göransson pulsates and underpins the action sequences and those of the lushly filmed light explosions. The music heightens the urgency attached to the work in Los Alamos. Shot gloriously in Imax by Hoyte Van Hoytema, he has captured lightning in a bottle with his clips of light explosions and chemical reactions that fill the screen. He has made the desert, almost a moonscape, another character in the film. See “Oppenheimer” in a theater and on an IMAX or XD formatted screen if at all possible. Cinematically, emotionally, this movie carves out a world that is filled, in equal measures, with optimism and despair. Oppenheimer and “Oppenheimer” are more than the sum of their respective parts. It is, quite frankly, the human condition.

Now playing throughout Los Angeles

Neely Swanson spent most of her professional career in the television industry, almost all of it working for David E. Kelley. In her last full-time position as Executive Vice President of Development, she reviewed writer submissions and targeted content for adaptation. As she has often said, she did book reports for a living. For several years she was a freelance writer for “Written By,” the magazine of the WGA West, and was adjunct faculty at USC in the writing division of the School of Cinematic Arts. Neely has been writing film and television reviews for the “Easy Reader” for more than 10 years. Her past reviews can be read on Rotten Tomatoes where she is a tomato-approved critic.

The post ‘Oppenheimer’ A Prometheus of Mythical Proportions appeared first on Beverly Hills Courier.

Never fear. Greta Gerwig, director and co-writer with partner Noah Baumbach, has her saber-sharp wit on full display in “Barbie,” a pink-saturated world where girls rule. Opening on a rocky primordial beach with little girls playing with their baby dolls, portentously narrated by Helen Mirren, we witness their awe as the quintessential Barbie in a striped-bathing suit, legs a million miles long and breasts of disproportionate size rises out of the ether to the sounds of Wagner’s “Also Sprach Zarathustra.” Little girls and baby dolls will never be the same. It’s hard to top a scene like that, so Gerwig doesn’t even try. Put this down to one of the best movie openings ever, even if you’ve never seen “2001: A Space Odyssey” to grasp the homage and tongue-in-cheek humor that will follow.

After the title sequence we are transported to Barbie Land, home to Barbies of every size, shape, color and orientation, all representing the diaspora of professions. Skipper, her younger sister, also lives there along with the short-lived Midge, the long-forgotten pregnant doll (what on earth were they thinking?). The entire power structure is girls, girls, girls from the Supreme Court, the President, and the leader of the pack, Stereotypical Barbie, she of the striped bathing suit opening. Oh, and lest we forget the totally forgettable Ken, or in this case Kens because these multiples represent the diversity, without the purposeful professions, exhibited with the Barbies. It is definitely Barbies’ world and the Kens just live in it, a cause of some inexplicable concern to the intellectually challenged Beach Ken, Barbie’s platonic squeeze.

There is very little strife in Barbie Land; none if you don’t count the emasculated machismo that occasionally rears its head between the Kens. Our blond Stereotypical Ken longs for a connection with Stereotypical Barbie and is confused by his place in Barbie Land. Oh, no! Could he be having an existential crisis trying to assert a purposeful authentic self in a plastic world? And what about Stereotypical Barbie with the perfect life, pink convertible and fully furnished Dreamhouse? In her land of sunny days some clouds are starting to appear with questions of mortality —ironic, no? for an inanimate object. And then, the coup de grace. Stepping out of her high-heeled Marabou slippers, her feet flatten and a spot of cellulite appears on her heretofore perfect thigh! This is a case for Weird Barbie, the doll whose owners abused her mercilessly, cutting her locks, scrawling on her face and ripping apart her limbs. Hey, it happens. What can I say? I’ve done it myself.

Weird Barbie has a diagnosis. Stereotypical Barbie is being sabotaged in the real world by a non-believer and she must turn her abuser into a supporter. Instructions on teleporting (so to speak) to  Los Angeles are given and Barbie, accompanied by her Ken, are off for an otherworldly, or rather, real-worldly adventure that begins in Venice Beach. Barbie sends Ken off on his own to explore as she deciphers the clues to locating the troublesome girl, Sasha, at a nearby middle school. Ken, left to his own devices, is wide-eyed at the possibilities laid at his feet. His first act is to buy them his and hers cowboy outfits. Hers, of course, is pink and sparkly; his makes him look like Joe Buck in “Midnight Cowboy” with all of the unintended implications. The real world is a patriarchy and it dawns on him that that’s what he is—part of the patriarchal power structure. He may not have skills, education or experience, but as a man, he rules in this world. Barbie herself slowly recognizes that things are amiss in this culture lacking a significant dose of feminine know-how and power. She’s not on Venice Beach for more than 5 minutes before she comes face to face with toxic masculinity.

Barbie and Ken’s existence in Los Angeles has caused a ripple in the fabric of the universe felt by the Mattel Corporation hierarchy. They must capture Ken and Barbie and send them back to Barbie Land posthaste. Meeting the all male Board for the first time, Barbie asks where the women executives are. “We had one a few years ago,” replies the CEO. And so the chase begins, one that involves enlisting Sasha’s mother Gloria, an assistant at Mattel with higher ambitions, to convert Sasha and help Barbie regain Barbie Land. Ken, as usual, is an afterthought but one of dangerous leanings now that he’s tasted freedom and power. Preceding Barbie and her pursuers to Barbie Land, he upends everything and takes what he’s learned and converts paradise into a Kendom complete with macho trucks and mini fridges filled with beer (at least two or three bottles because, as Ken points out, they’re really small and no freezer to speak of). Will Barbie escape? Will she regain her high instep? What about that cellulite? What more does this plastic fantastic world have to offer? Be assured, there’s more to this Barbie than meets the eye. 

Besides a script chock full of clever dialogue and subtext, “Barbie” was beautifully filmed by Rodrigo Prieto using an ultra bright color palette that highlighted the pink tone to everything Barbie. Contributing to the surreal look of Barbie Land is the artificial lighting, all staged and calibrated to maximum effect. Natural lighting does not come into play until Barbie and Ken arrive in Los Angeles, and even then, it’s the natural light of the beach in Venice that shines down on the roller-blading duo in their neon green skates.

Costume designer Jacqueline Durran found a way to make Barbie outfits her own, styling each Barbie in clothes that you might have found at the Mattel store, although I’m not sure that Chanel manufactured Barbie purses and belts. Special praise should go to choreographer Jennifer White whose inspired dance numbers were hilariously reminiscent of “Saturday Night Fever” meets Busby Berkeley, all executed with flair and precision.  

The cast is pitch perfect, always in on the joke and playing it straight. The secondary Kens are a talented group including Kingsley Ben-Adir (“The OA”) and Ncuti Gatwa (“Sex Education”). Watch for a hilarious John Cena (“The Suicide Squad”)  toward the end as a Ken, biceps glistening, erupting from the sea. A special mention should go to Simu Liu (“Shang-Chi and the Legend of the Ten Rings”) as primary Ken’s closest friend and rival, sometimes overshadowing him, especially in that final dance scene. In a small, rather insignificant role is Michael Cera as Allan, Ken’s erstwhile best friend who was married to Midge until they were both discontinued.

The various Barbies are equally engaging with Issa Rae (“Insecure”) as the President, Alexandra Shipp (“X-Men”) a demure Barbie, Hari Nef (“Transparent”) a more assertive Barbie, and Emma Mackey (“Sex Education”), the malleable doll who easily falls under the spell of the machismo Kens. There are other Barbies, not the least of whom is Dua Lipa, who sings one of the songs on the soundtrack. Emerald Fennell (“Promising Young Woman”) is seen but not heard as Midge. Hats off to Kate McKinnon (“Saturday Night Live”) who wears Weird Barbie like a bad-fitting polyester suit and steals her every scene. 

In the real world, Will Ferrell plays the Mattel CEO with his usual clueless flair, hilarious in demeanor, eyes wide and fluidly stumbling both in word and movement. He delivers his lines straight, something that only serves to highlight the irony behind the dialogue. Sasha, the girl who triggered Barbie’s visit, is played by Ariana Greenblatt loaded up on teen resentment and cynicism. The empathetic America Ferrara is Gloria, Sasha’s mother and the true cause of Barbie’s feelings of mortality. 

Front and center as the primary Ken, Ryan Gosling plays this airhead with a sense of loss and longing punctuated by his clueless eagerness. A tongue-in-cheek portrayal that is played straight to even bigger effect. The pre-Los Angeles Ken is a sweet dullard who is transformed, subtly into a more assertive, if still rather clueless, man who grew a pair (literally, not figuratively), never losing his softer edges. He is a Ken who, at the beginning, we laugh at until, by the end, we’re laughing and sympathizing with. Not easy to do, but his timing is impeccable and his likeability index is off the scale.

Last and certainly not least is Margot Robbie as Stereotypical Barbie. Robbie, with an ethereal movie star beauty, understands her character and sells every nuance of self-confidence as she embraces all around her. She is Barbie come to life, inclusive of everyone. It would have been beyond my imagination that Barbie might represent something other than big breasts and high heels, but Robbie’s Barbie does. Even if she’s the Bimbo Barbie (my description not theirs), she embodies the belief that girls can be anything and should follow their dreams.

There’s something for the whole family here from the Barbie-loving grade schooler to their grandmas (who were around when Barbie was born). The film may skew towards girls but there’s more than enough story, laughs and pratfalls for boys and their dads to embrace. After all, this is about the universality of choice and achievement.

Now playing at AMC theaters in Century City, Santa Monica and Marina del Rey as well as the Cinemark in Playa Vista, Culver Theater and the Laemmle Monica, among many others. 

Neely Swanson spent most of her professional career in the television industry, almost all of it working for David E. Kelley. In her last full-time position as Executive Vice President of Development, she reviewed writer submissions and targeted content for adaptation. As she has often said, she did book reports for a living. For several years she was a freelance writer for “Written By,” the magazine of the WGA West and was adjunct faculty at USC in the writing division of the School of Cinematic Arts. Neely has been writing film and television reviews for the “Easy Reader” for more than 10 years. Her past reviews can be read on Rotten Tomatoes where she is a tomato-approved critic. 

The post ‘Barbie’ – Sunny with a Touch of Absurdity appeared first on Beverly Hills Courier.

There’s a camp for almost everyone whether it’s one of the expensive, sophisticated types that dot the Eastern seaboard and the Malibu coast; Girl or Boy Scout camp with tents, latrines and where every mosquito known to man seems to live; YMCA camp for an urban population far from lakes and canoes; or religious camps that sprinkle God into the lanyard making. Then there’s theater camp, a species unto itself. Interlochen in Michigan is the most famous arts camp where the audition process is grueling and many a star has been born, including Ed Helms (“The Hangover”), Tom Hulce (Tony winner), Anthony Rapp (“Rent”), Santino Fontana (Tony winner), Josh Groban, Norah Jones and Jewel. Camp AdirondACTS is not that.

Owner and founder of Camp AdirondACTS, Joan, with trusty co-director Rita, spend the non-summer months beating the bushes for next summer’s campers, trying to entice parents to pay to send their children to theater camp. It is during just such a recruiting trip, at a middle school production of “Bye Bye Birdie,” that Joan suffers a seizure from the strobe lights in the big Conrad Birdie song, “One Last Kiss.” Hauled off in an ambulance, the comatose Joan will not be presiding over the next camp session.

Full to the rafters with repeat child performers, the counselors will carry on, led by Amos (drama), Rebecca-Diane (Musicals), Clive (Choreography), Gigi (Costumes), Glenn (Stage Manager), all supervised by Rita. Unexpectedly, Joan’s clueless son Troy arrives to announce that he will be running the camp in his mother’s place. A self-described en-Troy-preneur, he has come armed with plans, none of which make any sense, let alone fit into the mission statement. His musical knowledge is restricted to B-list rap music. He wouldn’t know a Hammerstein from a hammerlock.

Competition for the leads in this summer’s productions is tense. There will be a musical production, a straight play, and an original musical written by Amos and Rebecca-Diane. Troy, wide-eyed, asks what a straight play is. He’s informed that it’s a play with words and no music. Still puzzled, he asks them what the difference is between a straight play and a gay play. And so it goes. 

Amos and Rebecca-Diane have been the closest of friends since they first met at AdirondACTS when they were middle schoolers. They have written an original musical together every summer since anyone can remember. They are inseparable, although it was crushing when Amos came out to her when she confessed her undying love for him. Still, they carry on with one voice. Lurking in the background are the financial difficulties exacerbated by Troy’s lack of expertise. It seems that he hasn’t been opening the bills and foreclosure looms on the horizon. The more immediate danger, however, is the rich kids’ camp on the other side of the lake. The owners, expansion in their eyes, have been trying to buy AdirondACTS for years. With Joan absent and Troy in charge, they see an opening.

“Theater Camp” is an homage to all those Judy Garland-Mickey Rooney “let’s put on a show” musicals of the 1930s and the Christopher Guest mockumentaries like “Best in Show” and “Waiting for Guffman.” The tale may have been told before, but “Theater Camp” has made every trope its own and lovingly created something new.

Written by Molly Gordon, Noah Galvin, Nick Lieberman and Ben Platt, they all met at theater camp when they were very young. They know this arena intimately, from the campers to the counselors and understand the passion that sometimes looks a bit unhinged. All the craziness comes through, but so does the talent, acceptance, and hard work. Theater nerd or not, everyone knows these kids from school no matter on what side of the fence you stood. Me? I lived and died for theater, begging for parts, lack of talent notwithstanding. And musicals? There’s no higher art form and I loved singing (see above: lack of talent notwithstanding). How I looked forward to singing to my child before he dropped off to sleep. Unfortunately, almost the first two words he was able to string together were “Please don’t.” Nothing can describe how crushed I was. “Theater Camp” captures all of those emotions, hopes and dreams. 

Molly Gordon and Nick Lieberman shared directing duties and kept everything moving at a breathless pace, leaving room for the laugh-out-loud moments (and there were a lot of them). The cast is pitch-perfect, led by Gordon as Rebecca-Diane and Platt as Amos. Noah Galvin plays under-appreciated Glenn, the stage manager who longs for attention; Jimmy Tatro is the clueless Troy; and Ayo Edebiri, Janet, is a standout as a clueless counselor hired by Troy whose resumé is a complete lie. The child performers are fantastic and very talented with an extra nod to Alan Kim as Alan, the 10-year-old wanna-be agent with a phone permanently glued to his ear. As the adults, Amy Sedaris has what amounts to a very funny cameo as the comatose Joan, and my heart was already won with the appearance of Caroline Aaron, she of the unmistakable gravelly voice and pushy demeanor. Would “The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel” have been so marvelous without her?

I smiled from the first moment, watching a 12-year-old Conrad Birdie singing his heart out (and quite well, by the way) as Joan collapses in her seat, to the last moment when the students sing the finale of the original musical. The laughs come steadily and are never forced. You don’t have to like musical theater to appreciate this film. With nary a misstep and lots of heart, soul, and a great script, there’s much to love.

Now playing at the AMC Century City 15 and The Grove 14. 

Neely Swanson spent most of her professional career in the television industry, almost all of it working for David E. Kelley. In her last full-time position as Executive Vice President of Development, she reviewed writer submissions and targeted content for adaptation. As she has often said, she did book reports for a living. For several years she was a freelance writer for “Written By,” the magazine of the WGA West and was adjunct faculty at USC in the writing division of the School of Cinematic Arts. Neely has been writing film and television reviews for the “Easy Reader” for more than 10 years. Her past reviews can be read on Rotten Tomatoes where she is a tomato-approved critic. 

The post ‘Theater Camp’ – As Campy As Can Be appeared first on Beverly Hills Courier.

Liam Somers makes ends meet by tutoring the sons and daughters of the well-to-do whose aspirations are high marks on final exams that will lead to entrée into the most elite schools. He is an aspiring novelist just finishing his doctoral studies at Oxford, a thesis analyzing the work of contemporary great J.M. Sinclair. Imagine his surprise and delight to learn that his next assignment is to tutor Sinclair’s son Bertie for the English Literature entrance exam at Oxford, a supremely difficult exam but one he knows well.

This will not be a normal tutoring assignment as Hélène Sinclair explains. He will be required to live at the manor and be on call at all times. The master, Sinclair himself, is skeptical and aloof, convinced that son Bertie is, at the root, mediocre and incapable of succeeding. Bertie is more than uncooperative with Liam. His bitterness alludes to deeper problems. In many ways, Bertie is living out “Hamlet,” one of the texts he must study. Something is definitely rotten in the state of the Sinclairs. 

At the heart of many British stories is class—distinction, division, aspiration, entitlement and wealth. Liam comes from a working-class background, one that has afforded him none of the luxuries. His native brilliance and ability to read a situation is his ticket to status, if, in fact, that is what he wants. Finding chinks in the armour and recognizing them is a strength and when Hélène explains that Bertie’s educational success is imperative, she reveals that she cannot help because her education was in France and America and her husband had none. It’s a statement that is easily missed but is the key to Sinclair’s need to dominate and star in every situation. His brilliance, so recognized in haute society, comes with its own caveat. Should Bertie gain entrance to such a prestigious program it would, in its own way, take away from his shining dominance; or at least that might be his interpretation. The quiet, observant Liam is a quick study and sympathetic to Bertie’s plight. One cannot miss the irony that Hélène’s desire for Bertie to succeed at Oxford to assure his place in the world is offset by Bertie’s choice of English Literature, a subject that rarely yields a place on the stock exchange.

But there’s more to this family story, a tragedy still playing out in unspoken grief. Alternately pulling Liam into the family and then pushing him away, he must navigate these waves of emotion and the mystery that surrounds them. It is the discovery, slowly, surely, almost chillingly of that secret that envelopes the viewer, seeing everything through the preternaturally calm eyes of Liam. To reveal more about this alternately gothic and noir tale would be tacitly unfair. Better to discuss character, something of which this cup overfloweth. There is nothing here that doesn’t have a deeper, or at least a secondary meaning.

Troughton has very stealthily conducted this film as she would a symphony. Beginning slowly, the story and characters worm their way into your subconscious as you make decisions about their personalities, motives and goals. Gradually she picks up speed and your assumptions blur into a melding of the characters’ bitterness and hopes. The denouement is of desperation, deception and cynicism, all wrapped in a crescendo finish that you can’t possibly see coming. The coda is both the ending and the beginning. Everyone is everything and nothing that you expected. Troughton has presented us with a film that is a subtle bucolic analysis of class structure, becoming almost gothic in its underlying subject matter and slowly but surely turning into a classic film noir, its heroes and villains hidden in plain sight.

“The Lesson” is a superb character study. Liam is cool, calm and observant; entirely self-taught. It is through him that we experience almost every moment, narrating our journey almost wordlessly. With an eidetic memory, Liam has the ability not just to memorize text but also to analyze and understand it on a level equal to his recall. When, one evening, his unfamiliarity with classical music is revealed, this inadequacy yields a sneer from Sinclair. Undisturbed, Liam moves on and remedies his deficit, another note to be added to the “Evidence Board” he keeps in his room. His deflection of humiliation infuriates Sinclair but earns him respect from the others. He is, truly, the hero of this story of stops, starts and turns. He champions Bertie and recognizes the pain and self-doubt that plague him. 

Hélène, sphinx-like, is more difficult to parse. She is caught between a son’s future success, an unspoken tragedy, and her husband’s irascible nature and legacy. Watch this blonde carefully; there’s both more and less than meets the eye. Son Bertie is a conflicted and suffering teen, brilliant and immature, denigrated by his father whose destructive motives are in full view. Sinclair, haughty, aloof, self-confident, is someone who can only win if everyone else loses. In many ways, he is less complex than the others. Clearly he is overcompensating for a suspect background as alluded to previously by his wife. Self-made, widely regarded as one of the greatest living novelists, he struggles to finish his first novel in many years. Working in secret, he jealously guards his work, letting up only briefly when he asks Liam to proof it for him. Liam, whose comments are trenchant and on point, earns the master’s anger. Having read Liam’s novel, he haughtily declares that Liam has no talent and should give up now before he publicly humiliates himself. But Liam’s comments are on target and Sinclair must find a way to incorporate them without acknowledgement. Soon this heavily gothic atmosphere begins to morph into film noir. It’s all about collateral damage and everyone and everything in Sinclair’s life is collateral damage. Our hero is caught in a web, partly of his own making. Like Icarus, is he flying too close to the sun?

The cast that Troughton assembled is like a finely sculpted work of art. Stephen McMillan is Bertie. Pitch perfect from his scowling expressions and hurt-filled eyes, McMillan gives us classic teen angst caused by the constant abrasions of a dysfunctional family. Julie Delpy is Hélène. No doubt a major beauty in her youth, as was Delpy herself, Hélène is the no longer glamorous glue holding this collapsing family together. Her mysterious presence over the household and the strength she exudes allow her to both encourage her son and support her increasingly erratic husband. Her quiet sexuality expands and contracts depending on who the victim of her attention is. There may not be a man with a gun but there is definitely a Blonde Fatale.

Crispin Letts is the previously unmentioned butler, Ellis. No, the butler didn’t do it, but he’s ever-present and is totally aware of everyone’s movements and their significance. Like most servants, he is invisible but all knowing. It is a wonderful, enigmatic performance.

Richard E. Grant is J.M. Sinclair. Charming to the outside world, he harbors secrets, resentments and insecurities that he showers on all around him. Grant’s voice exudes upper class origins, but it is a learned accent and a cultivated presence that yields only occasionally to his wife’s all-knowing manner. Grant imbues Sinclair with a nastiness that makes you wince, while occasionally revealing a flash of vulnerability that keeps the viewer hoping for both retribution and resurrection. That serpentine smile of his is unforgettable. A key to the relationship between Sinclair and Hélène lies in a quote from Martha Gelhorn, one of Hemingway’s wives: “A man must be a very great genius to make up for being such a loathsome human being.”

Finally there is the miraculous Daryl McCormack. McCormack has imbued Liam with a placidity that carefully masks the depths within. His beautiful face reveals little but his eyes carry with them his cool assessment of the situation while simultaneously hiding the hurt and horror he feels momentarily. His Liam has an inner strength that has to be witnessed. McCormack, recently seen in “Good Luck to You, Leo Grande” and “Bad Sisters,” will surely be a major star who can handle any platform. He is a pleasure to watch as he soundlessly narrates the film with his presence alone. 

There are so many small pleasures hidden like Easter eggs within the movie. When Sinclair, interviewed on a television show about writing, laughingly declares that “good writers borrow but great writers steal,” implying that he has come up with this analysis. In a wink wink by MacKeith, Sinclair has stolen this phrase from T. S. Elliot, allowing Sinclair to self-declare as a great writer. Metaphors abound. The estate’s lake is inhabited by water voles, a seemingly benign creature that burrows into the banks and often devours the surrounding vegetation. The garden is full of rhododendrons, a beautiful but deadly plant, a perfect metaphor for Sinclair. As Bertie explains, they are beautiful but nothing can grow around them because the roots and the buds are poisonous.

The cinematography by Anna Patarakina is lush and evocative of how each moment plays out, dark when sinister, light and bright during moments of hope. Her filming is painterly with a depth of color that is extraordinary. There is one beautiful shot captured across the lake that could be a painting by Monet. The score by Isobel Waller-Bridge is a truly memorable waltz, reminiscent of a ball held at a country estate; its rhythm changes with the film’s action. It is rolling and bucolic, occasionally sinister and dark, but always with the four four beat shaped into whatever she wants, with only the instruments changing, whether violin or piano or cello, following the mood.

MacKeith and Troughton’s structure turns the story on end by beginning with a prologue that will mirror the epilogue, and following with three parts (or acts). There is nothing about this film that I don’t admire and I could watch it endlessly. So far twice was all I was granted.

Opening July 7 at the Laemmle Monica and the Landmark Sunset 5. 

Neely Swanson spent most of her professional career in the television industry, almost all of it working for David E. Kelley. In her last full-time position as Executive Vice President of Development, she reviewed writer submissions and targeted content for adaptation. As she has often said, she did book reports for a living. For several years she was a freelance writer for “Written By,” the magazine of the WGA West and was adjunct faculty at USC in the writing division of the School of Cinematic Arts. Neely has been writing film and television reviews for the “Easy Reader” for more than 10 years. Her past reviews can be read on Rotten Tomatoes where she is a tomato-approved critic. 

The post ‘The Lesson’ – Well Schooled appeared first on Beverly Hills Courier.

Hall has set up this imagined encounter to illustrate the breadth and depth of King, including his frailties, especially when they came to the temptations of the flesh; his self-doubts, his dreams and despairs, and especially his doubts. Hall’s scenario sets him up using his own words:

“And He’s allowed me to go up to the mountain. And I’ve looked over, and I’ve seen the Promised Land. I may not get there with you. But I want you to know tonight, that we, as a people, will get to the Promised Land. And so I’m happy tonight; I’m not worried about anything. I’m not fearing any man. Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord.” 

Camae, underestimated by all, including King, knows what’s what and listens intently. She is, in her right, a philosopher, surprisingly knowledgeable about the history of the movement and at turns, can espouse Malcolm X’s and Fred Hampton’s positions cogently, an irony surely not missed as Malcolm had already been killed and Fred would be assassinated the next year. King, like most men confronted with something so statuesque and seductive, consistently focuses on her parts rather than the whole until…her awareness hits him like one of the lightning bolts outside. Camae hides a secret and to reveal it would reduce the surprise and ultimate philosophical questions behind this play. The story itself is a good one; the subtext is better.

At a fast-moving 90 minutes (without intermission), this dramatic and often funny imaginative piece about what may have been going on in King’s mind before he was to meet the aforementioned Lord, raises more questions than it answers. It is King who is on full display, warts and all, and Camae who is our guide. She is sly, deceptive as much as she is perceptive. He is dedicated, distracted, arrogant and vulnerable. That she is very tall and he is very short is both a source of humor and of drama.

As they say, it’s all on the page. There are weaknesses but none, as far as I’m concerned, with the play itself. Creative, fast-moving, effectively philosophical on all things of the soul, it does place a burden on the two actors who are on stage throughout. Camae, a figure of the imagination, literally and figuratively, is more open to interpretation. Whatever the actor brings to it can be believable provided she convinces us of her verisimilitude. On the other hand, with King, the actor is already burdened with the audience’s suppositions because we know his story; we’ve heard him and we know what comes next. Still, the actor benefits from some of these expectations provided he comes within the target. 

Jon Michael Hill, King, is an experienced actor with credits on Broadway and the Public Theater. A member of the Steppenwolf Theatre Company in Chicago, his breakout performance was in “Superior Donuts,” which yielded him a Tony nomination when it transferred to Broadway. Having seen him in this production when it premiered at Steppenwolf, I was looking forward to what he would do here. The report card is mixed. He is best when displaying rage, compassion and fear, moments closely related to the man who gave the speeches. He is less effective in displaying vulnerability and is weak when revealing his cravings of the flesh. When called upon to make a pass at Camae, he is awkward and unconvincing. It was King’s dalliances that were fodder for the FBI in trying to discredit him and it is unlikely that he was any less effective as a ladies’ man than he was as an inspirational speaker. Expressing King’s vulnerability does not seem to be in Hill’s wheelhouse. This is truly a shame because the play is written as a duel of spiritual equals and it’s weakest when Hill’s King cannot keep up with Camae.

Amanda Warren, Camae, is a wonder. She has a shaky beginning, trying to find the right tone for her character. When an actor plays everything at the top register, nuance is tossed and there is nowhere to go in moments of passion, anger or excitement because that range has already been exhausted. This was Warren at the start and her bellowing masked over the vulnerability and/or awe her character might have been feeling. When she eventually took her vocal pyrotechnics down a register, she really started to cook and from that moment on, she owned the play. Her ability to express a full range of emotions drew all of our focus throughout most of the action. Luckily, Hill found the right notes at the end and the spiritual battle between Camae and King is of two titans; one you’ve come to know, the other you thought you did. 

Patricia McGregor directed. The Artistic Director of the New York Theatre Workshop, one of the most prestigious off-Broadway theaters, McGregor has a well-rounded resumé; nevertheless, many of the weaknesses cited could be the fault of the director. Hill’s awkward and unconvincing attempts at seduction is one example and Warren’s initial over-the-top vocal fireworks at the beginning is another. McGregor’s vision of how to stage this play is, however, faultless, and Rachel Myers’ set is, in itself, a character in this play. 

“The Mountaintop” is definitely worth seeing, especially for the questions it asks and the answers it doesn’t give. This is a play that makes you think; it makes you remember how far we’ve come and how far we have yet to go. It’s time well spent.

At the Geffen Playhouse through July 9. Performances are on Tuesdays through Saturdays at 8 p.m. with matinees at 3 p.m.; Sundays at 2 p.m. and 7 p.m. The play is 90 minutes with no intermission.

10886 Le Conte Avenue

Los Angeles, CA 90024  

Neely Swanson spent most of her professional career in the television industry, almost all of it working for David E. Kelley. In her last full-time position as Executive Vice President of Development, she reviewed writer submissions and targeted content for adaptation. As she has often said, she did book reports for a living. For several years she was a freelance writer for “Written By,” the magazine of the WGA West and was adjunct faculty at USC in the writing division of the School of Cinematic Arts. Neely has been writing film and television reviews for the “Easy Reader” for more than 10 years. Her past reviews can be read on Rotten Tomatoes where she is a tomato-approved critic. 

The post ‘The Mountaintop’ – A Steep Hill to Climb appeared first on Beverly Hills Courier.

I would like to introduce you to pleasures hidden in plain sight —the covered passageways. These passages, an ingrained part of Parisian heritage, were first introduced in the late 18th century as a safe respite for shopping. Paris in that era was dark, dirty and inhospitable to most. There were no sidewalks, the streets were muddy and often flooded, a situation that was very discouraging. To promote shopping and bolster a nascent cafe society, enclosed passageways were designed and built throughout Paris; passageways that featured chic clothing boutiques, cafes and restaurants, bookstores and purveyors of delicacies. There were so many it was said that one could go from passageway to passageway in the rain without getting wet. The first was an immediate hit and spawned many others. Soon there were more than 150 throughout central Paris. Today only 20 remain, most if not all on the right bank, with the degree of luxury dependent on location.

Most of these ancient shopping malls have labeled archways announcing their presence. But you must look for them as they are usually squeezed between commercial buildings. 

Palais Royal
The prototype of these arcades was in the courtyard around the Palais Royal near the Louvre. Owned by Louis Phillipe, cousin of Louis XVI, and rich beyond measure, he was, nevertheless, in constant need of money. A shopping arcade wrapping around three sides of the palace gardens was proposed and he jumped at the opportunity. Although the original structure, started in 1786, was torn down (perhaps a metaphor for Louis Philippe’s own demise during the revolution), the current sophisticated arcade was reconstructed in 1829. Today, that arcade remains accessible through the garden and protected on all sides by an imposing gold-topped black metal “fence” separating the gallery sidewalks from the foliage. I would recommend this as your first stop. Not precisely a passage, it is more like a protected arcade, an outdoor ground floor to the official ministerial buildings above it. Tour all three sides and you’ll find avant-garde clothing boutiques catering to today’s “flaneurs,” contemporary art galleries, shoe shops, both classic and outrageous, and, significantly, Le Grand Véfour, the formerly Michelin-starred restaurant, opened in 1784 and still serving. Entering via Rue de Montpensier will take you to the courtyard via the Comédie Française.

Galerie Véro-Dodat
Paradoxically, this very upscale arcade was started in 1826 by two butchers. Today it is home to Christian Louboutin, antique furniture stores, sculpture galleries, decorative arts, fine arts and cafés. The immaculate tiled floors and ornate lamps maintain its aura of 19th-century luxury. Accessed from the ironically named Rue du Jean Jacques Rousseau, the Enlightenment writer who wrote “Discourse on Inequality” and “The Social Contract,” and the tony Rue St. Honoré, it is located adjacent to the Bourse de Commerce, the old Commodities Exchange built in 1763 and now the home of billionaire François Pinault’s art collection (yet more irony for the ghost of Rousseau). 

Galerie Vivienne 
Virtually across the street from the gardens and arcades of the Palais Royal you will find a vibrant, still thriving, sophisticated shopping arcade built in 1826. 
Anchored by the Legrand Filles et Fils wine shop, it began life as a tea and spice store in 1880 by François Beaugé. Pierre Legrand bought the establishment and founded his wine boutique after the First World War. It is said that Pierre invented the profession of wine curator, selling wine and educating the public about them. It passed from generation to generation until recently when the Legrand family sold a majority stake to a commercial group. Still, much of the original enterprise remains including the beautiful wooden bar and fixtures. Not the oldest wine shop in Paris, it is still considered one of the best. They offer a large selection from their cellar as well as the opportunity to sample rare vintages. Climbing the stairs to the first floor, look up and see the ceiling insets made of wine corks designed and executed by Pierre after buying the establishment. Like the original store, it is here that you will find their selection of fine caviar, foie gras and smoked fish. If you were to follow the spiral stairs up another floor you would find yourself in the original living quarters of the Legrand family, now used as business offices. 
Proceed a few yards down the hall and you will find the Librairie Jousseaume, one of the original tenants of Galerie Vivienne. Originally opened in 1826 and passing from one owner to another until 1890 when the Jousseaume family bought it. It is now being run by the fourth generation, François Jousseaume. The bookstore has been well kept up but there is nothing left of the original, save the layout. Jammed to the rafters with used books, both rare and current, M. Jousseaume reigns over his bookstore. Not particularly interested in answering questions, he thrust a gently used copy of Patrice de Moncan’s 2012 book entitled “Literary Promenades: The Covered Passageways of Paris,” an indispensable guide if you want to read about what Charles Baudelaire or Colette had to say about their contemporaneous wanderings in the various passageways; not so much if you’re trying to discover the actual history of these hidden gems. M. Jousseaume was more forthcoming when he found out that this article was for the “Beverly Hills Courier.” He wanted to know all about what he called the “city of millionaires.” 

Galerie Colbert
Adjacent to Vivienne, this arcade, crowned with an enormous glass dome in the entryway with its bronze sculpture below, used to be bustling with shops. Now it is primarily a branch of the National Institute of Art History, its boutique spaces used as classrooms for the Sorbonne. All that remains of the boutiques are the placards above the rooms indicating what used to be there. Next door is the restaurant Le Grand Colbert. Originally built in 1637 and eventually sold to Jean Baptiste Colbert, Louise XV’s Minister of State, it passed to the aforementioned Philippe d’Orleans in 1719 and then to the state in 1825. The original building was destroyed to make way for the Galerie in 1828 but was rebuilt and opened as a store. It became a restaurant in 1900. Renovated in 1985, you can still find some of the original mosaics on the ground. It was used as a primary location in the 2003 film “Somethings’ Gotta Give’’ starring Jack Nicholson, Keanu Reeves and Diane Keaton, causing a tourist rush that has calmed and now, once again, it is a sophisticated Parisian lunch spot. Ironically, it’s right next door to a student cafeteria.

Passage Choiseul
Close by, on the other side of the National Library and not far from the Opera, is the Passage Choiseul. Built between 1826 and 1827, it’s bustling with young people, there for the inexpensive, street food restaurants. Beautifully restored, it sports a peaked glass ceiling, popular in the day, and the longest corridor of any of the remaining passages. At the end of the passage is the Théatre des Bouffes Parisiens founded in 1855 by Jacques Offenbach for his operettas. From 1986 to 2007 actor Jean-Claude Brialy was the director. Today it features comedy shows.

Passages des Panoramas
Walking north to the area called Les Grands Boulevards, a more working class area on the south side of Boulevard Montmartre, is the oldest (1799) and perhaps most famous passageway. Narrow like Choiseul, its location and that of its neighboring Passage Jouffroy is, ironically, where Boulevard Haussmann becomes Boulevard Montmartre. Ironic because it was Haussmann who began to rebuild the streets and neighborhoods of Paris in 1854, modernizing them, widening the boulevards and putting in sidewalks. With these improvements came the modern Parisian department stores like BHV (1855), le Printemps (1865) and Galeries Lafayette (1894). It was the very nature of these improvements and the competition from the larger stores that doomed the passages.

The Passages des Panoramas’ narrow corridor and beautiful tiled floor is full of restaurants but no tables for seating. Signs above the doorways indicate the original stores, but none remain. This is where the Stern engravers set up shop in 1834 and passed down through multiple generations until it closed and became a deluxe café. It had been the oldest existing engraver in Paris and Mme. Stern ran the store well into her 80s. In a conversation with her almost 20 years ago, she lamented that this store, run continually by a family member since its opening, would have to be sold because none of her children were interested in carrying on. While giving me the history of her wonderful shop, she stopped momentarily to greet one of her neighbors, the director of the adjacent Théatre des Variétés. That director? Jean-Paul Belmondo. He ran the theater from 1991-2004. The theater, originally in the arcades of the Palais Royal, moved to the Passages des Panorama in 1807 where it has been in continual use. Before Offenbach started his own theater, he premiered his works here.

Even with fewer shops, the Passages des Panorama is part of history. It was here, in 1834, that gas lighting was used for the first time. The peaked glass roof, the old gas fixtures and the wooden boutique entryways remain along with the memories and, of course, the prerequisite bookstore, a fixture in almost all the passages.

Passage Jouffroy
Directly across the Boulevard Montmartre is the Passage Jouffroy. Built in 1845 to capitalize on the popularity of the Passage des Panoramas, it houses the Musée Grevin, Paris’s answer to Madame Tussauds of London. Built in 1882 it specializes in wax recreations of horrific crimes and scenes from the French Revolution; the modern montages and figures are considerably less interesting. The highlight of the museum, architecturally speaking, is its street-facing separate Art Nouveau entrance.

At the end of the first corridor is the little Hotel Chopin. It opened in 1846 and is one of the oldest hotels in Paris. Originally called the “Family Hotel” it changed names in 1970 in honor of Chopin who, rumor has it, would meet George Sand there. Full of small boutiques and significant art galleries, there is a very large bookstore that has been there since the opening of the passage. 

Short on time? After a visit to the Louvre, step into the gardens of the Palais Royal to see the courtyard laid out with short columns of different sizes conceived and constructed by Daniel Buren, then continue on to the arcades. Consider it dipping your toes into les passages de Paris.

Neely Swanson spent most of her professional career in the television industry, almost all of it working for David E. Kelley. In her last full-time position as Executive Vice President of Development, she reviewed writer submissions and targeted content for adaptation. As she has often said, she did book reports for a living. For several years she was a freelance writer for “Written By,” the magazine of the WGA West, and was adjunct faculty at USC in the writing division of the School of Cinematic Arts. Neely has been writing film and television reviews for the “Easy Reader” for more than ten years. Her past reviews can be read on Rotten Tomatoes where she is a tomato-approved critic. For the past few issues, Swanson has contributed pieces about her travels in London and Paris.

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For years, studios overlooked this cash cow…until the summer of 1975. Steven Spielberg’s blockbuster hit, “Jaws,” changed everything and brought with it the concept of a tentpole, a movie big enough that others could fit under that umbrella. And ever since, franchise films like “Star Wars” and more recently, anything from the Marvel multiverse, could expect a summer slot.

Now streaming platforms such as Apple TV+, Netflix and Amazon, to name just a few, have hopped on the summer hit bandwagon. Making and distributing their own content so impressive that they have begun to contend for and win Oscars. Breaking new ground, “Moonlight,” distributed by Amazon, turned the industry on its head when it won the 2016 Oscar for Best Picture. In 2020, several films distributed by streamers, including “The Sound of Metal’’ (Amazon), “Mank” (Netflix) and “The Trial of the Chicago Seven” (Netflix) were up for awards. In 2022, several streaming movies entered the race for Best Picture, including “Don’t Look Up” (Netflix), “Power of the Dog’’ (Netflix) and the Oscar winner, “CODA” (Apple TV+).

The pandemic certainly put a damper on the summer blockbuster season. For more than a year, many theaters weren’t even allowed to open, and the only accessible entertainment could be found on television. Although production shut down during much of this time period, the studios still had a stockpile of content to release, and they did it on streaming platforms and pay-per-view. In 2019, 792 films were released in theaters; that number dropped to 334 in 2020 and rose slightly to 406 in 2021 and 449 in 2022. This year, analysts like JP Morgan’s David Karnovsky are predicting a 15% jump in summer box office sales. Not quite pre-pandemic levels by any means, but a hopeful sign that the industry is bouncing back.

The rebound began last year, when cinema owners and movie producers received the first bit of good news since theaters reopened—with summer films filling out the year’s top 10 lists, including “Jurassic World: Dominion,” “Doctor Strange in the Multiverse of Madness,” “Minions: the Rise of Gru” and “Thor: Love and Thunder.” The standout, “Top Gun: Maverick,” stayed atop the box office charts throughout the year. There’s a theme here, and it’s a time-honored formula—bigger, louder and a sequel. The familiar sells, bigger is better and you’ll see that in the upcoming weeks.

With a slew of potential hits on the horizon, from new installments of established franchises like “Indiana Jones” to Christopher Nolan’s likely Oscar contender “Oppenheimer” and the already social media-hyped “Barbie” (along with several big-ticket, streaming releases), this season is poised to mark the official return of the blockbuster.  Here’s our rundown on what to see—and what not to miss—this summer!

June 2

“Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse” continues the animated adventures of Miles Morales, Spider-Man in his universe, who joins Spideys from parallel universes to save the world. “Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse” was extremely engaging and cleverly written with a diverse and talented voice cast. With the same production team and another sequel in the works, hopes are high. The original crossed demographic lines allowing it to be a family-oriented tentpole.   

June 9

“Transformers: Rise of the Beasts” brings us up to date, well, rather into the mid-‘90s, with those creatures that morph into mechanical robots of scary dimensions, melding live actors with the menacing machines. The remarkable voice cast is led by Oscar-winner Michelle Yeoh, Ron Perlman and Pete Davidson with hot young actress Dominique Fishback, fresh from “The Swarm,” doing battle as Elena. This will be a metal-to-metal fight between the new-style transformer, the Maximals (robotic animals) and the villainous Decepticons.

“Flamin’ Hot,” Eva Longoria’s directorial debut, centers on Richard Montañez, the janitor who catapulted to fame and fortune when he added spicy flavor to Cheetos.

June 16

“The Flash,” based on the DC comic hero, sounds like it might be some fun, if only because it brings back previous Batmen Ben Affleck and Michael Keaton, the original, to try and help extricate Barry Allen aka The Flash from the heap of trouble he created by going back in time to try and prevent his mother’s murder. Superheroes and supervillains from the past rear their heads as the universe as we know it is upended. I’m guessing George Clooney and Christian Bale weren’t available. The gifted but arrest-challenged Ezra Miller stars as Barry Allen/The Flash.

“The Blackening” is a clever take on the presumption that in horror films, the Black guy always dies first. But what if you bring a group of Black friends together to celebrate at a cabin in the woods where a killer lurks in the background? The movie’s tagline sets it up: “They can’t all die first.”

“Elemental” from Pixar Animation mixes characters representing fire, water, earth and air all learning to live together even when they don’t mix, as an allegory for multiculturalism.

“Asteroid City” is the new Wes Anderson film with an all-star cast led by Anderson favorite Jason Schwartzman and a whole passel of terrific actors like Scarlett Johansson, Tom Hanks, Brian Cranston and Hong Chau; and that’s just the tip of a very big iceberg. It’s 1955, and the Junior Stargazer/Space Cadet convention is meeting in a desert town when events occur that spectacularly disrupt the world order. Comedy? Drama? Science Fiction? It’s Wes Anderson; it’s all of the above.

“Extraction 2,” is the follow-up to (you guessed it) “Extraction,” led again by black ops mercenary Tyler Rake (Chris Hemsworth) who must conduct another search and rescue mission.

June 23

“No Hard Feelings” is that much-needed comedy starring Jennifer Lawrence. Trying to save her childhood home, she answers a titillating ad. The job? Date the soon-to-leave-the-nest, introverted son of incredibly intrusive parents with unlimited boundary issues. Piece of cake? Not really.

June 30

“Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny,” directed by James Mangold (with the blessing of Spielberg and Lucas) stars Harrison Ford, reprising his iconic role. A stellar cast—including John Rhys-Davies (“Raiders of the Lost Ark”), Antonio Banderas, Phoebe Waller-Bridge and Mads Mikkelsen, among others—accompanies a ready-for-retirement Indie as he tries anew to make sure that an important piece of archeological history remains safe. Suffice it to say, there will be Nazis. The original, “Raiders of the Lost Ark,” was the tentpole for the summer of 1981, and here we are back again with one of the surefire hits of 2023.

July 7

“Joy Ride” is about the irreverent adventures of one girl’s business trip to Asia that goes wildly off the rails and how, eventually, with the help of her best friends forever, disaster turns into the road of self-discovery (and a lot of raunchy fun). Directed by Adele Lim, with a cast led by Stephanie Hsu, Ashley Park, Sherry Cola and Sabrina Wu.

July 12

“Mission: Impossible—Dead Reckoning Part One” is the much anticipated latest chapter in the Tom Cruise “Mission: Impossible” franchise. Directed and written by the redoubtable Christopher McQuarrie (“Top Gun: Maverick,” “The Usual Suspects”), expect stunts, explosions, thrills and spies. Repeat appearances, besides Cruise, include Ving Rhames, Simon Pegg, Rebecca Ferguson and Vanessa Kirby with the added punch of the exquisite British actress Indira Varma and the too-under-the-radar Esai Morales. With Part Two opening in 2024, Cruise will have played Ethan Hunt for 28 years! Of course, that pales in comparison to the 42 years that Harrison Ford has been associated with Indiana Jones.

July 14

“Theater Camp” mashes together summer camp for musical nerds, complete with energetic dancing, singing and the faux drama of (gasp) shutdown when the founder (played by Amy Sedaris) goes into a coma, and the camp must be rescued from her clueless brother by the teachers, one of whom is the adorable and extremely talented Ben Platt.

July 21

“Barbie,” need we say more? Barbie has been booted from “Barbieland” for not living up to the Barbie standards. She embarks on a journey into the human universe to find happiness. Directed by Greta Gerwig and written by Gerwig and Noah Baumbach, one can only hope that Barbie and Ken, played by Margot Robbie and Ryan Gosling, have their tongues firmly implanted in their cheeks. Loaded with star power that includes Helen Mirren (who is in no fewer than four summer releases), Will Ferrell, Michael Cera and Simu Liu.

“Oppenheimer,” written and directed by Christopher Nolan, is that rare film for adults premiering during the summer. It explores the conflicts faced by J. Robert Oppenheimer as he sets about creating the atomic bomb while trying to manage the political and global ramifications of this weapon designed to end World War II, weighing its potential to do great harm to the future of humanity. This is an IMAX-shot thriller that brings you into the pulsing immediacy of decisions with grave consequences, spies and petty politics that have the possibility of turning friends into enemies. A top-notch cast is led by Cillian Murphy, Emily Blunt, Matt Damon, Robert Downey Jr. and Rami Malek.

July 28

“Haunted Mansion” is the latest Disney film based on one of their amusement park attractions. When their home is invaded by squatters of the supernatural variety, a woman and her son enlist today’s equivalent of moronic ghostbusters. An all-star cast led by LaKeith Stanfield, Tiffany Haddish, Owen Wilson, Danny DeVito and Jamie Lee Curtis, among others, are there for your exorcizing pleasure.

August 4

“Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles: Mutant Mayhem” is Paramount’s final “event” opening of the summer. The latest in the Turtles franchise, “Mutant Mayhem” is a computer-animated film voiced by a new set of actors including Jackie Chan, Seth Rogan, Rose Byrne and John Cena, among others. Coming out to the world of humans in New York, they just want to be normal teens and have fun, but they always seem to attract the wrong sort, in this case, it’s an army of non-turtle mutants.

“Meg 2: The Trench,” the sequel to “The Meg,” is a sci-fi thriller based on “The Trench” by Steve Allen. Some of the same cast returns, notably Jason Statham and Cliff Curtis. If it follows the novel, expect creatures from the deep and a giant shark, at the very least. Director Ben Wheatley (“Kill List”) definitely knows how to up the fright factor.

August 11

“The Last Voyage of the Demeter” is based on a chapter from Bram Stoker’s “Dracula.” The cargo of the Demeter is being transported from Carpathia (where you would find Transylvania) to London. What could go wrong?

“Gran Turismo” profiles Jann Mardenborough whose dream was to become a race car driver. To that end, he parlayed his skill at the Gran Turismo video game to win a series of competitions that he hopes will get him closer to his goal.

August 18

“Blue Beetle,” another superhero film from the DC Extended Universe, features the character Jaime Reyes, a Mexican teen who finds an alien beetle (Blue Beetle) that gives him superpowers. Xolo Maridueña leads a cast that includes George Lopez, who plays his uncle Rudy, and a host of up-and-coming Latino actors. Susan Sarandon plays the villain in this latest addition to the comic book genre.

“Strays” is the potentially hilarious film about Reggie (Will Ferrell), a sweet innocent border terrier abandoned on the wrong side of town by his cruel owner, Doug (Will Forte). Reggie meets Bug, a streetwise Boston Terrier (Jamie Foxx), and together they seek revenge against Doug, enlisting the help of their other canine friends. Who doesn’t love dogs, especially when they’re voiced by this group of comic actors?

“White Bird” is a continuation of the story begun in “Wonder.” Originally centered on a disfigured child, “White Bird” focuses on the boy who tormented him and the life lessons he learns from the narrative of Grandmère about how an act of kindness by a boy she ostracized, saved and changed her life. Better yet, Grandmère is played by Helen Mirren. It’s a thoughtful adult film in a sea of ghost cars and ninjas.

August 25

“Golda” stars Helen Mirren (a controversial choice) as the Milwaukee housewife who was the Prime Minister of Israel from 1969 to 1974, leading her country through many crises, not the least of which was the Yom Kippur War.

September marks the end of summer and as Labor Day approaches, the rollouts start to slow. There will be other films that the studios hope will land big, but for the most part, the events are over. However, there will be a slow trickle of interest in September and October as the studios ready their Oscar candidates for the November and December rush.

September 1

“The Equalizer 3” brings Denzel Washington back as Robert McCall with Antoine Fuqua again directing and Richard Wenk writing the script. There will be blood, action and drama, but the team of Fuqua and Washington is unstoppable. 

And lest we forget, there will be television, lots of it. The broadcast networks still use the end of September to launch their new series, and we can expect more yet-to-be-announced new series to hit most of the streaming platforms during that window as well. As of press time, only two streaming series have been announced for summer launches, “Barracuda Queens,” a new Netflix international crime series from Sweden, beginning on June 8 and “The Afterparty,” a comedy-mystery, on July 12 from Apple TV+.

Happy viewing! 

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While not perfect, this production is about as good as it can get with music and lyrics by Frank Loesser and a book primarily written by Abe Burrows. Nicholas Hytner, the director, formerly Artistic Director of the National Theatre and co-founder of the Bridge Theatre, is no slouch. Among the plays he’s directed to Tonys and/or Oliviers, both for himself and/or the productions, are “History Boys,” “One Man, Two Guvnors,” “Carousel” and “Miss Saigon.”

“Guys and Dolls” is based on characters created by Damon Runyon (and if you’ve never read any of his short stories, you must) and the story is about the “oldest established permanent floating crap game in New York.” The era, late ‘20s or early ‘30s, is quintessential midtown Broadway where gangsters mix with showgirls, cops are on the take, preachers recruit sinners and the high lifes and low lifes intermingle at Mindy’s restaurant after the show. Nathan Detroit is tasked with finding a spot to host the game, for which he gets a cut, something that has been made very difficult of late given the recent crackdown by Lieutenant Brannigan, sore because his superiors are on to his fiduciary relationship with the gamblers. Nathan has to come up with a “grand” to procure the facilities of the Biltmore garage, and it’s a grand he ain’t got. There are a lot of high rollers in town, not the least of whom is Sky Masterson, suave, handsome and flush with cash. Poor Nathan, he’s also being pressured by his girlfriend, Miss Adelaide, the headliner at the Hot Box Revue. As she laments, they’ve been engaged for 14 years and still not any closer to the altar.

Nathan, unable to bring himself to ask Sky for a loan, comes up with a surefire, never lose a bet. He bets Sky, a lady’s man without equal, that he won’t be able to seduce a woman into accompanying him to Havana; but it will be a woman of Nathan’s choice. And who is this “doll?” Miss Sarah Brown of the Save-a-Soul Mission. Will Nathan get his grand? Will Miss Adelaide get her wedding? Will Sky meet his match? It’s all in the telling and the singing. And no matter how many times you’ve seen this show or heard the music, it’s still as fresh as it’s ever been.

What makes this “Guys and Dolls” unique is the staging. Yes, the music is wonderful, the Runyonesque characters are spot on and the timing is everything you could hope for. But Hytner has, once again, marked this production with his imaginative and daring staging. The Bridge is basically a theater in the round (actually it’s a square) with the stalls, British speak for orchestra or, in this case seating closest to the stage, and three levels of gallery seating above the stalls. The Bridge is known for its immersive audience experience with standing room around the staging area. I say staging area because the configuration of the “stage” is variable and sections of marked-off flooring will raise or lower according to the scene in a positively breathtaking manner. The audience with “immersive” tickets is moved from area to area by ushers dressed as New York police officers of the era so that the marked-off platforms can rise with the actors or disappear back onto level ground as called for. This has a tendency to make all the action more immediate and lightning paced. Imagine your high school gym floor taped with a rectangle overlapping a triangle next to a big square next to another long rectangle, each rising independently from the floor to create a miniature customized stage on which the characters interact and then lowering to its initial seamless floor level position as the dancers/actors glide to a new riser, constantly on the move as the floor changes levels.

Arlene Philips, assisted by James Cousins, choreographed this show within an inch of its life, and I mean this in the best possible way. Despite the small, sometimes tiny areas, she was able to create full dance numbers on postage stamp-sized platforms that left you holding your breath, both from the standpoint of artistry and finesse as well as how close some of the dancers came to the edge of the stage. Sky twirls Sarah in midair, literally, because she is swung out over the edge of the riser. She was definitely a bell that was ringing and a gate that was swinging. In almost all the numbers, you marvel as the chorines execute their pirouettes and slides. Her Hot Box numbers with the scantily clad showgirls form a square so that the entire audience may revel in their beauty and high kicks as they continue to move counter-clockwise. The sound is as vibrant as the action because the live orchestra is on full view in one of the upper galleries.

Most of the guys and dolls have multiple roles, whether nightclub performers, Salvation Army members or gamblers, and acquit themselves very well. But you don’t come for the chorus, you come for the characters. Cameron Johnson as the intimidatingly tall and gruff Big Julie and Cornelius Clarke as the grumpy Lieutenant Brannigan make good use of their time on stage. Cedric Neal as Nicely Nicely, one of the premiere supporting characters in the show, has three signature numbers, “Fugue for Tinhorns,” “Guys and Dolls” and “Sit Down You’re Rocking the Boat.”  He doesn’t really sell his beautiful tenor until the very end with what starts out as a swing band version of “Sit Down You’re Rocking the Boat’’ and ends as a showstopping, foot-stomping, shake-the-rafters gospel number that has the audience on its feet. Any previous disappointment, something that is often inevitable when the music is so familiar, is instantly erased.

Daniel Mays as Nathan Detroit has probably the most impressive theater, film and television credits of anyone in the cast, but he chose to mug with extraneous facial and body tics rather than give his character more depth and understanding. He’s not bad; he’s just more of a caricature than he needed to be. Andrew Richardson as Sky Masterson had essentially no credits before being chosen for this lead and will surely have many more to come. Although hampered by a perplexing accent, one that may have been the result of poor dialect coaching, he’s an absolute  hunk with a voice to match his looks. He was the very definition of a romantic lead. Celinda Schoenmaker as Sarah Brown is every bit Richardson’s counterpart with an angelic voice and powerful stage presence. Their dynamic combination makes you believe that initial antipathy can turn into love at second sight.

The showstopper role of Miss Adelaide, the shady lady with a tainted past, has always been an award winner whether played by Vivian Blaine or Jane Krakowski. Here, it is Marisha Wallace who steals every scene she appears in, making this more a Doll and Guys. Wallace has a voice worthy of touring and recording and a stage presence that really sells her devoted ingenuousness makings you believe she would stay with a guy like Nathan for 14 years of broken promises. Dressed like a stripper, you never doubt her innocence or sincerity.

If you’re going to London in the next few months, add “Guys and Dolls” to your agenda. Otherwise, we can hope it will be presented as part of the National Theatre Live film and television performances. I’m not sure how the staging would translate to a more static medium but the show itself is so good that it would still be worth it. 

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Scanning a backdrop of Grenoble, sitting at the base of the Alps, the metropolitan area of this city under a million in population is spread out into a series of suburbs. A somewhat sleepy community that has given rise to research and technology centers, it is primarily renowned for its upscale ski resorts. Opening on the party of a retiring police captain, it is apparent this is a cohesive unit. Assuming the leadership of the group is Captain Yohan Vivès, younger than most of his crew but clearly a respected choice. Yohan’s mettle is immediately tested when they are called out on a murder.

Clara Royer, 20, walking home from a party at the house of her best friend Nanie, is accosted near her house by a hooded man who calls her name. Startled, she stops just as he splashes her with alcohol and calmly ignites his lighter, setting her aflame. The savagery of the attack, the lying in wait aspect of the assault, is the clue that leads the detectives to the conclusion that this was premeditated and vengeful. Interviewing her friends, they find that Clara has left a trail of former lovers in her wake. Drawn to “bad boys,” she was on both sides of the “love ‘em and leave ‘em” equation making the crime harder to unravel.

Yohan must try to untangle the complicated life of the seemingly happy-go-lucky victim, loved by her girlfriends and openly disdained by most of her bedmates. As much a quest to discern the who of the equation and solve the murder, it is also a dissection of Yohan’s methods and inscrutable personality. As they peel away more and more layers to Clara, it is Yohan who admonishes his detectives, prone to crude jokes, that their job is not to pass judgment on Clara’s lifestyle and her choices but to find those who would have wished her ill. It is Clara, regardless of their personal views, who was the victim and she did not deserve such a sordid death.

Yohan leads us through the intricate trail of suspects and dead ends, trying to navigate his mounting anxiety as the number of suspects increases and the evidence shrinks. It is the genius of Moll that it takes us quite a while before we realize that this isn’t really about Clara; it’s about the police captain. Yohan is reserved. His face gives away little; his tone is level and he is slow to anger; his focus is intense; but it is the specificity of his actions that are our clue to this enigma. He is far from indifferent. He aches for a resolution that will find justice for Clara. Instead, everywhere he turns, he sees her being belittled as though she deserved her death because her moral compass ran against the norm. He is not, as might be surmised from some of his statements, a feminist; he is a champion of the belief that everyone must remain equal under the law. He is offended by the misogyny that surrounds him and is quick to admonish any of his squad who expresses such opinions.

Yohan’s unlikely bond within the department is with Marceau, older, more volatile and in the midst of a personal crisis. They are polar opposites. Yohan, single, seemingly unemotional, pragmatic, organized and meticulous in work and home; Marceau, passionate and messy, will act first and question later. His wife has left him and his world has been upended. Grizzled and tattooed on the outside, he is a sentimental romantic at heart. In a telling scene that reveals the depth of Marceau, a man from an earlier generation, and highlights the blindered focus of Yohan, Marceau quotes a passage of poetry to an uncomprehending Yohan. The poem, by Paul Verlaine, a leader of the Symbolist movement in 19th century literature, reveals the bruised soul of Marceau while also illustrating something missing in Yohan. They are as close as they are far apart. Even Yohan’s obsession with cycling at night, alone, at the local velodrome, perplexes Marceau. It’s like his friend is a hamster on a wheel, running faster and faster and never gaining ground. To Yohan, laser-focused on his work, this is a release of tension, his only moment of undisturbed peace.

This investigation and its effect on Yohan is precisely like a hamster on a wheel unable to make progress and unable to stop. Why, asks Marceau, can’t he take his bike to the mountains that surround them? For the two men, the beauty of the neighboring Alps is in sharp juxtaposition with the sordid nature of Clara’s death. Yohan is unable to take his single mindedness on the open road, preferring the regularity of the track where he competes only against himself and not the unpredictability of the wilderness. But, in reality, it may be Marceau who is running in circles and losing ground. His job is filling him with hate and his private life is rife with despair.

This case is Yohan’s white whale. The more he digs, the more he finds and the farther he gets from resolution. As in the Kenny Rogers song, Yohan plays the game of knowing when to hold them and knowing when to fold them. From the beginning there was an acknowledgment that some cases are never solved. The collateral damage is never just the family and friends, but also those who invest in the insoluble.

This deeply felt screenplay explores not just the murder investigation but also its relationship to those trying to solve it. Later, a new addition to the group, a female detective, points out that almost all crimes against women are committed by men and those crimes are investigated primarily by men. Her summation is that it is and will continue to be “a man’s world.” But it’s both more and less than that. The police, reminded incessantly by Yohan that their cynicism, sometimes played out in misogynistic tropes, is misplaced. The statement on its face may be true, but in this case it’s unlikely that having women on the team from the beginning would have solved it. What, after a few years, is necessary is fresh eyes and an unbiased perspective, something supplied by a newly assigned female judge.

Johan is an extraordinary detective. It is his willingness to acknowledge that he may never experience closure on this case and that he must file it away in order to stay focused on what he can solve.

The palette used by cinematographer Ghiringhelli is deliberately murky, increasingly ominous and tension-filled much like the crime and circumstances. But it is the actors that make this film the extraordinary character study that it is. Moll lures you into believing that you are watching a murder mystery but you aren’t. “The Night of the 12th” is one of the best character studies you will ever experience. I say experience rather than see because as you are watching the murder and investigation play out, you are really delving into the personalities of all the participants. Each suspect is vivid in ways that are indescribable, whether it’s the brutal wife-beater; Wesley, her alleged boyfriend who immediately disavows her; the rapper who composed a hate letter against her; or the creepy neighbor. As already described, Marceau, the detective closest to Johan, leads with his fists as he is dying inside. When asked to describe him, Johan’s response was “It’s complicated.”

It is Bastien Bouillon who takes this film from good to great. Almost devoid of facial expression, always the observer and rarely the participant, his Johan is a complex mixture of emotion and detachment that increases the depth of the character. This feeling of profundity gradually overtakes you as you begin to see life through his seemingly impenetrable eyes. It is a masterful performance that sneaks up on you in a thousand different ways.

“The Night of the 12th” was nominated for ten César Awards, the French equivalent of the Oscar, and won six including, Most promising Actor for Bastien Bouillon (Johan); Best Supporting Actor for Bouli Lanners (Marceau); Best Adapted Screenplay (Moll and Marchand); Best Sound; Best Director (Moll); and Best Picture.

See this film. It should be uncorked like a fine bottle of wine because it gets better and deeper with the time to reflect.

In French with English subtitles.

Opening June 9 at the Laemmle Royal.  

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“American Born Chinese”

“American Born Chinese” is a fantastical, both fantasy and fantastic, new series based on the award-winning graphic novel by Gene Luen Yang. Inventive and creative, series creator Kelvin Yu has masterfully merged the stories of the war between two factions of an ancient mythical kingdom and the growing pains of a modern Chinese American teen, Jin, trying to make his way toward acceptance by the High School Kingdom ruled by athletes and entitled white kids, often the same group. These two stories crash together when the son of the mythological Monkey King appears at Jin’s school as a new student named Wei-Chen. Just as Jin is about to break through to his skewed vision of normalcy, the high school principal intervenes. Pulling Jin out of class, she introduces him to a student newly arrived from China named Wei-Chen. Since she believes they have so much in common, both being Chinese, Jin must allow Wei-Chen to shadow him at school. With Wei-Chen at his heels, the increased scrutiny is practically unbearable. Jin is agonized and begins to melt before our eyes. He’s as insecure as Wei-Chen is sure of himself. Like his father, Jin is incapable of standing up for himself; he doesn’t, as Wei-Chen points out, know who he is. Without that knowledge you can’t move forward. Jin finds himself under a black cloud. A video of a humiliating accident at school finds its way to the internet. He attacks the student he thinks responsible resulting in an expulsion from soccer tryouts; and the “Culture Club” at school tries to use his experience to forward their agenda. Behind the eight ball, Jin constantly finds himself immersed in cultural stereotypes that are underscored by everyone’s favorite old sitcom starring Freddy Wong, the hapless, accident-prone repairman who never met an Asian stereotype he couldn’t represent.

Undeterred, Wei-Chen continues his pursuit of Jin. Unknown to his new “friend,” Wei-Chen is convinced that Jin holds the key to helping him resolve the problems of his far-away kingdom. Although Jin remains fairly clueless, he is intrigued by the fact that the heroes of his beloved comic books are all characters from a world Wei-Chen seems to know personally. Wanting to bring Jin closer so he can retrieve a valuable object that may unlock the secrets of the Monkey Kingdom, he tries to introduce Jin to his “aunt,” the goddess of mercy. Will Wei-Chen succeed in his quest? Will Jin blend in? Will the search for cultural and self-identity be achieved?

Adding greatly to the bingeable nature of this series (I couldn’t stop watching) is an extraordinary cast. Ben Wang as Jin, empathetic and conflicted, is at the beginning of what should be a great career. In his first American series, Ching Liu as Wei-Chen should be able to expand his credits. The real surprise is how prescient this casting was because it reads like a follow-up to “Everything Everywhere All At Once,” not just in fantastical, imaginative plotting and the intersection of “Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon” choreography with high school soccer, but also in the supporting cast that is literally breathtaking. Stephanie Hsu has the amusing role of a scam artist jeweler with one foot in the modern world and her heart in the other. James Hong plays the Jade Emperor and Ke Huy Quan is Freddy Wong, the hapless, stereotyped actor on the sitcom. But mainly, “American Born Chinese” gives Michelle Yeoh, as the goddess, another place in the sun. Every minute she’s on screen is enchanting and every minute she’s not, you’re still thinking of her. Has there ever been a TV series that sports two recent Oscar winners and an Oscar nominee? I don’t think so. Everything about this series is everywhere all at once. Steaming on Disney + starting May 24.

“The Clearing”

For you psychological thriller enthusiasts out there, Hulu has one for you called “The Clearing.” Disclaimers to the contrary, they have “loosely” based this series on a 1960s and ‘70s Australian cult called The Family. The Family was led by a woman, Anne Hamilton-Byrne, who claimed to be the reincarnation of Jesus; she likewise declared that her inner circle of followers were her Apostles. Disavowals aside, there are too many similarities to detail every one.

The fictional residents of Blackmarsh, guided by blonde, beautiful, autocratic leader Adrienne make abundant use of LSD, presumably for enlightenment, and yoga exercises. About a dozen children have been accumulated through various legal and illegal adoptions and been brought up to believe that they are her own. They dress alike, they all sport platinum blonde hair similar to their “Mommy” and are restricted to the grounds of an out of the way estate in the woods. Although there is a policeman, or as they call him, a blue devil, who has them on his radar, it is not until a local child, (Sara) disappears on her way home from school that his suspicions go into high gear. Sara had, indeed, been kidnapped by a member of the group to add to the number of disciples. Renamed Asha, she is not quite the malleable soul they hoped for. She refuses to adapt and cries nightly for her real mother. Even her new big sister, Amy, is unable to calm her, something both will suffer for. Although Adrienne professed a need to increase her brood, even she knew that kidnapping would bring on too much scrutiny. There will, as they say, be consequences.

Each episode goes back and forth in time, creating a deliberate fog over the story. It can be difficult to follow, but once you realize that there are two time periods that frame the narrative, it becomes more engrossing. The grownup counterpart of one of the children, now a mother herself, has continued her ties to “Mommy,” something that haunts her days and nights as she worries for her own son. We, like her, are at sea when it comes to deciphering motive and action.

Obtuse at times, the stories keep you engaged with seemingly far-fetched episodes. I say seemingly because nothing could possibly be as bizarre as the original cult upon which this is based. Truth may be stranger than fiction, but this fiction is, nevertheless, quite strange. Based on the crime thriller “In the Clearing” by J.P. Pomare, series creators Elise McCredie and Matt Cameron do a good job of keeping the viewer off kilter, a technique that guarantees empathy with the victims while blurring the line between victim and perpetrator. They were gifted with an outstanding cast led by Teresa Palmer who plays the adult counterpart of one of the children. Miranda Otto is Adrienne, the chilling leader, and Guy Pearce is the doctor lending a so-called respectability to the group. The first two episodes begin streaming on Hulu on May 24, followed by new episodes every Wednesday.

FUBAR

“FUBAR” is definitely FUBAR. It would be inappropriate to use that language, so you’ll just have to look it up.

What could go wrong with a spy thriller series starring Arnold Schwarzenegger from master writer Nick Santora, creator of the fabulous Amazon series “Reacher” (if you haven’t seen it, treat yourself) and “Scorpion.” In short, everything. A muddled cross between a James Bond thriller and a cartoon (I mean cartoon, not action hero comic book), “FUBAR” is about a soon-to-retire CIA agent, Luke Brunner (Schwarzenegger), drawn back in for one final escapade that only he can solve. It’s all very convoluted, with threads going in the direction of a sweater unraveling at both ends, and there’s very little I could reveal that isn’t a spoiler. Suffice it to say, the humor infused in the first episode concerns a lack of crunchies in an ice cream cake. Suffice it to say that the Arnold has never met a line of dialogue he couldn’t mangle.

Luke is looking forward to getting home, not realizing that he no longer has one. His wife, Tally, divorced him years ago, his daughter, a star in everything she ever tried, resented that he never seemed to notice, and his son seeks solace and support from his mother’s longtime boyfriend Donatello aka Donnie. Luke’s actual family has been the one he works with. Barry, the young associate expecting crunchies in Luke’s retirement cake, seems to be the closest to him. That could be literally and figuratively because it is Barry who guides Luke through perilous situations using Bluetooth, or whatever the higher-tech equivalent is, and GPS directions. So close are they that Luke is able to get Barry to cyberstalk Donnie and Tally’s relationship. As you shall soon see, this to the detriment of his “final” job. And what is that job? He must extricate an agent from the camp of a renegade criminal (aren’t they all renegades”) and steal the suitcase-size weapon of mass destruction he has created to be sold to the highest bidder. The hook is that Boro, the master criminal, is the son of someone Luke killed years ago. To assuage his conscience and keep his future options open, Luke paid for all of Boro’s schooling, including an MBA from Wharton. Convoluted? You have no idea. Worse, these are serial episodes to be continued ad nauseam. Premiering globally on Netflix on May 25. 

Neely Swanson spent most of her professional career in the television industry, almost all of it working for David E. Kelley. In her last full-time position as Executive Vice President of Development, she reviewed writer submissions and targeted content for adaptation. As she has often said, she did book reports for a living. For several years she was a freelance writer for “Written By,” the magazine of the WGA West and was adjunct faculty at USC in the writing division of the School of Cinematic Arts. Neely has been writing film and television reviews for the “Easy Reader” for more than 10 years. Her past reviews can be read on Rotten Tomatoes where she is a tomato-approved critic. 

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The office of the movie’s director, local entertainment attorney Robert Darwell, asked if it was possible to have his film reviewed in the Beverly Hills Courier. There was no pressure to review, but I still felt obligated to watch. This hasn’t worked out well in the past, usually ending with pressure exerted and hurt feelings and this time it was a local citizen of great standing. Darwell is a partner at Sheppard Mullin where he is the Head of Global Media, having recently negotiated Amazon’s acquisition of MGM. Convinced I would be seeing an amateur production rife with ego involvement, I reluctantly sat down to begin watching “The 90s Club.”

Wow! Was I wrong. From the opening montage of Jimmy Durante singing “Young at Heart” to the end titles, I was entranced. Durante, 70 at the time he sang this song, personifies the theme of this film because each of the men and women who were interviewed are the very definition of young at heart, giving lie to their ages, all over 90, hence “The 90s Club.” Durante, as a matter of fact, would not have been eligible for this elite group because he died at 86. Contrary to my preconceived notion, this documentary was the work of an extremely accomplished filmmaker who had something to say with style, intelligence and panache.

There are no spoilers here, so I thought I’d begin with who this very diverse group was, some of whom you may have heard of; some of whom were the very definition of the people in your neighborhood; some had major accomplishments; others lived quiet lives embodying the heroism of those who got on with it and showed up day in and day out. They might be your parents, grandparents or even great-grandparents, but none of them were ordinary.

Let me tell you who these elder statespeople were. Art Gelbart, a Polish Holocaust survivor, now from Cleveland, has followed the motto that gets him through life: “You don’t give up.” Maurice Tuber, originally from Argentina, finds joy every day and is more in love with his wife today than when he first met her more than 70 years ago. Alice Peterson, now in Palm Springs, was renowned in her youth for her beauty. She was the Gallo wine girl and her adventurous nature would not allow her to settle for second best.

I especially liked Evelyn Ezrine, the Baltimore housewife with the nonplussed attitude. Lolling on the couch, she expresses the philosophy of “whatever.” Evelyn Coughlin, from Michigan, lives for her family. She is a veritable Norman Rockwell painting of the kindhearted grandmother. Juana Gloria Herrera is something of an outlier. A refugee from Cuba in the early 60s, she never learned to speak English, unnecessary in her community although she would have liked to have done more. Cosseted, she seems very content with the way life eventually played out.

I was particularly fond of Bobbie Harris from Abingdon Township in Pennsylvania. Bobbie, a Black woman faced prejudice with dignity but didn’t suffer fools. Married to a Tuskegee Airman, she was proud of who she was and what he accomplished. Walter Cole, aka Darcelle XV, lived and worked in Portland, Oregon. Darcelle XV, recently passed, made it into the Guinness Book of World Records as the oldest working drag performer. Married early with kids, Walter gradually embraced Darcelle and thrived in a world that was hostile to gays for so many of his years. Sy Gruber was a New York restaurateur who, as he admits, spent too much time at work and not enough time with his family. But that’s what it took to succeed. Tony Vaccaro, also from New York but still with the slight Italian accent of his youth, found his calling behind a camera. One of the oldest and yet most youthful, it’s apparent he lived a good life doing what he loved to do. He still has his first camera.

As to fame and accomplishment, two members of the club stand out; one you will know instantly and the other is a hero whose accomplishments you might know even if you don’t recognize him. Dick Van Dyke is still a delight and as boyish as ever even if the body has started to slow down; his short-term memory is fading but long-term is “coming back in technicolor.” His joie de vivre is ever present and you will delight in knowing more about him. But it is Fred Gray, now living in Tuscaloosa, Alabama, that you should thank. Fred, a quietly driven civil rights attorney, was there at the beginning with Rosa Parks and Martin Luther King Jr. Gray, self-effacing, made an impact because he did what was right. As a young man, he set out trying to eliminate segregation and Jim Crow and has never stopped.

So there you have the cast of characters. All of them have something to say about life as curated by the questions Darwell chose. The questions ranged from their earliest memories; education; the Depression; “the first time;” to current affairs, discrimination, sex, and happiness, among quite a few others, ending with “how you would like to be remembered.” Intelligently and thoughtfully answered by this diverse group of nonagenarians, there’s much to be learned by everyone, regardless of age. One might even say that the answers are as ageless as the speakers.

The production values are excellent. Camerawork and the chosen locations put each person at ease and in their best light. The filming was seamless as was the editing. You’ll find no shadows here, only further illumination. Most impressive, though, is the invisibility of the interviewer. A chyron alerts you to the question but the only person you’ll hear is the interview subject. Fully at ease, the answers flowed naturally. This, in itself, is highly unusual because in many, actually most, the interviewer is an additional presence. Without that added voice, you relax into the responses, something that gives you the impression that you have really gotten to know these individuals as friends. In structuring his questions, Darwell has given each of them the kind of character development one expects in the best feature films.

Unfortunately “The 90s Club” is available only as VOD. In their specious reasoning, much like the broadcast networks, the streamers do not see the value in what they view as an undesirable demographic, totally ignoring the universality of the lessons learned. You don’t have to be 90 (or even the neglected 50-to-dead demographic) to enjoy these people and what they’ve learned and had to say. As an additional warning, don’t turn on the closed captioning. It would appear that the subtitles were done by an incompetent robot, although I must admit some were laugh-out-loud hilarious, especially the unnecessary captioning of the already subtitled conversations with Sra. Herrera.

Go ahead and reach into your pocket and pay the $1.99 on Amazon. It’s a great investment.

In a follow-up to the film, I had the opportunity to speak to the filmmaker Robert Darwell, a 30-year resident of Beverly Hills, about his process. 

What kind of entertainment law do you practice?

It’s a very broad-based practice. Presently almost anything to do with content and content creation. Of course, motion pictures and television have been a longtime part of my practice. But also video games, art law, sports, some music and live entertainment. I have the largest team in the firm. There are 27 associates who work with me. Right now I have the largest client in the firm, which is Amazon Studios. We do a tremendous amount of work around the world.

When did you get interested in being a filmmaker instead of just representing them?

There’s being a filmmaker and then making this film. My parents died about five years ago and after they passed away, I had been thinking of an idea that was always in my head about how much you learn from speaking with older people. I wanted to hear more stories from older folks. My grandparents died when I was much younger so I didn’t get to spend a lot of time with them. Although the pandemic was a busy time for our practice, I thought with the quietness and the work from home that I now finally had time to focus on making a documentary film. I figured I could do these interviews for “The 90s Club” on the weekend or on quieter days. The production schedule was flexible. It was up to me to schedule the interviews and travel. It wasn’t as though I was following a particular event over a course of time where I would have to be in certain places on certain days. I traveled quite a bit. It was a nice time to travel. It was quiet everywhere.

What was your learning process?

I think I really began by not knowing too much at all about how the film would turn out. I just started filming the interviews and having conversations with people. I think where I learned as a filmmaker was in the editing process and working with an editor. I think that’s where, in some respects, my legal background was most valuable. I think as a lawyer you’re somewhat of a natural editor in terms of eliminating words and sentences that don’t matter. I guess not being a pure filmmaker, nothing was too precious for me in the editing process. If I felt that somebody had said what they wanted to say, it was easy to cut the next sentence.

How did you choose your subject matter?

It was two-fold. I recognized that there had been a lot of much-needed social justice over the past decade for a lot of groups. But there didn’t seem to be a lot of attention on the “well-aged.” Even today it seems as though somebody could be pretty readily dismissed just based on a number. You hear somebody is a certain age and the assumption they have less to contribute; they’re not as valuable. It still seems acceptable to make jokes in movies or on television about people based on age in a way that you wouldn’t based on race or sexual orientation. So, I wanted to do something that would highlight the value and worth of senior seniors. Then on a more selfish level, after my parents had died, I think I was looking for some guidance and wisdom for myself as I grow older and begin to think about how I want to spend the next 30 years or so.

Did you already have several of the people in mind?

I didn’t want it to be a celebrity-driven piece. I wanted the interviews to be with people who would seem like your grandmother or next-door neighbor. Real people. I did think that I would want to include one celebrity from the outset even before I began filming. I mentioned that to a colleague here in the office at a dinner. “I’m going to start making this documentary film and talk to people who are in their 90s. One famous person I would like to have in it is Dick Van Dyke. He would be my number one choice.” About five or six months later, that colleague, Dick Trouper who lives in Malibu, ran into Dick Van Dyke at the gym and mentioned the project to him. So I called him up and we spoke and he agreed to participate in the film.

Let’s talk a bit about the difficulty you’ve had in selling the film.

The film was well-received by audiences and documentaries do seem to be somewhat hot right now. Once it was receiving some recognition, I thought there would be a more natural home for it. Even some people, who very much enjoyed the film and were in a position to license or buy it for their platform, felt that it targeted an older audience that wasn’t the most desirable demographic for the platform. I think that the eyeballs that are most coveted are the younger demographic. But when it did screen for audiences at film festivals it was frequently younger people or college-aged people in their 20s who were coming up to me and telling me how much they enjoyed the film and how they would love for their grandparents to see the film and be inspired by it. One of the most rewarding things would be when someone who was younger said, “I’ve got to sit down with my grandparents and ask them a bunch of questions and talk to them.” 

Neely Swanson spent most of her professional career in the television industry, almost all of it working for David E. Kelley. In her last full-time position as Executive Vice President of Development, she reviewed writer submissions and targeted content for adaptation. As she has often said, she did book reports for a living. For several years she was a freelance writer for “Written By,” the magazine of the WGA West and was adjunct faculty at USC in the writing division of the School of Cinematic Arts. Neely has been writing film and television reviews for the “Easy Reader” for more than 10 years. Her past reviews can be read on Rotten Tomatoes where she is a tomato-approved critic. 

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Zoe and Kaz are next-door neighbors in London and lifelong best friends; she, a documentary filmmaker of varying degrees of success, and he, a successful physician. Zoe and Kaz have endless discussions about their unsuccessful journeys into the dating world. She’s been swiping right for quite some time and always somehow ends up with Mr. Wrong or Mr. Unavailable. He has given up on the dating scene and has decided on a radical path. Pakistani by heritage, he will go the route of the arranged, or as the matchmakers are wont to call it, assisted marriage. Presented with an array of eligible Muslim women, his parents alight on what they think will be his perfect partner. Meeting for the first time on FaceTime, Kaz is smitten. She’s a beautiful, demure young law student in Pakistan who is willing to relocate to London. Ecstatic, his family begins plotting the trip to Lahore and the extravagant wedding that will suit both sides.

Zoe, perplexed, is less than enthusiastic to lose her best friend to such a venture. Still, it’s lemonade out of lemons time and she approaches her producers about turning this quest and wedding into her next documentary. What a great story this cultural narrative could be. His parents, reluctant at first, agree to let Zoe film the preparations and the ceremony. She and her mother would have been invited in any case, so this is just an added piece of baggage.

Zoe, whose personal romantic adventures have been much less than successful, interviews other couples who have been “assisted” and is surprised by what she finds. As Mrs. Khan, Aisha, and Kaz’s grandmother, the blunt-spoken and prescient Nani Jan, all the products of long-lasting assisted marriages, reiterate, “you run into like and walk into love.”

Zoe’s mother Cath has been dismayed at Zoe’s lack of success in the dating world. Her daughter is smart, beautiful and accomplished but thoroughly unappreciated by the men who have passed through, all ultimately disrespectful of who she is. Yes, they’re smitten by her beauty but little else. But then, these are the men that Zoe has deliberately chosen—bad boys all, and most are unavailable in the long run. Maybe there’s something to Kaz’s thinking. Maybe she’d have better luck if someone else, like her mother, chose for her.

Cath has just the man in mind: her handsome, smart, delightful veterinarian. On first meeting, Zoe’s unimpressed with James. She runs to unavailable renegades and James is not of that ilk. But on further reflection, especially after attending Kaz’s traditional wedding to a stranger, for what else could you call her, she decides that there may actually be something to having someone else do the choosing and she starts seeing James. Yes, she likes him but there’s no spark for her, even if James feels one. They’ve got the “like” but it seems unlikely they’ll, or rather she’ll ever get to the “love.”

Meanwhile, Kaz’s path has taken a sharp left turn when he discovers that Maymouna has a hidden life. The indications were there that the prospective bride might not be all that the Khans believed her to be; but Nani Jan saw the signs. Kaz took this path, in some ways, to ease his parents’ concerns. His younger sister married for love outside the faith and has been cut off by the rest of the family. But to go any farther would be to diminish the pleasure of discovery, even if that path is foreordained and not particularly surprising.

Much of this story resonated with me personally. My grandmother was the spoiled, youngest sibling of eight. She fell in love (disastrously I might add) and refused the matchmaker her parents put forward. She got her way, but her father’s pointed words were “He’ll be unfaithful.” The only one of the eight to have married for love, she was the most miserable. She loved him until he died but as her father had predicted, he was serially unfaithful until the end.

Screenwriter Jemima Khan tapped into personal experience when she conceived of this idea. No, her marriage at the ripe young age of 20 was for love but it did take her from London to Pakistan with her husband and gave her the opportunity to closely observe the “assisted” marriages in her new social circle. It was not what she assumed and she grew to appreciate the philosophy that though they may not have started with love, many ended up with it. As she noted, this was a “simmer then boil” philosophy. As she is quick to point out, she and her now ex-husband were the only love-first marriage in his family history. Theirs was also the only divorce.

Although the premise Jemima discovered from her new friends in Pakistan was that compatibility was more valuable than chemistry, the film would seem to give lie to that premise. Certainly, on paper, Kaz and Maymouna would seem to have a great deal in common. It was important that he valued intelligence, but her beauty was a significant aspect of her appeal. But do only surface commonalities constitute compatibility? Who, in modern-day culture, does this kind of arrangement suit? The cultural differences between a London-born son of Pakistani immigrants and a seemingly demure young woman from that country might, in reality, be insurmountable if properly examined. In the end, however, it wasn’t cultural differences that undermined their relationship, but truth in packaging. Interestingly, how much difference is there in the modern-day dating app Tinder where you swipe right, or websites such as Match.com from old-school matchmakers? Granted, swiping right is generally not as related to substantive issues as it is to physical traits, but isn’t that a fundamental basis for any kind of matchmaking? Does the fact that it is someone else swiping right for you constitute better odds?

Acclaimed director Shekhar Kapur (“Bandit Queen,” “Elizabeth”) keeps things moving at a very fast, engaging pace. The scenes are set up for maximum impact with the camera lovingly focused on intimate conversations as well as raucous party scenes. His style elevated the story and added depth. The cinematography by Remi Adelfarasin (“Elizabeth”) is lush, making use of available light and the colorful settings.

But it is the casting that really shines with Jeff Mirza as Zahid, an always sympathetic lead who is the perfect counterpart to Zoe, played by the lovely Lily James. Their chemistry comes naturally because they are longtime close friends. James has shown her versatility in films as wide-ranging as “Cinderella,” “Downton Abbey” and the recent mini-series “Pam & Tommy.” Here she is aggressive, demure and suitably conflicted. She is a pleasure to watch.

I would be remiss in neglecting the three standout supporting actors that give this film some of its oomph. Asim Chaudhry is the matchmaker who seems to channel Tony Robbins pitching “Awaken the Giant Within.” Pakiza Baig as Nani Jan is sly, observant and trenchantly funny. Remarkably, this was her first foray into acting.

And then there’s Emma Thompson as Cath, Zoe’s mother. I would be lying if I said her performance wasn’t over the top. It is and it could have used a little more subtlety. But at the end of the day, it’s Emma Thompson, and even too much Emma Thompson is never enough. You’ll wince occasionally, but getting to see her in traditional Pakistani dress dancing Bollywood style with the girls at the wedding is a hoot not to be missed. She never loses the empathy factor and in her own way she is one of the important anchors of the film.

Is this great art? No. But its qualities lie elsewhere. The portrayal of the society into which Kaz was born and into which his parents would like him to stay is respectful but is also careful to address the limitations faced in a cross-cultural and modern society that emphasizes choice while respecting tradition. When they clash…it’s that eternal generational divide.

Too often the obvious takes precedence over the understated, to the detriment of the overall story. Still, it’s a fast-paced rom-com with a preordained ending that I enjoyed and think you will too.

Opening May 5 at the Monica Film Center and other Laemmle theaters around Los Angeles. 

Neely Swanson spent most of her professional career in the television industry, almost all of it working for David E. Kelley. In her last full-time position as Executive Vice President of Development, she reviewed writer submissions and targeted content for adaptation. As she has often said, she did book reports for a living. For several years she was a freelance writer for “Written By,” the magazine of the WGA West and was adjunct faculty at USC in the writing division of the School of Cinematic Arts. Neely has been writing film and television reviews for the “Easy Reader” for more than 10 years. Her past reviews can be read on Rotten Tomatoes where she is a tomato-approved critic. 

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Gone, or almost gone, are the days of universal appeal as the streamers and networks try targeting their content to specific audiences. Unfortunately, the executives who make those decisions get younger and younger, with less understanding of the genre’s history and the graying of the audience, so I begin to lose confidence and sigh at the lack of originality. This isn’t entirely the case with the following new series, but that element of sameness and lack of originality comes through in some.

On with the show, as I lead off with one of the best new series to launch in quite some time.

“The Diplomat”

There aren’t enough words to extoll the virtues of this excellent entry into contemporary political drama that channels “Madame Secretary,” “Scandal” and “Borgen” with a bit of “House of Cards” thrown in and yet is still fresh and original.

Kate Wyler is a career diplomat about to begin a stint in Afghanistan, a job she has sought for years. Married to Hal, another professional diplomat, his career is at a standstill after calling the Secretary of State something to the effect of a bloodthirsty warmonger. Like his wife, he is an expert on the Middle East and is eager to lend support. But a monkey wrench arrives in the guise of the President of the United States and a major pivot is about to begin. She has been reassigned at the last minute to the United Kingdom where she will be the new Ambassador. You would think such a plum, high-profile position would excite her. You would be wrong. Such ambassadorships are reserved for high-rolling donors to presidential campaigns, rarely to career diplomats. Kate hates high profile; Kate hates cushy; Kate hates flouncy dresses and photo shoots; and most of all Kate wants to go where her skills are most needed–the Middle East.

What she doesn’t know, and her husband does, is that this is a trial by fire to see how she performs on the larger, more public stage. The current Vice President of the United States is about to be engulfed in a scandal of her husband’s making and she will soon be forced to resign. The aged President needs someone vibrant in that office and needs her, emphasis on female, soon; especially someone who will not be interested in challenging him for his office in the next election. Kate is but one of four potential candidates and will be watched carefully, both inside the embassy and out.

Complicating matters enormously are Hal, the husband from whom she is secretly estranged, may soon divorce, and is not one to stand in the shadows; and the UK Prime Minister, a cross between Boris Johnson and someone even worse. She’s being spied on by the CIA, the president’s people, and her British counterparts. Worse, a British ship has just been blown up and the Prime Minister is convinced it was done by Iran. He wants nothing short of immediate retaliation without confirmation that the Iranians were actually responsible and he wants the full military support of the U.S. Not renowned for his intellectual capacity, he sees this as a golden opportunity to shore up his flagging numbers. Kate, an expert on Iran, smells something fishy and cannot let this happen.

The writing by creator Debora Cahn is as pitch perfect as the acting. Leading the cast is Keri Russell who is commanding, serious and flat-out wonderful in the role of Kate. Every bit her equal is Rufus Sewell, as Hal, always excellent and here scene stealing without lifting an eyebrow. The supporting staff includes Michael McKean as the President, Rory Kinnear, positively unhinged, as the Prime Minister, Ato Essandoh as Kate’s major domo (and spy for the administration), David Gyasi as British Minister of State, and a devilish Ali Ahn as the embedded CIA agent.

I rarely watch all the episodes of a series in previews, but I gobbled this one up and I think you will too.

All episodes now streaming on Netflix.

“Bupkis”

“Bupkis” is a Pete Davidson-created comedy series loosely based on his own life. I was vaguely aware of Pete Davidson, a constant presence in the trades with his SNL antics and ever-changing love life, but not a fan. I was, quite frankly, turned off by the first episode as the self-indulgent Pete is navigating a video reality game and checking out its possibilities. But then again this may have been a demographic problem, much like my reaction to “History of the World Part II.” I persevered and was glad that I did because each ensuing episode got better.

Davidson, playing a variation of himself, is tattooed, inappropriate, rude and sweet at the same time. He, like his character, lost his father, a firefighter, in 9/11. The sadness at the root of the character is ever present but so is his devotion to family. Flashbacks show the young Pete as a feisty child attempting to understand his new circumstances, encouraged to act out by his loving, and equally inappropriate relatives. The wedding scene is a masterful example of tasteless behavior. But this is Davidson’s show and he gets to be whoever he wants and mine past behaviors however he chooses. And even more fun for him is choosing who he envisions as his relatives with Edie Falco as his mother, Brad Garrett as his uncle, Jane Curtin as his grandmother, and Joe Pesci, in a hilarious turn, as his grandfather. Lots of familiar faces drop by like Bobby Canavale, Al Gore, John Mulaney, Kenan Thompson and Ray Romano, among others. How many of us get to replay our lives with the relatives of our choosing?

Contrary to my initial impression, this is a comedy that has more depth than meets the eye. Even I’m surprised that I was won over. So give this one a chance. Yes, some of it is incredibly crude, a nod to that generation I suppose, but there’s warmth and humor and vulnerability too.

Premiering May 4 on Peacock.

“Grease: Pink Ladies”

Prequels seem to be all the rage. Imagining how the Pink Ladies of Rydell High School (“Grease”) came about is a backstory fulfilled. It’s 1954 and the popular kids rule. Pretty Jane, new in town, has hooked up with Buddy, the most popular boy in school. Convinced it’s true love, she lets him go far, but not all the way. Buddy’s ex-girlfriend is jealous of her replacement so she is delighted when the rumor goes around that Jane did go “all the way.” Not true, but true enough, Jane finds herself on the outs once again. She and Buddy had planned to run for student council together as a dream team but now he feels forced to distance himself from her, despite the fact that he was the source of the rumor. But this is the 50s and double standards ruled the hierarchy.

Jane, unable to scratch back her reputation, finds her acceptance limited to the pariahs of the school, including Olivia, ruined by rumors of a liaison with a teacher, Cynthia, the girl who wants more than anything to be a member of the all boy biker gang led by Richie, and Nancy and Hazel, the odd girls out.

Each episode will shift the balance of the haves and have nots watched over by the ever present and ineffectual Assistant Principal McGee. The casting is good, with stand outs Marisa Davila as Jane, Jonathan Nieves as Richie, Jason Schmidt as Buddy, and the breakout star Cheyenne Isabel Wells as Olivia. It’s always a pleasure to see Jackie Hoffman, Assistant Principal McGee, in whatever role she plays. She’s always funny without having to do anything.

On Paramount+, the first two episodes launched on April 6 with subsequent episodes released weekly.

“Tiny Beautiful Things”

Based on a collection of essays by Cheryl Strayed, “Tiny Beautiful Things” follows the adventures of Clare, a hot mess of a writer barely getting by in the jobs she can find. When we first meet her, she’s been thrown out by her husband for having “borrowed” their daughter’s college fund to pull her addict brother Lucas out of his latest scrape. Clare and Lucas, orphaned in their teens, carry the burden of dysfunction into adulthood. Clare is offered the opportunity of taking over a popular self-help advice column, “Dear Sugar,” by a friend. She is not unaware that she’s the last person to be giving advice. Like so many shows these days, the episodes go back and forth between incidents earliest, earlier and present day in Clare’s life. It can be hard to keep track.

Overly dramatic, the show is very much like the main character–without an anchor. No one is particularly sympathetic; the overall feeling is one of sadness and self-importance. More’s the pity because the lead is played by Kathryn Hahn, a very accomplished comedic actress, who is given nothing to play to her strength.

Now streaming on Hulu.

“Saint X”

I don’t even know where to begin with this one. A teen goes missing on a family vacation to a Caribbean island resort where everyone, especially the teen, Alison, is over sexed, conniving or both. You’ve seen this one before whether on the news or in film and nothing original is excavated in this trope. The first episode introduces the main characters, or suspects as we like to call them. Later episodes go back and forth in time, from the present to the past, as the surviving younger sister is still haunted by that day. Now living in New York, she thinks she sees the man accused of Alison’s murder and pursues him to get answers.

No one is sympathetic, everyone is overwrought, racism seems to be at the base of all assumptions although the Black characters are no more sympathetic than the white ones. Somewhat tedious in its portentousness, it follows the cliché that it’s not who you think it is. But then it never is, is it?

Now streaming on Hulu.

“Sam – A Saxon”

Beginning in the late 1980s as protests against the East German Communist regime were escalating, Sam Meffire, born to a white, alcoholic mother and a father from the Cameroons who died under suspicious circumstances, is caught in the middle. He is looking for a place in a society that categorically rejects him for his skin color and presumed immigrant status. The episodes trace Sam’s progression from amateur Soccer player to the first Black member of the East German police to the face of the “new Germany.” But the reunification of the two Germanys does little to improve his situation. It is a rise and fall story as he threads his way through the prejudice and brutality he faces on a day-to-day basis, going from model citizen to part of a criminal gang. Based on the memoirs of Samuel Meffire, this German language series starring an excellent and charismatic Malick Bauer, Sam, is definitely watchable although it is at least one episode too long. There is no doubt of the abuse he took but the relentless and constant incidents of race-based brutality eventually dulls the senses, ultimately diminishing the effect. In German with English subtitles.

Now streaming on Hulu. 

Neely Swanson spent most of her professional career in the television industry, almost all of it working for David E. Kelley. In her last full-time position as Executive Vice President of Development, she reviewed writer submissions and targeted content for adaptation. As she has often said, she did book reports for a living. For several years she was a freelance writer for “Written By,” the magazine of the WGA West and was adjunct faculty at USC in the writing division of the School of Cinematic Arts. Neely has been writing film and television reviews for the “Easy Reader” for more than 10 years. Her past reviews can be read on Rotten Tomatoes where she is a tomato-approved critic. 

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This excellent documentary, “Judy Blume Forever,” is a great start to discover all things Judy, now a very youthful and still active 85. Directed by Davina Pardo and Leah Wolchok, obsessed fans of her work, they pursued Judy relentlessly until she finally said yes to participating in this film. They made great use of archival footage of Judy’s many appearances on TV, interviewed by every talk show host of the 70s and 80s. Additional commentary is from a diverse group of contemporary writers and actors speaking about how Judy’s work resonated with them, a group as diverse as Molly Ringwald, Lena Dunham, Samantha Bee and writer Tayari Jones, among many others. Pardo and Wolchok were able to fully capture Judy by letting her tell her own story in her own way. It’s a learning experience for us all.

Judy, she just naturally seems to be a Judy and not a Ms. Blume, was the perfect daughter of the 1950s. She excelled in school, didn’t raise a ruckus; went to college and got her MRS., marrying a lawyer, second only in stature in the Jewish home to a doctor; had kids and was a stay-at-home mom. She kept a lid on her feelings and carried on. As she put it, she was the good girl with the bad girl lurking inside. Pretend to be happy; pretend everything is good. She worked hard to please everyone around her, with only her beloved father on her side. More’s the tragedy that he died days before her wedding. She soldiered on.

Chafing at the bit in a suburb where she was the square peg in a round hole, she needed to feed her creative impulses. As long as she fulfilled her wifely and motherly duties without sacrificing the needs of others, her husband “allowed” her to work at home during her spare time. Now we’ve all been there, I think. The amount of spare time left during the day of a stay-at-home mom won’t fill an hourglass, but she found it. Sequestered in the open at a desk with a typewriter, Judy began to write children’s books, or, as she recounts, poor Dr. Seuss imitations. But she plowed ahead, wincing at the many polite rejections from publishers. Even she will admit that she wasn’t very good at first. But a major breakthrough came when her husband showed one of her manuscripts to a publisher friend. His advice? You have no talent; find something else. Instead of curling up in a ball, this was the fire that lit her.

Judy read constantly, something begun in childhood. Her mother worried about everything but never about what Judy read. What Judy noticed, and what became her breakthrough, was that no one was writing from the child’s point of view. Children’s literature, in general, did not take into consideration the native intelligence and emotions of the reader. “Are You There God? It’s Me Margaret” came from her heart and the first draft just flowed. It’s about sex, spirituality, religion, puberty and all told from the standpoint of a sixth-grade girl. As one of the commentators/interviewees in the documentary states, “Judy was talking to me.” The book dealt with adolescence in a realistic manner and its smashing sales indicated that there were a lot of listeners out there. Judy had found her voice and there was no stopping her. She could be fearless in her writing, which she couldn’t be in life.

She next channeled the mind of a fourth-grade boy, Peter, who is hounded by his two year old brother Farley, aka Fudge, and how he interferes with everything in his life. Fudge is a handful, hilarious and a pain in the derriere. His adventures are less important than the impact he has on those around him, especially his siblings; and the books (there was a quartet featuring Fudge) capture that preadolescent stage of angst and awkwardness. As Judy explains, “Every little boy was Fudge.” Mine certainly was and I bet yours was too.

Judy next had an important question to ask herself. “Have I led my own life or did I live the life my mother wanted me to live?” Her divorce from her first husband was inevitable and opened her up to living her own life and making her own mistakes, and there were lots of them. Her success in channeling the feelings of the children and adolescents she wrote about put a big fat target on her back. The Moral Majority, making a giant comeback under Ronald Reagan’s presidency, was outraged over her frank discussions of teenage sex. Soon there were calls to ban her books (well, not just her books) and Phyllis Schlafly took direct aim at her. Schlafly, primarily active in the 70s and early 80s, was a conservative, anti-feminist activist who successfully torpedoed the Equal Rights Amendment. Targeting Blume’s writing kept her (well actually both of them) in the spotlight. For Schlafly, any discussion of sexuality was a sin. For Blume, censorship and book banning were far worse. She emphatically stated that a book cannot harm a child.

But Blume didn’t just care about her books; she cared about her readers. She received massive amounts of fan letters and made an effort to reply to as many of them as she could. Several of the interviewees are actually women who started writing to Judy when they were children, confiding things to her that they felt they couldn’t confide in anyone else. They had secrets and harbored feelings and questions they only felt comfortable writing to the author of “Are You There God? It’s Me Margaret,” or “Forever,” a book that dealt with teenage sex without punishment. Judy encouraged these girls, now women, to use their letters as a journal, to help them work out their issues even while writing to Judy. When faced with the real-life crisis of one of her fans, Judy made sure the girl received the psychological help she needed. It is awe-inspiring to see and listen to these girls, now women, as they relate their years-long correspondence with a famous writer who always had time to answer them.

Judy was married to her first husband for 16 years. That shows her perseverance. Spreading her wings a bit too quickly, she married again almost immediately, disastrously as she puts it. But by letting her bad girl escape, she found her true self and with it, almost 10 years after that second marriage, the love of her life. With husband number three, George Cooper, they traveled the world, each supporting the other. Not surprisingly, in retirement, she owns a bookstore where she works behind the counter several days a week. Grounded, normal, and breathtakingly real, Judy loves to receive visitors to the store, promoting the books that the resurgent Moral Majority is trying to ban.

“Judy Blume Forever” will make you want to go back to your favorite of hers or if, heavens above, you’ve never read her, you’ll want to start at the beginning and sample everything. The world may have changed from the time Judy was writing, but, fundamentally, the problems of childhood are still very much the same. She doesn’t give you solutions, but she does equip you to ask the right questions. Don’t miss this one.

Streaming on Amazon Prime Video April 21. 

Neely Swanson spent most of her professional career in the television industry, almost all of it working for David E. Kelley. In her last full-time position as Executive Vice President of Development, she reviewed writer submissions and targeted content for adaptation. As she has often said, she did book reports for a living. For several years she was a freelance writer for “Written By,” the magazine of the WGA West and was adjunct faculty at USC in the writing division of the School of Cinematic Arts. Neely has been writing film and television reviews for the “Easy Reader” for more than 10 years. Her past reviews can be read on Rotten Tomatoes where she is a tomato-approved critic. 

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Bologne, the illegitimate son of a white plantation owner in Guadeloupe and his teenage slave, was, by all contemporary accounts, extraordinarily gifted. We first meet him as a child when he’s dropped off by his father at a prestigious Parisian academy. Scoffing at the very idea that they would ever accept such a child, Joseph’s father has him demonstrate his prowess on the violin. Problem solved; Joseph is enrolled, even if his presence is an irritant to the other students who let their fists demonstrate their displeasure. But Joseph’s skills are not just musical, they are also physical and he is soon a master of fencing, eventually defeating all the champions of France.

Content to put down his epée, Joseph embarks on a plan to gain acknowledgement for his musical endeavors. Known by a few, he steps onto the national stage in a big way. Mozart, in all his young, egotistical glory, is giving a concert in Paris. Asking for requests from the audience, a voice is heard asking for one of his violin concertos. “Of course,” Mozart replies. But just as he’s about to put bow to string, the audience member, a handsome, well-dressed young Black man, bounds to the stage and asks that he be allowed to play with the master. Taken aback, but sure of himself, Mozart agrees and what follows is the equivalent of a game of the dozens between two dueling violinists that ends when Mozart storms off. This scene alone is almost worth the price of admission. Certainly it never happened, certainly the Chevalier, as he is now known after being dubbed so by no less than Marie Antoinette, never played with Mozart, although years later they inhabited the same home in Paris. Never mind that Mozart was more than 10 years younger than Joseph and would have been 9 years old at the time. This is a variation on the adage, when the story is better than the truth, play the story, but might have been even better if the Mozart portrayed on stage was 9, giving much more credence to his storming off. But then Boulogne would have been seen as a bully, something that would not serve the story. And so the Chevalier becomes the toast of Paris. If acceptance is based on trying hard, doing better, and pushing through, then he will do that. And he does.

The exoticism of his birth and skin color is like bees to honey for Parisian women. He becomes a pet to Marie Antoinette who, at the time this film takes place, would have been a teenager and not yet queen of France. Bologne’s life without the imaginative reworking was interesting enough. Nevertheless, many of the incidents depicted in “Chevalier” did happen; embellishments were not necessary.

The Chevalier de Saint-Georges was prolific in his compositions; he was one of the leading violinists of his day; he wrote operas; he had an affair with one of his leads, endangering his life and hers when her very powerful husband, the Marquis de Montalembert discovered the liaison, including a pregnancy.

Despite the remarkable facts of this extraordinary young man’s life, the film itself is flat. So where on earth did Robinson and Williams go wrong? Williams, recognizing that only a rough outline of the life of this fascinating man existed, apparently decided to write a modern take on his achievements, difficulties and the prejudice he faced as a Black man in a country where slavery was still legal in their West Indies colonies. Yes, there are parallels but rather than draw them out, her sophomoric script employed anachronistic language, simplistic dialogue and relied too heavily on exposition. There are times you will positively wince at the conversations between characters. Both she and Williams squandered the goodwill generated by Kelvin Harrison Jr., their lead. I sincerely doubt whether any of the characters would have used the f-word. I often cringed when the characters spoke, going back and forth between time period-appropriate expressions and modern-day vernacular. It’s almost as if Williams decided to channel the Bridgerton universe created by Shonda Rhimes in her Netflix series, diminishing the power of a true story.

It seems at times that Robinson and Williams were entranced with making “Chevalier” a bodice-ripping historical romance and other times a serious study of the racism faced by the main character. I doubt you can have it both ways, or at least not satisfactorily. Both Robinson and Williams have had successful television careers and therein lies the rub, perhaps. Superficial when it should have been deep, the character development of everyone save Boulogne has been sacrificed for plot.

Casting was also a problem. If the script is unconvincing, it helps to have actors who can elevate the material. With a few notable exceptions, this cast did not deliver.

Minnie Driver as La Guimard, an artist scorned by the Chevalier, was quite good. When discarded, she vows vengeance and effectively, without a word, she gets it. Driver knows how to make the maximum of the minimum and is a pleasure to watch in her few scenes. Sian Clifford, Madame de Genlis, is a supporter and confidante of the Chevalier in his opera endeavors. More could have been made of her role in finding the librettist for “Ernestine,” the opera that figured in a competition. That librettist was none other than Pierre Choderlos de Laclos who would go on to write “Les Liaisons Dangereuses.” In real life, “Ernestine” was a flop; his next opera, however, would be a major success. Clifford, like Driver, knows how to deliver a performance with a twitch of the mouth, a line of dialogue and sad eyes. And finally there is Marton Csokas, the evil Marquis de Montalembert, husband of Bologne’s lover Marie Josephine. In his few scenes, Csokas conveys his power, position and ability to wreak havoc. Like the others, he makes the most of his few lines and a daunting physical presence. As an editorial note, the name Montalembert is extremely difficult to pronounce and even though there were several dialogue coaches employed, no one pronounced it correctly. It’s easy to stumble over and everyone did.

Samara Weaving plays the unhappy wife of Montalembert, Marie Josephine. Forbidden by her husband to sing at the opera, she disobeys his wishes and triumphs, both in song and in love with the Chevalier. For most of her time on screen, she brings little of substance. She has one dramatic moment when she returns to her husband, but that doesn’t do enough to erase the simper in most of her performance.

Lucy Boynton plays Marie Antoinette. Yes, Marie Antoinette was known to be a silly little thing and Boynton has that down pat. But Boynton’s Marie is insipid, lacking any undercurrent of authority making her transformation into the evil queen unconvincing. It actually takes a while to figure out that she is the queen.

And then there’s Alex Fitzalan who was given the unenviable expositional role of Philippe d’Orleans, a cousin of Louis XVI and soon to be known as Philippe Egalité, a supporter of the people and the revolution. Almost used as a narrator to explain what was happening in those pre-revolutionary days, his delivery is bland and his tone is thin. It does not help that he has so much of the tiresome dialogue to recite. In short, he does not have enough presence to rise above the vapidity of the script.

Kelvin Harrison Jr. There are not enough words to extol his virtues and the primary reason to see this film. Single-handedly he almost succeeds in rescuing the movie. He has enormous presence on screen and his quiet authority elevates the dialogue, brings credence to the action, and is a veritable rooting interest. Handsome, compelling and convincing, Harrison is able to deliver bland and anachronistic language as though he were reciting Shakespeare. This is not the platform he deserved and yet he made a five-course banquet of it. I will definitely look for him in the future and so should you.

Unlike the writing and directing, the production values are outstanding. Costume design by Oliver Garcia is sumptuous. Period pieces are a costume designer’s bread and butter and he created a feast. The production design by Karen Murphy, a graduate of the Baz Luhrman school of excess, is outstanding. Her interiors scream 18th century in the best way and are well complemented by Jess Hall’s excellent cinematography and lighting. As a petty side note, a bit more money should have been spent on the crowd scenes. Not as claustrophobic and threatening as they should have been, it’s hard to envision the danger that they were supposed to represent.

It’s hard not to be annoyed at the misfire that is this movie because the story that Robinson, the writer, and Williams, the director, had to tell was astonishing. Not a terrible movie, it’s just not a very good one. The biggest disappointments are the opportunities missed. But see for yourself.

Opening April 21 at the AMC Century City 15 and AMC The Grove 14, as well as other AMCs in the South Bay and at CityWalk Hollywood. 

Neely Swanson spent most of her professional career in the television industry, almost all of it working for David E. Kelley. In her last full-time position as Executive Vice President of Development, she reviewed writer submissions and targeted content for adaptation. As she has often said, she did book reports for a living. For several years she was a freelance writer for “Written By,” the magazine of the WGA West and was adjunct faculty at USC in the writing division of the School of Cinematic Arts. Neely has been writing film and television reviews for the “Easy Reader” for more than 10 years. Her past reviews can be read on Rotten Tomatoes where she is a tomato-approved critic. 

The post Chevalier’ Not a Very Gallant Try appeared first on Beverly Hills Courier.

Clearly her second-class status was established long ago with a father, Bill, who was a celebrated potter; a bitter divorced mother who seems to have hired her daughter more out of pity and loyalty than belief in her; and a brother, Sean, long thought to be a talented artist but now living a sequestered life on the edge of a mental illness that is always on the verge of erupting into full-blown crisis. No one has made room for the daughter who only finds an outlet in the small figures she sculpts out of clay.

Lizzy finds some solace in her live-work studio close to the art school. She rents from a fellow artist, Jo, a graduate of the art program who is about to go big. Totally preoccupied with her own upcoming shows, two of them, she has no time for Lizzy’s problems even if they are Jo-created. There has been no hot water in Lizzy’s apartment for days and the thought of showering in Jo’s apartment is horrifying. It would violate all the walls she has constructed around her. Even so, Lizzy is unable to see the boundary that Jo has created.

But there are other unspoken, but probably felt, problems in their so-called friendship, something that Lizzy has always viewed as a peer relationship despite the clues that it isn’t. Jo, with her cutting-edge projects and inventive eye, is an artist about to explode on the scene and she knows it. Her indifferent attitude toward Lizzy and her problems, even if Jo is responsible, speaks to her undercurrent of apathy for any talent Lizzy may or may not have. Her refrain of “I’m busy preparing for my shows. I’ll get to it after they open,” reveals how far down the totem pole Lizzy is. Lizzy, she implies, should understand that art comes before comfort, at least Jo’s art and Lizzy’s comfort.

Socially awkward is a major descriptor of our Lizzy. Mumbling, acquiescent, unable to express dissatisfaction, inattentiveness to her appearance all contribute to her self-image and how she is viewed by others. The opening shot of her shuffling around in her studio focuses first on her shoes, slightly dirty, white Crocs. Always considered comfortable and re-emerging as “fashionable” footwear, on Lizzy they define a character unsure of her place and unable to command any attention. They, along with her musty pastel sweatpants and sweatshirts, cry out “Don’t look at me.”

“Showing Up” takes place over a one-week period as Lucy fights to finish the clay figures for her own opening. The world roils around her and she’s just trying to keep up. As the students at the school wrap up their projects, a famous artist arrives to start a residency. Jean’s primary concern is expense reports; Jo, soon to be their most successful graduate, hovers everywhere as she sets up her pieces for the show at the school and the outside gallery that is presenting her; and Lizzy tries to wrestle time at the kiln to finish her figures. That one of her pieces is misfired is a testament to her lack of stature. Even in her own studio, Lizzy seems to be more observer than participant.

Kelly Reichardt, who directed the film and co-wrote it with Jonathan Raymond, has set out to give us a slice of life centered on Lizzy. She obviously likes her character and has given us a bittersweet portrait of someone who is kind, considerate and, unfortunately, ordinary in every way. But there’s a reason this film is called “Showing Up.” It’s an ode to everyone who has the courage to come in, get to work, and try hard even when no one else is looking. But the only prizes for showing up are given out in grade school for perfect attendance. There is no lasting legacy to the one who came in, rain or shine, and did her job. Even Lizzy’s niche in the art world is borderline. Little clay figurines get sparse attention in the high-end galleries that dictate the next big thing. The kind of pieces that Lizzy creates find an afterlife in expensive boutiques that purport to sell “art” but are really selling decor.

There is no lasting legacy for those whose greatest asset is being there. It brings to mind one of the central questions in “The Banshees of Inisherin” when Pádraíc asks his former friend Colm why being nice, his greatest asset, isn’t good enough. Colm responds, “A hundred years from now, no one will remember nice, but they’ll still remember Mozart.”

Then there is Jo for contrast. She isn’t Mozart but she clearly sees the difference between herself and Lizzy. Her unrecognized narcissism is a trait necessary to almost all great artists in order to shield themselves from the white noise around them. This doesn’t excuse the egocentricity one sees in artists of all kinds, but in order to succeed, one has to have an absolute, unshatterable belief in oneself. Jo has the kind of confidence that has a tendency to manifest itself in self-importance and Lizzy doesn’t have it, either in her art or in her personality.

Reichardt is helped greatly by the cast she has chosen, with the vastly underused Maryann Plunkett as Jean. The downturned mouth, the frequent sighs, the sharp impatient tone contribute to our understanding, not just of Jean and the hand life has dealt her, but also of Lizzy. Jean represents one more wall to climb in Lizzy’s existence.

Judd Hirsch as Bill, her father, has that aforementioned narcissism of an artist, still living in his past glory. His success and lack of interest in his daughter is one more brick layer on top of that already insurmountable wall. Never acknowledging or encouraging Lizzy’s art, he is, years after leaving the family, still self-focused long after an expiration date that even he fails to see.

Michelle Williams has been a frequent collaborator of Reichardt (“Wendy and Lucy,” “Certain Women,” “Meek’s Cutoff”). Her hesitations, her shuffling sadness, her inarticulate expressions all contribute to eliminating the glamour one associates with Williams and helps her disappear into the role. Her inherent sadness attracts a certain amount of sympathy but it is her artistry that actually provokes the antipathy you ultimately feel for her character. Williams’s Lizzy tries so hard to please everyone around her that she ends up pleasing no one, least of all herself. In some ways, her successful portrayal ends up making her almost secondary despite her starring role. Leading us to Hong Chau, an actor undergoing a renaissance of discovery, as Jo.

Hong Chau’s vivid portrayal of a woman on the verge of a breakthrough, orchestrating every step so that she explodes on the scene, is a marvel. Self-involved to the nth degree, Jo never becomes entirely unsympathetic. She is gentle with Lizzy until Lizzy becomes the fly that won’t stop buzzing until it’s swatted away. Yes, she is responsible for the defective water heater, but in her world it’s a problem that doesn’t need solving at her own expense—a classic case of skewed logic. Hong Chau plays Jo as a force of nature and you truly believe that she is an artist, both in the small and large movements she makes. It is her character’s very juxtaposition with Lizzy that defines the film. Chaus’s versatility as an actor is underscored by the other, very different roles she played this year, disappearing into each of them. She was the dominatrix-like major domo in “The Menu” and was nominated for an Oscar for her role as the caregiver in “The Whale.” There does not appear to be anything she can’t do.

Reichardt added the role of editor to her other duties on this film, making it more difficult for anyone else to tamper with her ideas. She may not have been granted final cut, something that even the most famous directors rarely get, but she put herself in charge of the footage, limiting the ways others could “play” with it.

Although initially perplexed by the film and not sure of how I felt, it’s a movie that bears reflection. There is actually less to Lizzy and more to Jo than meets the eye, and that, in the end, is the point.

Now playing at the AMC Century City and AMC Grove.

Neely Swanson spent most of her professional career in the television industry, almost all of it working for David E. Kelley. In her last full-time position as Executive Vice President of Development, she reviewed writer submissions and targeted content for adaptation. As she has often said, she did book reports for a living. For several years she was a freelance writer for “Written By,” the magazine of the WGA West and was adjunct faculty at USC in the writing division of the School of Cinematic Arts. Neely has been writing film and television reviews for the “Easy Reader” for more than 10 years. Her past reviews can be read on Rotten Tomatoes where she is a tomato-approved critic.

The post Showing Up’ – Isn’t Always Enough appeared first on Beverly Hills Courier.

It is a significant opening, not because of the school or the players, but because it’s Vegas, the gambling capital of the world. And Sonny is a gambler. Leaving the school, he immediately heads for the Strip and begins betting on the over/under of various players and teams. Returning later, he collects his vast winnings and ambles over to the craps table where he proceeds to piss it all away. He’s an unrivaled genius when it comes to sports. Gambling on whether a player or team will score higher or lower than the given odds required an absolute knowledge of team and player statistics, not just personal but against every conceivable opponent. There is some luck involved in “guessing” right, but with someone as skilled as Sonny, the odds are in his favor. Losing at the tables, and in rather short order, established that without that sports edge, he’s at the mercy of the house like everyone else. This scene establishes everything we need to know or will come to know about Sonny Vaccaro.

“Air” is the story of Nike, a powerhouse in the runner’s shoe market in 1984 and a never-got-started in basketball shoes. To call them an also-ran would be giving them more credit than they deserved. Phil Knight was a genius when it came to running shoes and the success of his company was a reflection of that. But basketball was a shoe of a different color. His small, really miniscule, basketball division was made up of marketing wiz Rob Strasser, a few suits and Sonny Vaccaro, a savant when it came to basketball who scouted high schoolers and had set up a very popular summer basketball camp. But Sonny, complaining to Howard White, Nike’s resident NBA expert, former player and athletic liaison, felt that the company would never be able to compete unless they could sign a major star. The amount in their budget was designed to pay for three shoe recruits, but anyone with real potential had either been signed by Adidas or Converse or refused to sign for the piddling amount being offered by Nike, a brand worn by no one recognizable in basketball.

Sonny was that unstoppable force coming up against an immovable object, Knight. Knight wouldn’t increase the budget of the basketball division and Sonny couldn’t find three worthwhile recruits to sign for that amount of money. Approaching Strasser with his idea of spending the total budget on one high-profile player was a dead end. Sonny was convinced that they had a chance of signing a future superstar and set about convincing Strasser and Knight that Michael Jordan, the third pick in that year’s draft, was the man. No, he had yet to play a game in the pros, but endless hours watching films of Jordan’s college games at North Carolina under Coach Dean Smith made him certain.

His colleague White was on his side, but Sonny had to find an inside track. He consulted with George Raveling, a personal friend, who had coached Jordan on the gold medal-winning basketball team that summer in 1984. Raveling agreed with Sonny’s vision but told him that Jordan’s most important advisor was his mother, Deloris. But besides his team at Nike, Sonny’s most formidable foe was Jordan’s agent, David Falk. Nike, he said, wasn’t in the running. In first place was Adidas, Jordan’s personal favorite and the shoe he wore off the court; in second place was Converse, the most famous basketball shoe and the shoe sponsor of Jordan’s college team, the North Carolina Tar Heels. Nike not only didn’t have the money, but they didn’t have any stars. Falk, in language far more colorful than I can repeat here, said that they didn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell.

Sonny was not to be dissuaded and secretly decided that he would go behind everyone’s back and approach Deloris Jordan, knowing that if he failed it might finish his career at Nike and it would definitely be the end of any relationship with Falk, the most powerful agent in the NBA. Michael, 21, stubbornly refused to meet with Nike. He had already let his preferences be known. Sonny needed to get Michael to meet with Nike and the only avenue he could see was convincing his mother to at least bring him to the table.

There are no spoilers here. The outcome is already established and well known. But what is thrilling in the telling are the roadblocks to the establishment of the Nike/Jordan partnership and the groundbreaking deal that was made with Deloris Jordan as the lead negotiator, not just with Nike and Falk, but also with her son. It’s amazing that such a story with a foregone conclusion when viewed in hindsight, could be as exciting as it is. It may have been Sonny’s vision, but this was truly a team effort.

There is no question that this is a well-told story from an excellent screenplay written by Alex Convery and astutely directed by Ben Affleck. But the true pleasure is in seeing this great cast milk the script for every drop of humor and interest that will have you smiling from beginning to end; smiling, that is, unless you’re laughing out loud. It is truly a sign of the one-two punch of a great writing/directing team that you are on the edge of your seat wondering what will happen next.

But let’s get back to the X-factor in this scenario. The actors. From the bit parts to the stars, everyone is pitch perfect. Viola Davis, as Deloris Jordan, is formidable, wry and knowing. The twinkle in her eye tells you that she is in absolute control and understands not just who her son is, but what he can be. She’s looking for someone else with that vision. It is significant to know that Michael Jordan himself wanted her, and no one else, to play his mother. What Jordan wants, Jordan gets. But then again, in terms of basketball, he made very few mistakes.

Marlon Wayans plays George Raveling seriously and straightforwardly. Raveling had a close personal relationship with Vaccaro at that time. Raveling’s shorthand with Sonny speaks of a past history and trust communicated with small gestures and easy laughs. Chris Tucker as Howard White uses his comedic persona to great advantage. Wild, loud and wide-eyed, Tucker’s White is hilarious but also shows the fear of a man whose dreams of stardom were crushed early on with his knee and is aware that executive jobs for non-stars of his color are few and far between.

Ben Affleck gave himself the role of Phil Knight, Zen guru of the company, constantly spouting Buddhist aphorisms that sound like they came off a “Hang in there” kitty poster. He’s amusing and relishes the pink running tights he wears, but as an actor, he’s much better as the director.

Matthew Maher as Peter Moore the shoe designer is a hoot. He’s the quintessential geek who is doing the one thing in the world he absolutely loves. His eyes light up when asked to accomplish the impossible and the joy positively radiates from him. Eccentric looking and eccentric acting, he’s the definition of loveable.

Jason Bateman is outstanding in support as Rob Strasser, the level-headed marketing VP. Bateman is a master of little movement and subtle facial expressions that can communicate worry, exhilaration, fear and joy all with the blink of an eye. His approach is so naturalistic that his acting is seamless. That the tone of his voice is almost always level makes his ability to shift emotions and communicate effectively all the more impressive. He may not have been the lead, but the film would not have been nearly as good as it was without his presence. He was the expositional bridge filling in all the details without you realizing the significance of that role. You never once feel as though he’s telling you what is happening and that is exactly what he’s doing.

If there is a break-out performance, it’s Chris Messina as David Falk, Jordan’s agent. It’s as if he was channeling Ari Emmanuel when he was a rogue agent starting his own firm. Loud and brash in an impeccably expensive suit, he veers from calm and professional one moment, to histrionically profane the next. This is a guy you definitely didn’t want to mess with and he made Sonny Vaccaro know it. Now I’ve heard, and even used, a lot of profanity in my day but I have never heard it taken to the level used by Falk in this film. It’s positively operatic and is a character unto itself. His scenes are relatively short, almost always punctuated with expressions you’ve never even imagined, and it’s all the more impressive because they are one-man shows on telephone calls. I had no idea that Messina, rarely first on the call sheet, was so convincingly funny and able to communicate such depth of character. He’s a take-no-prisoners alpha male who can adjust his demeanor appropriately depending on his audience or need. “Entourage” notwithstanding, this is the best portrait of an uber-agent I’ve ever seen.

And finally, Matt Damon as Sonny Vaccaro. There is no question that Matt Damon is one of the finest actors of his generation. He brings sympathy and gravitas to every film he’s in. The antithesis of vain, he inhabits Sonny with his lack of muscle tone that leans toward fat and his unfashionable, even for the 80s, polo shirts and ill-fitting pants. He ambles, doesn’t stride, and exudes a quiet desperation when he can’t get anyone to agree with his vision of the future. Damon lives Sonny to the degree that you no longer see the actor, only the character. He is the linchpin of this piece and anchors it solidly. Damon carries this film because you care enormously for the success of this schlub of a guy with a gift that can’t be quantified. Damon’s Sonny is the very definition of a rooting interest and the success or failure of this film is whether you can root for him. Believe me, you can and you will.

This is so much more than a sports film; it’s a David and Goliath story about an underdog, not just Sonny but also Nike. Even better, there are no villains, only heroes to be cheered, and I assure you, you will.

Opening wide and playing on the Westside at the Century City 15, Santa Monica 7, AMC Marina Dine-In and Marina Marketplace as well as the Culver Theater, IPIC Westwood and the Laemmle Monica Film Center.

Neely Swanson spent most of her professional career in the television industry, almost all of it working for David E. Kelley. In her last full-time position as Executive Vice President of Development, she reviewed writer submissions and targeted content for adaptation. As she has often said, she did book reports for a living. For several years she was a freelance writer for “Written By,” the magazine of the WGA West and was adjunct faculty at USC in the writing division of the School of Cinematic Arts. Neely has been writing film and television reviews for the “Easy Reader” for more than 10 years. Her past reviews can be read on Rotten Tomatoes where she is a tomato-approved critic. 

The post Air’ – ‘A Shoe is Just a Shoe Until You Step Into It.’ appeared first on Beverly Hills Courier.

Gabriel, the director, has chosen to film his movie in a housing project in a depressed northern French city. His story about a group of kids who are from difficult backgrounds will best be shot in true-to-life circumstances with “real” people. He intends to cast locals from this community and he spreads his casting net where troubled kids abound.

The townspeople are, at first, overjoyed that someone will be making a movie about their town. They need all the good publicity they can get. When they realize that Gabriel is intent on centering his story on Cité Picasso, the housing project in the most run-down part of town, their glee turns to bitterness. That Gabriel has chosen children deemed “the worst ones” of their neighborhood only brings them more despair.

Authenticity is what the director is after, something he believes can only come from those who have lived the kind of life he wants to portray on screen. He’s found a gold mine of realism in the children interviewed, among them Jessy, recently released from a juvenile detention center for assault, with a chip on his shoulder the size of a boulder; Lily, a beautiful lost teen with a fast reputation and a longing for someone to rescue her; and Ryan, a middle schooler with anger issues and learning problems whose eyes flash with the resentment he feels at every turn. They are, as the city fathers continue to exclaim, the worst.

The focus is on Ryan and, as Gabriel explains it, he needs to exhibit emotions on demand, something that might be difficult because, as Ryan tells the director, he has never shed a tear. He is stoic but quick to anger at a slight. Not quite understanding what is demanded of him, or maybe he does, he explodes when he is supposed to be placid and calm when he is asked to be angry. It begs the question of who is actually in control. In one particular incident, when the action calls for Ryan to react to an insult and fight, he stands there implacable until Gabriel screams insults at him trying to incite him to action. It works so well that Ryan throttles the other boy and has to be pulled away from him before he causes any more damage. It is here that you begin to realize the manipulation and callous disregard for the “actors” that is held by the otherwise gentle director, something he refuses to acknowledge. That they were chosen because they were products of a dysfunctional environment makes them puppets to Gabriel, the puppet master, regardless of his nice guy self-image.

Gabriel has an easier time with Lily who is almost ethereal in nature. She is still, when asked, a virgin, drawing a sharp boundary between oral sex and sexual intercourse. Jessy, on the other hand, is the very definition of braggadocio–boastful, arrogant and cocky. He and Lily share a romantic storyline, one that involves lovemaking. No doubt deliberately voyeuristic in nature, the coaxing of the director to bring these young teens into an intimate situation is uncomfortable to watch.

Each young “actor” is clinging to the film as a life raft, an escape from the reality of their lives. Unable to grasp that when Gabriel goes home, they will remain; the hope that they felt for this brief time will leave a greater void than they felt before. The city fathers had hoped that filming a movie in their town would bring them a ray of recognition and possible glory. Instead, these children, the so-called worst ones, will forever be a negative reflection, a mirror held up showing only the inhospitable aspects of their lives. Clear, almost at the outset, is that these “worst ones” were actually the most vulnerable ones and that it was this vulnerability that Gabriel, subconsciously or not, was looking to exploit.

No one is as he or she seems, especially Gabriel. Fuzzy and soft, gentle and loving, Gabriel displays a dichotomy of spirit almost from the beginning. He has convinced himself that choosing children who have lived the life he is trying to explore on film has been done in the name of realism. But isn’t choosing these particular children instead of actors more an act of exploitation? Aren’t they less likely to question his actions when he is cajoling them and convincing them of his friendship? These are kids who live in the moment without the realization of what will change in their lives when the film crew moves on to the next project. Nothing will change for the better. They had hope and it will be ripped out from under them.

The device of making a film about making a film is complex. I lost myself within the layers, as was intended. Sometimes you are very aware of what is being filmed or acted and other times not. The disorientation works very well especially when watching Ryan. The actors, for the most part, were much like their roles. Timéo Mahaut and Loïc Pech, Ryan and Jessy, respectively, were both found in a children’s home; Mallory Wanecque (Lily) at a local school. Johan Heldenbergh (Gabriel), a very established actor, was so convincing that there were times you wanted to grab him by his beard and pull as hard as you could. He made it easy to believe that he cared until you realized what his actual priorities were. That he took you on a roller coaster of emotions was a tribute to his characterization.

The backstory of this film is particularly interesting. The directors/writers, Lise Akoka and Romane Gueret, started out as casting directors. In a manner of speaking, the seed of “The Worst Ones” began as a short film called “Chasse Royale” (Royal Hunt). It was, to a certain extent, a film about casting. They held open casting sessions and interviewed hundreds of children from disadvantaged backgrounds. Certain kids caught their attention, and throughout many conversations they began to conceive a script based on the experiences of these children. Scenes were improvised and a story began to take shape about the intersection of real life and fiction. As Akoka and Gueret explained, by the time they were ready to make “The Worst Ones,” the children in “Chasse Royale” who had helped shape the ideas and stories that would become “The Worst Ones” were too old for the roles they conceived. Yet another example of harsh reality stepping on art; or maybe this is the precursor to the exploitation illustrated in the film.

It is sometimes difficult to wrap your head around the intersection of the storyline of Ryan and his living circumstances and the reality of Ryan, but then that, I believe, is the point. But maybe what is needed is a clear-eyed look at the title–”The Worst Ones.” Ask yourself who really are the worst ones. The exploiters or the exploited? It would be difficult not to be moved by this film.

In French with English subtitles.

Opening April 7 at the Laemmle Monica. 

Neely Swanson spent most of her professional career in the television industry, almost all of it working for David E. Kelley. In her last full-time position as Executive Vice President of Development, she reviewed writer submissions and targeted content for adaptation. As she has often said, she did book reports for a living. For several years she was a freelance writer for “Written By,” the magazine of the WGA West and was adjunct faculty at USC in the writing division of the School of Cinematic Arts. Neely has been writing film and television reviews for the “Easy Reader” for more than 10 years. Her past reviews can be read on Rotten Tomatoes where she is a tomato-approved critic. 

The post The Worst Ones’ – Not the Ones You Think appeared first on Beverly Hills Courier.

Opening in an intimate bar/club, the house band, The Lonely Few, revs up with a loud raucous number led by Lila on guitar and vocals, Dylan on bass guitar, Paul on drums and JJ on keyboard. This is their release from the day-to-day stultifying existences they lead in the tiny Kentucky town from which there doesn’t seem to be an escape. Dylan manages his father’s Save-A-Lot discount store where Lila restocks the shelves. Each is stuck in their own version of hell. JJ is a recent high school graduate whose curiosity exceeds the norms of small town Kentucky; Paul, the elder statesman of the group, is a mystery; Dylan’s freedom is now tied to his pregnant girlfriend; and then there’s Lila, the truly talented member of this group. She’s irrevocably attached to home by an unemployed brother with substance abuse issues. Their parents are dead and she feels compelled to save her brother from himself. Her dreams of stardom and exploration were shelved long ago because family will always come first. So it’s off to the dead-end job during the day and the club at night where the audience is as limited as the population in this no-future hamlet.

Then one fateful night, (it’s always a fateful night) into the club walks Amy, as much of a country and western star as has ever appeared in their town. Amy, too, has a tie to this small town in the guise of Paul. He was, for half a moment, her stepfather until he took off one day without a word. Paul was her one glimpse of stability in an otherwise chaotic and painful existence. Amy’s presence exhilarates the band, especially when she agrees to sing her most recent song about the breakup with her wife.

The mutual attraction Amy and Lila feel goes beyond Lila’s musical talent. Soon an offer is made for The Lonely Few to accompany Amy on her small-town Southern tour; one that will end in Nashville. This could be the boost she needs to prove to her record label that she is more than just a backup singer who writes, and it’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for The Lonely Few, especially Lila who may have the talent to propel her forward.

“The Lonely Few” is a play with the aspiration of being a rock musical where the songs reflect the roadblocks faced by the protagonists. Lila’s group is a throwback to the kind of ’80s heavy metal groups like Metallica and contemporary punk rock of today with a touch of country. The music is part of the real estate of the play and should be a reflection not only of the scene but should also be moving the story along. Now I’m not looking for a “Some Enchanted Evening” moment that introduces true love, but a song called “God of Nowhere” should have been understandable enough to push the thematic framework of the play forward, but it wasn’t. Certainly, the over-miking of the band may have been deliberately intended to enhance the immediacy of being in a small club, but not at the sacrifice of the lyrics.

Better were the country ballads in establishing relationships and past history; but even so, in many cases they only underscored the lack of earned emotions in a story that doesn’t cover unexpected ground. It is, unfortunately, too easy to see what will come next in each dramatic scene.

Zoe Sarnak, the composer and lyricist, has not yet hit but has won several awards for her original theater music and had works developed with major New York venues like the Public and the New York Theater Workshop. Based on “The Lonely Few,” she still has bridges to cross.

It will be difficult for “The Lonely Few” to overcome its deficits. As it is now, the music is not quite good enough. It’s not necessary for a musical to be packed with hummable tunes. I don’t recall any of the songs from the Tony Award-winning “Fun Home” or “Hedwig and the Angry Inch,” but I do remember that both had music that effectively moved the story forward and helped define their characters. Without defining music, the triteness of the plot is more obvious. Girl meets girl, girl loses girl is still the same saga even when the gender is changed. Telling a story of aspirations, roadblocks, codependency and fear of failure or success has been done many times before and will be done many times again. But to tell this story successfully, the author needs to dig deeper into character. The audience needs to feel the losses and/or triumphs personally.

Rachel Bonds, the book writer (theaterspeak for playwright), has developed and written many plays and has been very interested in probing the theme of familial relationships, betrayals and unfulfilled lives. “The Lonely Few” covers similar ground, but the character development necessary to excavate her themes has not been fully explored.

Lila and Amy are the focus and best developed, and that is as it should be. But the supporting characters are not elaborated. Maybe there are too many of them. Paul is merely a device to get Amy in the picture. Dylan wants to be a rock star but will his pregnant girlfriend change his trajectory? And who is JJ and what is her purpose? Lila’s codependency with her brother Adam needs more depth because it is on this relationship that her future lives or dies. We need to feel her visceral connection to him and we don’t. All of this ends up being a case of too much with too little.

Some of these problems are not immediately visible because the actors are able to bring more to the story than is on the page. And this is where “The Lonely Few” excels. Even given little to do, Thomas Silcott as Paul, Helen J Shen as JJ and Damon Daunno as Dylan are excellent. We care about them because they bring more to their characters than the writing deserved. Even Joshua Close who plays Adam is compelling as the derelict brother, but I suspect it’s Joshua we care for and not Adam.

This brings us to the two best reasons to see this musical. Beth Lipari and Phyllis Schuringa, the casting directors, scored a major coup in getting Ciara Renée and Lauren Patten, Amy and Lila, respectively. Both are seasoned Broadway musical actresses; Patten received a Tony for her role in “Jagged Little Pill.” Their voices are transcendent and they power you into believing in their characters even when the script leaves voids in their actions. Patten is both winning and ambivalent. Her voice aches with unfulfilled yearning. If her actions are sometimes inexplicable, she does her best to fill in what the script has left blank.

For me, however, Ciara Renée is the star, tipping the balance of the play in her favor even when she’s not in the scene. Renée has the kind of power that creates a glow around her and elevates the others on stage with her. She conveys loss, disappointment and betrayal with a tremor in her voice and a hardness in her eyes.

Like the acting, the scenic design by Sibyl Wickersheimer is outstanding, bringing the nightclub and stage into the audience and creating a loft for Lila and Adam’s apartment without diminishing the already minuscule square footage available to the set. “The Lonely Few” was co-directed by Trip Cullman and Ellenore Scott.

Despite my ambivalence about this musical, it’s important to note that the audience was wildly enthusiastic.

“The Lonely Few” is on stage at the Geffen’s Audrey Skirball Kenis Theater Tuesdays through Sundays until April 30. Check with the theater for times and availability. Runtime: 2 hours and 15 minutes including one intermission.

Geffen Playhouse

10886 Le Conte Ave., Los Angeles 

Neely Swanson spent most of her professional career in the television industry, almost all of it working for David E. Kelley. In her last full-time position as Executive Vice President of Development, she reviewed writer submissions and targeted content for adaptation. As she has often said, she did book reports for a living. For several years she was a freelance writer for “Written By,” the magazine of the WGA West and was adjunct faculty at USC in the writing division of the School of Cinematic Arts. Neely has been writing film and television reviews for the “Easy Reader” for more than 10 years. Her past reviews can be read on Rotten Tomatoes where she is a tomato-approved critic. 

The post The Lonely Few’ – Both More and Less appeared first on Beverly Hills Courier.

March brings a bouquet of flowers (and weeds) and I will try to give you some viewing options and opinions. Buyer beware. Some are good and some not so, but let’s start with the ones I liked and think you might also.

“Rabbit Hole”

A thriller where an expert in corporate espionage is trapped in a circle of deception he helped create is about nothing less than the survival of democracy. John Weir is hired by his best friend and former partner to draw attention away from a securities investigation by putting a Treasury agent in the frame with someone he’s investigating. It goes as planned until it doesn’t. The targeted Treasury agent is murdered and Weir is the chief suspect. When confronting the friend who hired him, everything goes wrong and Weir is on the run for good, or at least for the good of the show. No one is who they seem, or at least that’s his premise. 

There’s a plot; someone really is out to get him; his past comes back to haunt him, although that past may be his lifeboat; and who, we all wonder, is the beautiful woman who picked him up in a bar. They will all descend into a deep, dark rabbit hole as they try to crawl out intact. Expect lots of speed, explosions and lots of twists in this dark net eight-episode series.

Fast moving with a top-notch cast led by Kiefer Sutherland as Weir and the usually elegant, but not here, Charles Dance as a potential savior. 

Premiering on Paramount+ on March 26 with the first two episodes, with subsequent episodes dropping weekly. 

“Up Here”

A truly innovative series with charming, engaging characters and an interesting premise, “Up Here” is one of the best shows to premiere in some time.

Lindsay and Miguel are destined to meet, each pretending to be who they want to be but not what they are. And so launches a series of boy meets girl, boy loses girl meets boy loses boy, ad infinitum. They fight against their attraction, against their aspirations, but mostly they fight against the people in their heads, their parents and supposed friends who smother them in platitudes and discourage them from reaching for their dreams.

What makes this series unique is that, like “Crazy Ex-Girlfriend,” “Up Here” is a musical, or rather the characters and their interior shadows are prone to breaking out into song and dance in a heartbeat. What’s even better is that the music and the choreography are terrific and feel organic to the moment. Graced with actors who can sing and dance, well most who can sing and dance, “Up Here” is led by Mae Whitman as Lindsay and Carlos Valdes as Miguel. Katie Finneran, a Tony-winning musical star, plays Lindsay’s mother with John Hodgman (whose musical chops are less than his comedic ones) plays her father.

Of course, the musical numbers are fabulous. The writing team behind this joyous, unusual series is Steve Levenson, a Tony winner for the book of “Dear Evan Hansen” and Danielle Sanchez-Witzel. The songs are by Kristen Anderson-Lopez and Robert Lopez, the team behind “Frozen.” Directed by Thomas Kail (“Hamilton”), this charming series about reaching your potential and finding your soul and soulmate when faced with insecurities and doubts fueled by years of parental “support” is a welcome, bingeable addition to fight the early spring doldrums.

Premiering March 24 on Hulu.

“The Traveler” 

This new French procedural follows the path taken by Thomas Bareski, a police captain “on leave” from the service. Frustrated that budgetary constraints stymie the pursuit of justice in difficult cases, folded over into an unsolved file too early in the process, scruffy Bareski is on a mission to deliver justice and solace to the surviving victims and bring the elusive perpetrators to jail or retribution. Because he is no longer an official member of the justice system, his methods are often outside the law. He doesn’t need a search warrant or permission for his investigations. If the local police object, which they often do, they can take it up with his “guardian angel” within the Ministry of Justice, a name so powerful that it brings police commissioners to heel.

Starring former soccer great Eric Cantona, Bareski looks just like someone who lives in a van because he does. His manner is brusque but vulnerability shows through, like catnip to the ladies. He’s the quintessential loner. Like a hero in an old-time western, he arrives in town to set things right and leaves for the next town on his list when he’s solved the case; usually with a woman crying in her Chablis.

In French with English subtitles.

Premiering March 21st on MHz Choice.

“Unprisoned”

Starring Kerry Washington and Delroy Lindo, this half-hour dramedy is constantly hitting all the right notes on complicated family relationships and self-image seen through the prism of a Black woman, seemingly in control but always on the verge of making the wrong decision.

Paige (Washington), a single mother raising a teenage son, is a therapist with great life advice for her clients and the followers of her popular podcast even if she’s not quite the woman in control she appears to be. 

Her allegedly still waters are about to undergo a tsunami. Her father, Edwin (Lindo), never a presence in her life for more than months at a time between prison stints, is being released from the pen and arrives on her doorstep. She unwillingly takes him in. But will she regret this decision? Will she be able to look past the past? Of course, and that’s the intriguing, continuing storyline.

On Hulu. All eight episodes premiered on March 10.

“School Spirits”

This new YA series combines teen angst and mystery, intertwining high school insecurities and betrayals as a metaphor for purgatory.

Maddie’s disorientation is understandable as she stands in the hall between classes as everyone passes without seeing her. It takes a while for the penny to drop. She’s dead and has been returned to the place of her demise. But she’s not alone. Seated in an empty room is what appears to be an ongoing therapy session hosted by a neatly dressed teacher leading the students in an open discussion. Maddie, against her wishes, joins the group as they discuss how they died on the grounds of the school, destined forever to roam the halls and the athletic fields. Maddie doesn’t have anything to add because she doesn’t know how she got there, unaware that she was murdered.

Each ghost, for lack of a better word, has a story to tell and advice to give as Maddie navigates the five stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance. In the first three of the eight-episode series, we see Maddie go through denial and anger almost simultaneously. She and her dead ally Charley begin their illicit investigation as they uncover layers of betrayal and subterfuge. They are unseen as they follow her schoolmates, both friends and enemies.

No one is above suspicion but everywhere Maddie and Simon turn all the promising leads turn into dead ends.

Certainly “School Spirits” can be taken as a good old-fashioned murder mystery to be solved from the beyond, but it’s also a sly take on high school as both a living and dead hell on earth. How do you escape? There may be only two ways and one is to graduate and the other is to die; but to die lands you in the purgatory of eternal high school, which belies the expression “these are the best years of your life” when they become, literally and figuratively, the worst times.

The cast is good even though the characters don’t always rise above stereotype, but then when do most television teens rise above stereotype. Peyton List plays Maddie; Kristian Flores is Maddie’s best friend Simon and Spencer Macpherson is Xavier, the boyfriend and lead suspect. Best of them all, however, is Milo Manheim as Wally the dead jock. His eyes sparkle, his timing is on target, and he adds the comedy element necessary to a show about dead teenagers stuck in the purgatory that is high school.

The first episode premiered March 9 on Paramount + with subsequent episodes appearing weekly.

“History of the World Part II”

At long last, just what the world has been waiting for: the sequel to “History of the World Part I,” Mel Brooks’ revenge against western civilization as taught in school. Stand back because Part II has arrived. Mel’s primary association as consulting producer is the concept and an opening joke. In essence “History of the World Part II” is a case of excess, following the adage that too much is never enough, with copious amounts of profanity, bodily fluids and their associated sounds. A sketch comedy, some scenes will hit but most will miss. With appearances by a drunk Ulysses S. Grant, the “creator” of the Kama Sutra, the Romanoff Family and Jesus, among others, there is no bottoming out to the depths they explore, or rather explode.

Crammed full of today’s comedians and stars playing various roles in the many different skits over the eight-episode season, you will see Nick Kroll, Ike Barinholtz and Wanda Sykes, who act, write and produce the series. Other familiar faces are Marla Gibbs, Richard Kind, J.B. Smoove, Danny DeVito and Kumail Nanjiani. I just wish they had let me in on the joke.

Now playing on Hulu. 

Neely Swanson spent most of her professional career in the television industry, almost all of it working for David E. Kelley. In her last full-time position as Executive Vice President of Development, she reviewed writer submissions and targeted content for adaptation. As she has often said, she did book reports for a living. For several years she was a freelance writer for “Written By,” the magazine of the WGA West and was adjunct faculty at USC in the writing division of the School of Cinematic Arts. Neely has been writing film and television reviews for the “Easy Reader” for more than 10 years. Her past reviews can be read on Rotten Tomatoes where she is a tomato-approved critic. 

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The following is my list of what I consider to be the best foreign language series available now. I came by my list the same way you can–word of mouth, buzz, recommendation of a trusted friend with similar taste, a review in the paper. When surfing for your own interests, there are several platforms that are more easily mined for gold. Among them are Netflix; whose motto is “not afraid of subtitles,” MHz Choice; a platform of hundreds of foreign series, and PBS Passport.

Before compiling what was going to be my “10 best” list, I did some more foraging in the fields of series that had been recommended to me but that I had not yet watched either due to time constraints or a stubborn refusal to subscribe to yet one more platform. I’m glad I climbed over that wall because some of what I found was fantastic and my 10 quickly became almost 20. So I hope you’re ready to do some TV watching because they’re all worth it. I haven’t put them in a specific order, but the synopsis will help guide you further.

MHz Choice:

It’s not surprising that there are so many recommended series found here because they specialize in non-American fare.

“Spiral”

A gritty French language police show that follows one complicated case per eight-episode season. Infinitely more complex than “Law and Order,” we follow the paths of defense attorneys, prosecutors, and judges, all inextricably linked to the police unit led by Captain Laure Berthaud. In each of the seasons, Berthaud’s small, tight group follows leads and tries to solve a multidimensional crime with complex ramifications. It is doubtful that you’ll find better character development anywhere on the screen, big or small, where societal hierarchy, uneven justice and criminal behavior on both sides of the law are explored. The cast is superb with stars Caroline Proust as the Captain; Theirry Godard as her trusted right hand Gilou; Audrey Fleurot, she of the glorious red hair, as a brilliant lawyer who has no political or social connections and uses devious methods to stay in the game; Gregory Fitoussi as a sympathetic prosecutor; and Philippe Duclos as the judge assigned to most of Berthaud’s criminal cases. If I had ranked my choices “Spiral” would have been at the top. The series ended in 2020, its eighth season, so there’s nothing left for me to do but watch it again.

“Wallander”

The original Swedish series starring Krister Henriksson, not to be confused with the British remake starring Kenneth Branaugh, is a marvel of character complexity based on a series of novels by Henning Mankell. Kurt Wallander is an alcoholic, provincial detective in Sweden whose moral backbone is incessantly challenged by the human degradation he is constantly exposed to. His relationship with his daughter is challenging, all the more so because she wants to follow in his footsteps. Near the end of his career, he is feeling lost, having seen his life wrapped up into things he can solve but not change. The British series, on Netflix, is good but doesn’t come close to the philosophical underpinnings of this amazing, if rather bleak, three-season series.

“Beck”

Another Swedish crime series, based on a character featured in the books of Maj Sjöwal and Per Wahlöö, starring the stoic Peter Haber as Martin Beck, a by-the-books officer who won’t take shortcuts and won’t play political games. His protegee, Gunvald, played by the incomparable Mikael Persbrandt, is his often off-the-rails, sartorial counterpart who will get things done no matter how. The juxtaposition of the inclusive Beck and the misogynistic Gunvald adds to the layers of this study of complex characters who develop subtly over time. The cases are very good but it is the personalities that shine. Over nine seasons, starting in 1997 and continuing into 2023, this is a series to savor and enjoy.

“A Dark, Dark Man”

“A Dark, Dark Man,” a three-part limited series from Kazakhstan, is set up like a Becket play that has no beginning and no end; it’s bleak from start to finish, surrealistic, almost existential in plot. The series explores the political realities and corruption of a small farming community where children on the margins of society have gone missing. Detective Bekzat has been assigned the case and must close it quickly. The guilty party has allegedly been found and the politicians are demanding swift justice (i.e., this mustn’t come to trial). Bekzat is a man of no ambition in a town and country where no matter how far down on the totem pole you are, you can always go down some more.

“Kieler Street” 

This darkly humorous, dangerous thriller is set in the so-called safest town in Norway. Things go badly awry, however, when main character Jonas discovers that everyone in town is a criminal of some sort or other, including himself, who has paid a nefarious organization to “disappear” them into a new life. The murder of a girl, found in the woods, brings the danger of discovery to Jonas and the other townspeople. There is much pleasure to be derived from a series where the town inhabitants are up in arms about the damage to the bust of the town founding father, a vicious antisemite, but have no interest in the girl found murdered in the woods.

“Deliver Us”

Mike, played by the charismatic Morten Hee Andersen, has been terrorizing his small Danish town for quite some time and may well be responsible for the death of a boy who was run down by Mike’s truck. Everyone in this village has secrets and Mike has an uncanny knack for using them for extortion. When the targets of his schemes have had enough, they decide to kill him. But can these ordinary citizens do it? It’s a cat-and-mouse game to the finish…there is no finish.

Netflix

“Extraordinary Attorney Woo”

This Korean series may well be the best thing on television right now. Attorney Woo, played by Park Eun-bin, is a young woman with autism who happens to be a legal genius graced with an eidetic mind. A pretty, petite young woman raised by an empathetic father, her ticks and lack of filter are both an asset and a deficit. The legal cases she argues for her firm are interesting both from the standpoint of the law and the moral and ethical issues they raise. She is the very definition of a rooting interest.

“Borgen”

If there’s a better series out there that dissects political structure and party maneuvering, I haven’t found it. This Danish series led by the incomparable Sidse Babett Knudsen as Birgitte Nyborg is about the fictional first woman prime minister and what it took to get there, what it takes to stay there, and what must be sacrificed along the way. Birgitte must navigate party politics, male intransigence and a voracious media in order to succeed, let alone survive.

“Marseilles”

A juicy French drama about political machinations in Marseilles, rivalries, betrayals, corruption, revenge and succession with the backdrop of right wing nationalism and organized crime battling for the soul of this important port city on the verge of redevelopment. Gérard Depardieu as the mayor and Benoît Magimel as his young protégé turned enemy are so compelling you’ll need to binge this one.

“Babylon Berlin”

Having only recently discovered this series set in 1929 Berlin, I now understand what all the buzz was about. A jaded examination of a society still suffering from the deprivations caused by the First World War and flirting with the totalitarian ideas that will soon emerge from the darkness, this series explores the lives of characters from all strata of society and what they must do to get ahead. Whether it’s the police detective from Cologne trying to recover a pornographic film that implicates politicians in high places, or the poor girl capitalizing on her good looks and flexible morals to get a better job, or the police sergeant who belongs to a right-wing organization that will stop at nothing to squash Communist revolutionaries, this microcosm of Berlin on the cusp is as fast moving as it is fascinating.

“Valhalla Murders”

There have been two murders recently in Reykjavik and Kata, an ambitious investigator in the police department, is determined to crack the case. Her supervisor, however, brings in someone outside the department who may know the territory better, Amar, now living in Oslo. There is a link between these murders but finding it will be difficult and lead to misdeeds of the past. The characters are strong, the case is fascinating, and the outcome and implications are as complex as everyone involved.

“Call My Agent”

This French series about a boutique talent agency is nothing short of delicious. I watched all three seasons twice and may watch again. Rich in characters, the agents and their assistants are as venal, scheming and cutthroat as their American counterparts at CAA, WME, or pick another one. The humor is laugh out loud, the characters all show many colors, and even better, each episode features famous French actors, some of whom you’ll recognize and some of whom you won’t, spoofing themselves as they display their neediness and narcissism to their agents who are called on as fixers. Make this series one of the first on your list of “must sees.” There is now a British version called “10%” but it lacks the soul of the original.

HBO

“The Investigation”

Based on a true crime that spilled over between Denmark and Sweden, Jens Møller, head of Copenhagen’s homicide unit, is tasked with finding the killer of journalist Kim Wall, last seen boarding the homemade submarine of a local inventor. Cause of death will be difficult to determine because only parts of the body were found. They know who did it but proving it will be something else. Tension runs high as time begins to run out. Starring Jens Møller and Jakob Buch-Jepsen, both of whom co-starred in Borgen, this true-life limited series is best binged.

Apple TV+

“Pachinko”

Nominated for an Independent Spirit Award, this Korean series that primarily takes place in Japan, is the story of four generations of a Korean family who moved to Japan during a forced migration period. Beginning in 1915 where we meet the matriarch of those who follow, the series jumps to the present day with Solomon, raised in Japan and educated at Yale, who has been denied a deserved promotion by the Wall Street firm he works for. In a bold move, he indicates that he can close a deal in Japan that is stalled and they send him back there to prove his worth. Constantly interweaving the past history of his family with present-day issues, it is a dizzying perspective on how the past is never really the past.

“Acapulco”

This endearing, warm series is set up as the origin story of uber-rich Maximo as he tells the tale of growing up in Acapulco as an ambitious street kid with limited prospects to his nephew Hugo. Starring the charming Eugenio Derbez (“Coda,” “How to Be a Latin Lover”), it paints a picture of a poor boy who finds his way to success as an employee at Las Colinas (a stand in for Las Brisas), a luxury hotel catering to wealthy tourists. The life, loves and tribulations of Maximo as he tries to navigate the unknown pathways between Diane, the rich American proprietress and his mentor, Don Pablo, the Mexican general manager are explored. Part humorous telenovela and part social commentary, this is truly a Mexican American show because it is presented partly in Spanish, with subtitles, and in English.

Sundance Now

“The Bureau”

A dazzlingly brilliant thriller series centered on Guillaume Debailly played by the incredible Mathieu Kassovitz, a spy who has been brought in from the cold to lead the Paris office. But sex (isn’t it always sex) has led him astray and a liaison from his past in Syria has come back to haunt him and endanger everyone around him. Smart, chilling, well written with complex characters, this series is every bit as good as I had heard; good enough for me to subscribe to Sundance Now just so I could review its potential for this article. Money well spent.

PBS Passport

“The Tunnel”

This French/British remake of “The Bridge” (Swedish/Danish and no longer found on any platform) is a melding of British and French politics as both countries try to sort out who is responsible for solving the murder of an unidentified corpse found in the Chunnel straddling the underwater border of both countries. They hunt for a serial killer who has left the torso of a French politician and the lower half of a British prostitute. The killer’s alleged purpose is to highlight the social problems of both countries and more bodies will follow. Starring Stephen Dillane and Clémence Poésy as the British and French investigators, the interaction of the characters and the scenery alone make this must-see viewing. In English and French with subtitles.

“Modus”

Inger (Melinda Kinnaman) has returned to Sweden hoping for a quiet life with her two children after spending several years with the FBI in Washington as a profiler. Spending the night in Stockholm for a wedding, Inger has left her two children in the hotel room assuming all will be well. How wrong she is because daughter Stina, autistic, roams the corridors and unwittingly witnesses a murder and the murderer sees her. Ignoring her for the time being, he moves quickly, cleverly hiding the body. It won’t be discovered until days after the body of his next victim turns up. Trying to discover how the targets, none of whom were random, are related is perplexing. Police inspector Ingvar (Henrik Norlén) tries to get Inger involved with limited success until it becomes personal for her. Lots of twists and turns, ethical as well as moral dilemmas and sexual tension (this is, after all, Sweden). Season two is equally enthralling with a very different scenario but some character overlap and a surprisingly good Kim Cattrall as the President of the United States.

“Witnesses”

A French series centered on the coast of Normandy where detectives Sandra (Marie Dompnier) and Justin (Jan Hammenecker) are called to investigate the bizarre staging of corpses in new model homes. Representing a family scenario, there is always a recently disinterred woman and child, mounted with a man who has been murdered. A clue is left behind tying the scene to the former chief of police, Paul Maisonneuve played by the still charismatic movie star Thierry Lhermitte. (Note: Maisonneuve is translated as “new house” in English). These clues and the murders draw Paul out of his disability retirement to help piece together how the murdered men are tied together and why they were targeted. It’s somewhat convoluted but ultimately makes sense and the tension rises steadily through the six-episode season. Season two, eight episodes, has Sandra searching for a serial killer who murders the former lovers of his kidnap victims. The always interesting Audrey Fleurot (“Spiral”) is a key member of the cast.

I had wanted to make this a top 10 but that was impossible. As it is, I had to drop several favorites because as good as they were they didn’t quite reach the standards of the ones mentioned. New foreign series are premiering all the time so I will, no doubt, have more to add in the future. In the meantime, apprécier, god fornøjelse, jeulgida…enjoy! 

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The Independent Spirit Awards, honoring movies made on a shoestring budget, were founded in 1984, so they are relatively late to the game in terms of award shows.

Originally honoring a very few top categories–Best Picture, Best Actor, Best Actress, Best Director, Best Screenplay and Best Cinematography–they eventually added more categories and celebrity presenters.

The budget for eligible indie films was always quite low, but by 2007 it had grown to $20 million, creeping up gradually until it is now $30 million. While that may seem to be quite a large sum, keep in mind that “Avatar: The Way of Water” was budgeted at $350 milllion and “Ant-Man and the Wasp” came in at $50 million, practically an indie compared to other Marvel movies.

Like the Academy Awards, there are very specific rules when submitting a film to Film Independent, the parent organization. Besides budgetary restrictions, the film must have been shown in a commercial theater (anywhere in the U.S.) for a minimum of one week or have appeared at a sanctioned film festival such as Sundance, Tribeca, Toronto, SXSW, or a few other prominent platforms. All nominations are for American productions, with the exception of Best International Film or Best Documentary.

The definition of American is multifaceted. An American must be credited in at least two of the following categories: director, writer or producer. A film set primarily in the U.S. or has significant American content is also eligible. Examples of nominated films that wouldn’t at first glance (or even second) seem to be American would be “Tár.” Todd Field, an American, was both the writer and director of this superb feature. Nominated for Best Feature, Best Director, Best Original Screenplay, Best Lead Performance and Best Supporting Performance, neither nominated actor is an American (Cate Blanchet and Nina Hoss) nor is the film primarily set in the U.S. Stretching the boundaries of what we might normally think of as  “American” even farther is the excellent film entitled “Our Father, the Devil.” Writer-director Ellie Foumbi, who was born in Cameroon but arrived in New York at the age of 5 and was raised and educated in the U.S., considers herself a Cameroonian-American. Film Independent considered her American for the purposes of consideration. She submitted a French language film set in France.

Nominations are determined by an appointed committee of Film Independent members who work within the following set guidelines:

• Diversity, innovation, uniqueness of vision;

• Original or provocative subject matter;

• Economy of means: how the filmmakers stretched every dollar in the total production cost; and

• Percentage of funding from independent sources.

Major studio or independent studio films are eligible provided the subject matter is original or provocative. And in 2020, television categories for new scripted and non-scripted or documentary series, as well as lead and supporting performances in new scripted series were added.

Members of Film Independent are eligible to vote in most categories. There are, however, certain categories that are decided by special nominating committees such as the John Cassavetes Award given to a first feature budgeted under $1 million, and various emerging filmmaker awards. Special committees also determine the Robert Altman Award for ensemble cast, director and casting and Best Ensemble Cast in a New Scripted Series. This year the Altman award went to “Women Talking” and the Television Ensemble Cast Award was given to “Pachinko.”

The nominees are an embarrassment of riches, some of which overlap Oscar nominations and others, in TV, will certainly come up again when the Emmy nominations are released.

Let’s take a look at the nominations in some of the most prominent categories.

Best Feature 

Like the Academy Awards, it is given to the producer and unlike the Academy Awards there are only five nominations, three of which are also nominated for Best Picture.

“Bones and All” definitely fit the criterion of provocative material. It is about individuals who are afflicted with a need to devour human flesh. In their defense, and unlike those zombie creatures that seem to populate TV, they can satisfy this need from the recently deceased. All in all, despite some excellent reviews, I needed to often close my eyes to take it in. Rent it (at your own risk) on multiple platforms.

“Everything Everywhere All at Once,” also a multiple Oscar nominee, is a marvel of film making ingenuity. The performances, almost all of which were also nominated, are superb; they literally swept the recent SAG awards for performance and ensemble. The visual equivalent of stream of consciousness, you must allow it to wash over you and let it lead you to universes unknown before it makes any sense; I assure you that it will. “Everything Everywhere All at Once” is the very definition of economy of means. One has to ask how they could possibly have made this film on a budget under $30 million, and apparently it was made for much less than that. Available on Showtime.

“Our Father, the Devil” is the film that I referenced earlier that stretches the boundaries of what can be considered an American film given that its primary language is French and takes place in France. Nevertheless, “Our Father, the Devil” is an engrossing, thought-provoking film that tears at the fabric of forgiveness when it intersects with the nature of horrific crimes against humanity. This one took me completely by surprise with the questions it asked. It was surely eligible for Best First Feature, but Foumbi probably chose to accept this nomination because, win or lose, it will attract more attention. At present, unavailable on any platform.

“Tár,” also a multiple Oscar nominee, is a stunning film in subject matter and character dissection. Todd Field, nominated also as director and for screenplay, explored the world of classical music through a toxic, arrogant main character, Lydia Tár. One of the world’s most famous and accomplished conductors, Tár’s sense of entitlement has obliterated any empathy she may, at an earlier time in life, have had. Available on Peacock.

“Women Talking,” also nominated for the Best Picture Oscar and winner of the Robert Altman Award, is a well-reviewed film that circles the topic of male toxicity and the consequences of choice when deciding how to escape it. This very talky film would make a very good stage play, but I found the performances and theatrical exposition somewhat wooden. I definitely liked the ideas the film was exploring but it felt incomplete. Available On Demand.

Best First Feature

The rules preclude a film from being entered into Best Feature and Best First Feature; this award is given to both the director and producer. These five films show expertise beyond what one would expect from a new filmmaker.

“Aftersun” was directed by Charlotte Wells. This young Scottish filmmaker has truly broken out with this movie about a melancholy father trying to connect with his young daughter. A sensitive, atmospheric film, it features a stunning portrayal by Paul Mescal, nominated for Best Lead Performance here as well as Best Actor at the Academy Awards, and Best Breakthrough Performance by Frankie Corio as his daughter. Wells has already won the BAFTA and DGA awards for best first time director. Available for rent on multiple platforms.

“Emily the Criminal,” directed by John Patton Ford, is an interesting and at times engaging film about a young woman who finds life is without many options when she exits prison. She chooses the path she trod before, this time in credit card fraud. Available on Netflix.

“The Inspection,” directed by Elegance Bratton, is based on his own life. Ellis French is a young, gay Black man with few options. His homophobic mother has rejected him and declared her son a complete loser. With nowhere else to turn, he joins the marines to prove to himself, as well as others, that he can, against the odds and roadblocks, succeed; a high bar considering the prejudice and physical abuse he faces in order to pass basic training. The performances are excellent, led by Jeremy Pope as Ellis and Gabrielle Union as his mother. Both are nominated as Best Lead and Best Supporting, respectively. Not presently available on any platforms.

“Murina,” directed by Antoneta Alamat Kusijanovic, has centered this coming of age movie on the Adriatic coast of Croatia. Led by young beauty Gracija Filipovic, a Best Breakthrough Performance nominee, she gives depth to a teenager, trapped on an island of controlling visionless men, who dreams of escape. The cinematography, also nominated for a Spirit Award, is lush and evocative. Available on Showtime.

“Palm Trees and Power Lines,” directed by Jamie Dack who also co-wrote the screenplay, is rough around the edges but very thought-provoking. A lost young teen, trying to find her way in a complicated world, is spotted by a man who targets her for grooming. His affection, like a drug, is addictive and she falls into his trap. Lily McIherny, the troubled teen, was nominated for Best Breakthrough Performance; Dack for Best First Screenplay; and Jonathan Tucker, the sex trafficking groomer, for Best Supporting Performance. To be released on March 3 in theaters and VOD.

Best Director

Again, there is overlap with the Academy Awards with Todd Field for “Tár” and the two Daniels, Kwan and Scheinert, for “Everything Everywhere All at Once.” I am still agog that these two phenomenal films were able to fill the screen with incredible stories, fabulous actors, and production values that scream big budget and, in the end, cost less than $30 million to make. Other nominees for films you may or may not have heard of are:

“Women Talking,” discussed above, which was directed by Sarah Polley.

“After Yang,” directed by Kogonada, was also nominated for Best Screenplay. This film, set in the future, tackled the existential question of life when the family’s beloved robot breaks down and they must decide how to deal with this loss. Kogonada was also one of the producers of “Pachinko,” an Apple+ TV series nominated for Best New Scripted Series. Available for rent on multiple platforms.

“Bodies, Bodies, Bodies” directed by Halina Reijn is about a group of entitled young adults weekending together at the estate of one of their friends and everything goes horrifically wrong. A melding of comic and horror elements, dazzlingly juggled by Reijn, it has a smashing finish.

Best Lead Performance

Best Supporting Performance

This year the Spirit Awards decided to eliminate gender from performance. No doubt this new arrangement is a nod to transgender inclusion.  Instead of five nominees for Best Lead Performance by a Female and five for Best Lead Performance by a Male, there are now 10 nominees for Best Lead Performance, with a similar change in Best Supporting Performance. Best Lead performance led to the nominations of seven women and three men. The reverse occurred in Best Supporting Performance with the nominations of seven men and three women. But now there are two fewer opportunities to recognize worthy performances regardless of gender.

Television

Categories under consideration are Best New Non-Scripted or Documentary Series; Best New Scripted Series; Best Lead Performance in a New Scripted Series; and Best Supporting Performance in a New Scripted Series.

Best New Non-Scripted Series

This is a hodgepodge of serious and frivolous.

“Children of the Underground” follows an underground network that was set up to protect mothers and children from abusers when the courts failed to do so. Very serious in nature, it tackles a difficult subject. Available on Hulu.

“Mind Over Murder,” my own personal favorite, is in that excellent tradition of documentary series such as the “Central Park Five” and “West of Memphis” that illustrate mass hysteria and the rush to convict those who are different and made to look guilty for crimes they did not commit. Available on HBO Max.

“Pepsi, Where’s My Jet” is the slight story of a clever teen who finds a loophole in a Pepsi giveaway in the 90s and tries, with the help of an eccentric with deep pockets, to claim a prize that was never a prize to begin with. This four episode series could easily have been done in two. Available on Netflix.

“The Rehearsal” is a rather snarky comic series in which Nathan Fielder, a comedian, helps regular folk rehearse difficult conversations using real actors and constructed sets to give an air of reality; a role-play game where not everyone is in on the joke. Available on HBO Max.

“We Need to Talk About Cosby,” created and led by comedian W. Kamau Bell, is a four-part dissection of the rise and fall of Bill Cosby as an icon and role model in the community. Available on Showtime.

Best New Scripted Series

Only series that aired for the first time or were in their first season between Jan. 1, 2022 and Dec. 31, 2022 are eligible. Even though much lauded series “Abbott Elementary” (up for several performance awards) is already in its second season, it premiered in December 2021 and was still in its first season during the winter and spring of 2022. This category is especially strong this year with many universally loved series.

“The Bear,” created by Christopher Storer, is the story of a star chef returning to run his family’s steak sandwich dive in Chicago and trying to turn around the climate in the kitchen to elevate everyone’s game. Surprisingly, star Jeremy Allen White is not nominated for performance, but two of the co-stars, Ayo Edebiri, a standout as a chef in training, and Ebon Moss-Bachrach as the resentful family friend passed over for control of the restaurant, are. Available (and highly recommended) on Hulu.

“Pachinko,” created by Soo Hugh, tells the story of four generations of a Korean family while centering on the Japan-raised Yale-educated son on the cusp of financial and corporate success until it come crashing down and he decides that following in his father’s footsteps in the gambling game is what he’ll do. One of the best series on television, history is never shortchanged for story, although the story and characters are marvelous. Available (and highly recommended) on Apple+.

“The Porter,” created by Arnold Pinnock, Bruce Ramsay and Aubrey Nealon, tells the story of Black railway workers who gradually find common ground in their abysmal treatment and discriminatory working conditions to found a union. Although the narrative could be tighter, this is an interesting history that needs to be told. Available on BET+ and the Roku Channel.

“Severance,” created by Dan Erickson, is a much lauded existential sci-fi series touching on mind control and memory with an absolute top notch cast including Adam Scott, nominated for Lead Performance and Tramell Tillman, nominated for Supporting. Despite all the great reviews and word of mouth, I could never figure out how to enter that world. Available on Apple+.

“Station Eleven,” created by Patrick Somerville, is another sci-fi series set in a post-apocalyptic world straddling multiple timelines, telling the stories of various survivors of a COVID-19 type virus that decimated their world. The regular and recurring cast is outstanding, including Danielle Deadwyler for Supporting and Himesh Patel for Lead. Available on HBO Max.

Best Lead and Best Supporting Performances

Again, the same rules apply for television as for film, and the same two fewer awards will be given.

Don’t let the fact that the awards won’t be broadcast by a major streamer, cable or broadcast network deny you the pleasure of enjoying this raucous and unpredictable event. It will stream live on www.youtube.com/imdb. This is an event that celebrates differences rather than homogeneity and where everyone is relaxed. 

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“Juniper” – Evergreen

Unexpectedly brought home from boarding school by his father, Sam is immediately suspicious. Actually, ever since his mother passed away, he’s suspicious of everything and everyone, but especially of his father. Boarding school and Sam were never a good fit, even less so because his father promised him he’d never have to go. It’s not just the normal acting out that every teen experiences–it’s gone several steps beyond that into self-destructive behavior. The surprise awaiting him is his English grandmother, who comes to stay until she recovers from a severely broken leg. To Sam, this is further proof of his father Robert’s hypocrisy. Beyond estranged, Robert hasn’t spoken to his mother in years and Sam only knows of her existence. Not only is she there, in their home, but he is expected to be the backup caregiver for a geriatric, wheelchair-bound alcoholic.

It’s not a spoiler to reveal that Sam, every bit as unpleasant as his grandmother Ruth, eventually bonds with her. It’s that blend of coming of age and understanding that’s been told so many times before. But there’s always room for one more if it’s told well, and this one is. No one becomes loveable, Ruth doesn’t stop drinking, and Sam still has suicidal thoughts. But within the parameters of their characters, each learns some modicum of acceptance and they begin to hear one another. Each suffers from regrets that have stunted their development but each will learn how to go forward even under the most difficult of circumstances.

The characters themselves are interesting, the father being the least so in this equation but he’s primarily there to push the narrative forward. Sam is smart, talented, uncommunicative and miserable. His defiance in refusing to care for or even talk to his grandmother is rooted in events we will only discover later. His grandmother, profane when she chooses to talk and resentful of her dependence on others for the first time in her life, was a renowned photojournalist who traveled the globe shooting wars and conflicts, of which there was no end. As a single mother, she put her son, Sam’s father, in boarding school, leaving him with a lifelong resentment about which he talked endlessly. Now here she is, drinking a pitcher full of gin and water (and not in equal portions), sitting alone in a room near this unknown grandson who hates her without taking the time to get to know her and then hate her. And in New Zealand no less. She’s still confused as to why her son left England in the first place. If it’s a competition to see who can be the most unpleasant, it’s a tie.

But Ruth’s been around the block, and even though she was never much of a mother, she has a few tricks up her rather amoral sleeve and knows what she can dangle in front of Sam that will melt some of that ice. That’s all she needs.

Director/writer Matthew Saville tells a somewhat autobiographical story based on his own experiences with his salty, seasoned grandmother. The script is a good one and the director keeps things moving emotionally. The cinematography is quite good. Certainly it doesn’t hurt that the topography of New Zealand is so varied and unusual, beautiful in its way but it also juxtaposes imposing with inviting. The indoor shots are equally interesting because of the lighting challenges, focusing many shots on Ruth in the dark, metaphoric, no doubt, for her life.

It was his choice of actors that makes this “coming of age/becoming a family” film excel. Márton Csókás is fine as Robert. Not much is demanded of his character but his Robert is the fulcrum on which both sides balance, albeit precariously. This is something of a breakthrough performance for George Ferrier as Sam. A relatively new talent, Ferrier was able to exude that toxic level of testosterone directed at himself and grow, gradually, into a more responsible and empathetic young adult. Too often one sees roles like this where in one take the teen is surly and in the next transformed. Saville was able to direct the talented Ferrier into a multi-dimensional portrait of lost and found with all the gradations in between. Ferrier was able to convince us that his anger was righteous before we discovered its true root.

The real coup was getting Charlotte Rampling to play the role of Ruth. Rampling was a major star from her first appearance on the screen and remains one today. She brings depth and believability to any role she plays and this is no exception. A good tale to begin with, her very presence makes this a much more interesting story with unspoken clarity and emotion. Ruth wears her life unapologetically on her face, a face that reveals every road taken, every choice made and the few regrets she’s ever had. Her voice has grown huskier and even sexier, if that’s possible, over the years and for Ruth she’s dipped it in whisky, or rather gin. Rampling leaves you wanting to know more, but she’s already used her mystery as a character point. Through slit eyes, raising that ever present tumbler to her lips, you see a world that she gleefully chewed up and regretfully spit out what was left. The first glimpse of her glower and the growl from her throat and you know this is not a grandma who bakes cookies. Obviously I’m a fan of her work; there’s no point in hiding it. Originally a model, she broke out as the sexy, narcissistic “bad girl” in “Georgy Girl” in 1966 and has worked steadily in film and television ever since. What distinguishes her from other actresses “of a certain age” is her “what you see is what you get” attitude. Like Jeanne Moreau, another of my favorites, she has chosen to age gracefully and naturally. Every line shows on her face, signifying not age but experience and world-weary wisdom. My admiration grows by leaps and bounds because you can count on one hand the number of actresses known for their beauty who have allowed time rather than surgery to have a go at them. Those lines, wrinkles if you must, are to be celebrated as a roadmap to life.

Opening Feb. 24 at the Laemmle Monica and Town Center 5.

“Cinema Sabaya” – Sisterhood

A disparate group of women, Arabs and Jews, come together at the local community center to take a film course led by a young Israeli filmmaker, Rona. The project is called Cinema Sabaya, and when asked what “Sabaya” means, the Muslim women laughingly reply, depending on the pronunciation, either “prisoners of war” or a group of women. It depends on the pronunciation. Rona takes the latter. When one of the Jewish women uses the term terrorist, their counterparts quickly interject, “We refer to them as freedom fighters.”

The initial tension between the women is palpable. The class will be held in Hebrew, a major irritation to the Arab women. The reason? The Arabs understand Hebrew, the Jews don’t understand Arabic. For one of the Jewish women, it’s her first time in a room with Arabs. Still, they make progress and support the projects of their fellow students.

As the exercises continue, a therapeutic benefit begins to surface. The films become more personal; the women become more open. The elder Muslim stateswoman of the group is a gentle presence until one of her beliefs is challenged. Several of the women are skeptical and anxious. But Rona isn’t there to challenge belief structures or politics. She’s there to guide them in telling their stories filmically by giving them cameras and teaching them the rudiments of how film works.

As each woman introduces herself to the others, she is encouraged to tell them what they dreamed of having or being. A couple of them wanted to be singers, one woman wants a driver’s license, another her own apartment. They are remarkably straightforward and each dream, while small in our eyes, is almost insurmountable in theirs.

Each lesson has homework. They must use the camera to document something in their day-to-day lives. One woman documents the isolation and depression of her husband as he avoids the camera, and more specifically, her, never alighting from the couch. Another’s exercise is auditory, used to prove to her husband that she doesn’t snore. She does. As they watch each other’s films, they get to know one another. Most have at least one problem, seemingly impossible, to overcome. Souad, devout mother of six is being smothered by her mother-in-law and a husband who sees no need for her to drive. Nasrin, recently divorced, has had to move into her mother’s small apartment with her child. An apartment of her own is a pipe dream as she navigates the lower edges of the workforce.

The class becomes a de facto therapy session, somewhere they can finally be heard by someone who is sympathetic to what they are going through. For Rona the observer, she sees the possibilities of using their stories for her own purposes, something that will be her undoing.

Written and directed by Orit Fouks Rotem, this film of almost casual storytelling and naturalistic performances feels like a documentary. When Rona talks about wanting to turn these sessions into a film, I actually thought, “Well that’s what she’s done.” Only pulling myself back from almost total immersion did I realize that this was both more and less than what I thought. The camera is voyeuristic in its approach to these women who gradually let down their guard until they feel a betrayal in Rona’s secret agenda.

Rotem’s film is unique in its fictional realism. She has very slyly blurred the boundaries between the women’s national identities by only occasionally labeling the subtitles as coming from an Arabic speaker. The rest of the time it is up to the listener to try to discern the language differences. I have a good ear but could only occasionally distinguish the two languages. Her intent was always to show that there were more similarities between the women than differences. But in so doing, she also glossed over the important differences exerted on them by occupier and occupied.

The women are all good. Dana Ivgy as Rona is the most well known in Israeli cinema, but it is Joanna Said as Souad, the woman whose dream of a driver’s license is beyond reach, who gives the most depth and substance to the story. Her reticence and eventual blossoming is all the more heart wrenching when she feels manipulated and retreats. Her performance is all the more remarkable because this was her very first role, for which she was awarded Best Supporting Actress by the Israeli Film Academy.

Orthodoxy is illustrated by the Hijab worn by only two of the Muslim women; the other Arab women wore traditional Western dress. There were no Orthodox Jews in this group, so although diverse in some ways, it was a fairly homogeneous group. Would that this kind of idealism worked in the real world, but at least for the 90 minutes of this movie, it almost does. In the end, the women feel deceived and, to a certain extent, so did I. Nevertheless, it’s a worthwhile project that shines a light on never giving up on a dream and finding ways to make them attainable. Rotem may have manipulated the vision of everyday life but she has made an absorbing film that has you seeking answers to questions she didn’t ask.

In Arabic and Hebrew with English subtitles.

Opening Feb. 24 at the Laemmle Royal.

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Opening on a sermon by Pastor Albert Melvin Jones III, the fire and brimstone he spouts is tempered by the sadness of major loss, the death of his beloved daughter Diane. So focused is he on this daughter that it takes quite a while before we realize that she was survived by her identical twin Dee-Dee. In the pulpit he is king; he maintains that attitude at home. But the Jones household is complicated. Ruth, his wife, is in the midst of advancing Alzheimer’s, cared for by her sister Pearl who now lives with them. Son AJ is a senior in high school, a student with promise and the possibility of going to an Ivy on full scholarship if, and it’s a big if, he agrees to study religion with a goal toward succeeding his father at the church. Covering his feelings well, we soon learn that this is far from his dream, something he confides only to Tyree, his older brother’s best friend. And that older brother? Albert Melvin Jones IV is about to be released from prison, having served a sentence of six years for rape. Filling out the “family” unit is Leslie Carter, Dee-Dee’s devoted boyfriend who dotes on her every word and can’t understand why she won’t marry him.

Layering the Tyrone family drama in “Long Day’s Journey into Night” with the difficulties of growing up Black in urban Philadelphia, the Joneses are a psychoanalytic study unto themselves. Tensions run high in the Jones’ household but the simmering will soon boil over when Albert IV, now preferring to be called Abdul-Malik, arrives. Feared, reviled, ridiculed, there is very little place for this ex-con and his new name. His crime hangs over his head like an anvil waiting to crash down at an inopportune moment, and all the moments with Albert IV are inopportune. Unwanted and unemployable, his status as pariah in his own home has become a new prison for him.

Everyone in this family has a secret, some have more than one, but the cloud over their beloved mother, Ruth, is the darkest of all. She floats in and out of cognizance, much like Mary Tyrone in “Long Day’s Journey into Night.” Unlike Mary, though, her disease is not by human hand. Her memory, when she has one, often places her within events of many years ago, often mistaking DeeDee for her twin and recalling her eldest son as a sweet child and her youngest as non-existent. Ruth, as we initially meet her, is a soft woman, cared for lovingly by sister Pearl, a woman of vast good humor, grounded in reality and profanity, and an inordinate amount of patience. It is Pearl, and only Pearl, who sees things clearly and balances one need against another, smothering her own dreams until she can no longer.

Neither parent spared the rod in raising these children and though now grown up, the fear is still in their eyes. Dee-Dee has been trying all her life to be seen, for herself and separate from her dead sister. It becomes apparent very early on that she was always second best and never had the support of either parent. Even today, in the fog of her disease, Ruth still calls out for Diane, never for Dee-Dee. But in some ways, it’s Dee-Dee who doesn’t see. Aunt Pearl understands her and Leslie, her boyfriend, truly sees who she is both in and out of the context of her dysfunctional family. He loves her unconditionally and doesn’t understand why that isn’t enough.

The Pastor is an unforgiving soul, an evangelical who views the world in black and white and the Bible as literal. The root of all evil, he sees little beyond the loss of the one twin and has no need to acknowledge the other. Albert IV was supposed to be his golden child, the heir to his pastoral throne. When that ended with his criminal conviction, his hopes shifted to AJ. Any racist animosity the siblings may have faced in the outside world paled in comparison to the hate they continue to face at home. Pastor Jones is laser-focused on his church. The adages “charity begins at home” and “do unto others” do not seem to have made it into his personal prayer book. His cruelty is difficult to watch. And, in one telling scene, a memorable Thanksgiving dinner that brings to mind the ugly cathartic dinner in Letts’ “August Osage County,” it would appear that the lucid Ruth was a match for her husband in vitriol and disapproval.

Colston has given each character their own platform to express pain, reveal secrets, and explain circumstances from their own perspective. Even Ruth, most of the time lost in a fog, has her own moments of lucidity that underscore the longings and frailties of the others. Their monologues blend seamlessly into the drama of the moment, and this is a play full to overflowing with drama.

If I have been vague on what some of the cataclysmic events within the story, or more aptly, stories are, this is by design. Each character’s arc is a dramatic twist unto itself, none more dramatic than that of Albert IV. It would be unfair to reveal any and spoil the shock, surprise, and/or release tied to each and every one. Colston has masterfully piled one on top of another, balancing each so well that the story never topples over from the weight it carries.

That “The First Deep Breath” is located in Philadelphia is certainly no coincidence. Colston has, no doubt, set this up as an homage to August Wilson’s use of Pittsburgh. This is not to say that Colston is the new or even next August Wilson. There will never be another Wilson just like there will never be another O’Neil, Williams, or Miller. He has a ways to go to approach that group but he seems to be on that path, one paved with pitfalls and difficulties and rewards if his next plays are as good as this one. Colston’s plots are messy and his characters are rich, complex, and thoughtful, devoid of cliché, even if some of them are familiar. Aunt Pearl comes closest to stereotype. She’s loud and brash, a big woman who shakes like the proverbial jelly roll in the blues. But you’d be mistaken. As the play progresses, the protective layers begin to fall off revealing the vulnerable woman beneath. It is Pearl’s monologue that brings the house down with its self-awareness, despondency and resolute determination.

“The First Deep Breath,” beautifully directed by Steve H. Broadnax III, who directed the premiere of this piece in Chicago, benefits enormously from its cast, led by the playwright himself. Lee Edward Colston II plays Albert Melvin Jones IV, aka Abdul-Malik, a man whose secret put him in prison and kept him in one both before and after. Opa Adeyemo as AJ, is as warm, confused and rigid as any teenager who knows enough to keep his goals and dreams to himself even when he wants to share his joy. Herb Newsome as Pastor Albert is effective as the hellfire and brimstone villain, unforgiving of others even as he glosses over his own sins. Newsome eventually found a way to overcome the black mustachioed villain of his character to locate some humanity and vulnerability even if it was never offered to his children. He found a way to leaven his cruelty with a modicum of confusion. You still hate him, just not quite as much.

Keith Wallace as Tyree and Brandon Mendez Homer as Leslie are excellent even though their characters are primarily story pushers, building the bridge from one incident to another. Candace Thomas as Dee-Dee is somewhat problematic. She is a very good actress with a difficult role but is never as convincing as she needs to be. This may be due to her stature and the pitch of her voice. She is very petite, which wouldn’t necessarily be a problem but the tone is thin and her character’s journey demands strength and vocally she doesn’t have it. In the hands of a young LisaGay Hamilton (“The Piano Lesson” “Gem of the Ocean”), the role of Dee-Dee would have communicated the heartbreak and anger of a neglected child. Ella Joyce (Ruth) in her 20s would have been an excellent Dee-Dee. Thomas does not convey that kind of gravitas.

Ella Joyce as Ruth was outstanding, interpreting the heartbreak, confusion and anger of a woman with Alzheimer’s. It is easy to see where she fit into the family until she no longer did. Sympathetic, pathetic, empathetic, angry, Joyce employs all the colors of the emotions Ruth feels and those reflected back on her by the others.

If there is a star, and one can make an argument that all the roles have equal importance, it would be Deanna Reed-Foster as the irrepressible, outrageous, hilarious, and tragic Pearl, the only person living her life and owning her mistakes. Colston effectively uses her as the comic relief in what could have been a relentlessly sad and dramatic play, knowing full well that without humor he would have lost the audience early on.

Be forewarned, this is a very long play, weighing in at 3 hours and 45 minutes with 2 intermissions. That being said, there is not a single wasted moment and your investment in “The First Deep Breath” will pay off in dividends when you realize that this was one of those rare theater experiences that you will remember for a very long time. So take that first deep breath and reinvest in live theater at the Geffen.

Now playing at the Geffen Playhouse in the Gil Cates Theatre through March 5.

Performances 1 p.m. and 7 p.m. on Saturdays and Sundays; 7:30 p.m. Tuesday – Friday. 

Neely Swanson spent most of her professional career in the television industry, almost all of it working for David E. Kelley. In her last full-time position as Executive Vice President of Development, she reviewed writer submissions and targeted content for adaptation. As she has often said, she did book reports for a living. For several years she was a freelance writer for “Written By,” the magazine of the WGA West and was adjunct faculty at USC in the writing division of the School of Cinematic Arts. Neely has been writing film and television reviews for the “Easy Reader” for more than 10 years. Her past reviews can be read on Rotten Tomatoes where she is a tomato-approved critic. 

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Director Sam Pollard had a mighty task in front of him when he was approached to make this documentary. His goal was to make sure that the younger generation of basketball fans was aware of his groundbreaking career both on and off the court. Using players of today like Steph Curry, Chris Paul and Jalen Rose as well as superstars of yesterday like Larry Bird, Oscar Robinson, Julius “Dr. J” Irving, Bill Walton, Magic Johnson, Jerry West, and Kareem Abdul Jabbar among others, they paint a portrait of the man and his lasting influence.

This two-part series on Netflix plays out chronologically beginning with his family’s move from Monroe, Louisiana to Oakland, California. Russell’s father Charles was his first example. He was denied a raise at the factory where he worked because, as his boss explained, casually using the N-word, he couldn’t give him the same money as a white man. Enraged, he returned home and explained to his family that he would have to leave this small town in the racist South because either he was going to kill someone or someone would kill him. Leaving on a train to California was Bill’s first adventure at age 9. His prized possession, obtained shortly after moving to Oakland, was his library card. He spent countless hours there studying other worlds, worlds that someday he would conquer.

He was relatively late in picking up a basketball and he had his fans and detractors in high school. Cut from the junior varsity team, the varsity coach immediately grabbed him and he began to shine. It was here that his defensive run and jump style was born. He was overlooked by every college with one exception. That exception was the University of San Francisco, a small Jesuit school, that offered him a full scholarship. It was the best decision that either ever made because by his junior year they won the NCAA championship and repeated the next year. He was aided greatly by his coach, Phil Woolpert, who used the best players he had regardless of color. At one point, he started three African Americans, Russell, K.C. Jones (who would later be a teammate on the Celtics), and Hal Perry. He and the team were supportive of Russell and his Black teammates when they faced racism on and off the court.

The next part, perhaps the most important, of Russell’s life was about to begin. Red Auerbach of the Boston Celtics was bound and determined to draft Russell for his team. What the Celtics needed was a tough defender and an ace rebounder. Their chances of grabbing him in the draft were slim. The Rochester Royals had first pick and they had already indicated it would be Russell. Acting fast, the owner of the Celtics, Walter A. Brown, went to the owner of Rochester and struck a deal. Brown also owned the Ice Capades and offered him as many guaranteed performances as he wanted for his stadium if they would not take Russell. So, in a way, the Ice Capades were traded for Bill Russell.

But before starting the Celtic’s 1956-57 season, Russell had one more feat to accomplish – competing for the U.S. at the Melbourne Olympics. Voted captain, the American team beat the Soviets for the gold medal. As Russell recounted, “For one brief moment you are the best on earth.” Now his pro life could begin.

He didn’t exactly light up the courts at the beginning. For the first time in his sports life he questioned his ability to make a difference. It was Auerbach who changed it around for him when he explained that he wasn’t on the court to score;  he was there to block shots and dominate the defense. With Auerbach’s approbation, Russell was able to ignore the hostile, racist Boston press and skeptical fans and start doing what he was there to do: defend, force turnovers, block shots, and rebound. Boston, a team that had always been high scoring with star Bob Cousy, Bill Sharman and Frank Ramsey, now had more defensive depth.

Russell and his bride, college sweetheart Rose Swisher, moved to the suburb of Redding. The level of racism directed at them came as a surprise. Boston would always be challenging from the standpoint of prejudice but in this, like every other barrier that came his way due to his color, he refused to be a victim. The chasm between his life on the Celtics and his life in Boston could not have been greater.

Russell thrived under the system devised by Auerbach who assigned court time based on who was the best for the position and the play. He never allowed race to be a factor and Russell noticed that right away, creating an unbreakable bond with his coach. But it wasn’t just a bond between player and coach, it was a bond between the rookie and the established team. They were brothers and the chemistry and camaraderie between them was palpable. They were almost telepathic in their communication with Russell on the court for what they needed from him. Finishing strongly in the regular season that year, Boston won their first ever NBA Championship against the St. Louis Hawks. It was the first of many spearheaded by Russell who would become the captain of the team. Auerbach was right. Russell was exactly what the team needed. They would go on to win eight straight championships.

The 1959-60 season was a game changer with the arrival of the 7-foot-1-inch Wilt Chamberlain. Towering over Russell at center, Russell altered his defensive play accordingly. Their rivalry would be famed throughout the league.

Chamberlain played for the Philadelphia Warriors, an inferior team that he made competitive. But Russell played with a group of great athletes who played as a team. The press may have dubbed Cousy the star but he regarded himself as a member of a well-oiled machine that played for the greater good – winning.

The other major rivalry was against the Los Angeles Lakers led by Jerry West and Elgin Baylor. During Russell’s tenure with the Celtics, they met the Lakers six times in the finals, defeating them all six times, even in 1969 when the Lakers had added Chamberlain to their roster. That Russell-Chamberlain rivalry was transformative for the NBA, an “also ran” in the sports field. By the end of the 60s, the NBA had replaced Major League Baseball in popularity.

The deciding factor for Celtic dominance was always Red Auerbach, the first coach to field an all Black starting lineup in any professional sport. Unapologetic, Auerbach went with the best players for that game.

Russell, whose ability was demeaned by the Boston press from the moment he arrived on the scene, was deemed to be surly and uncooperative. Russell did not suffer fools and spent no time catering to the writers. After 1964, he decided that he would no longer sign autographs, not for teammates, fans, the press, or even the President of the United States if he asked. “You either buy me as Bill Russell the man or you don’t. My signature isn’t going to make any difference and the fact that I’m a basketball player is just an accident.” He also stated,  “I am a public property when I play. I am a private property when I’m not playing.” Russell would control his own narrative; it would not be dictated by others.

When Auerbach decided to retire, the biggest question was who would succeed him. The first person he approached was Russell but he refused. Auerbach knew he needed a coach that Russell respected and reached out to the ones who might be willing or available but none said yes. When it finally came down to a coach that Russell disliked intensely, he gave in and agreed to be the player coach. Auerbach and owner Walter Brown drafted the first Black player (Chuck Cooper) in the NBA; they made history again by hiring Russell as the first Black coach. Russell forever credited the two as being uniquely equanimous and supportive of him as a person and an athlete.

The film footage of all those historic games, the home movies illustrating the relationship between the players, the invaluable interviews with players past and present commenting on his play, the Celtics’ dominance, and the camaraderie that made all the difference is priceless. Watching a still bitter Jerry West talk about all those times he and Elgin Baylor came up on the losing end of the Celtic stick even when they had the better team is both hilarious and heartbreaking. It’s as if their final matchup in the 1969 finals was yesterday. Even better, adding to the footage of Russell speaking at the time about his role as a player, a coach, and an activist, Pollard scored the last interview with Russell before he died, whose comments were as invaluable as his ever present laugh.

I loved seeing that footage and hearing NBA All-Stars and Hall of Famers talk about what made Russell so extraordinary as a player and then a player-coach. But that’s not why Bill Russell is my hero.

Bill Russell faced down the indignities of racism every day of his life. Like his father, he vowed early on that he would not be a victim. When the citizens of Reading signed a petition against him buying a house there, he ignored it and exhorted his wife to keep moving forward. When he was belittled by the Boston press for multiple reasons, he moved on. When his home was vandalized in a most horrific manner, he refused to play the victim even after the police made only a cursory investigation and declared they had no idea of who could have done it. It wasn’t the first time that the police didn’t investigate a crime against the Russells. He would never allow the press or anyone else, for that matter, to be the final judges of his career and who he was.

It was his quiet social activism that attracted me. Supporting the civil rights movement and Martin Luther King, Jr. in particular was not a popular position for a professional athlete. He didn’t care. In 1963, when Medgar Evers was assassinated in Mississippi, Russell called Evers’ brother Charles and asked what he could do. As a result of that call, Russell went to Mississippi, at great risk to his life and career, and set up an integrated youth basketball camp, the first of its kind. He made himself available to Evers for whatever was needed. 

If he perceived racial abuse, he stood up against it. He participated at the Cleveland Summit to support Muhammad Ali and his decision to refuse the draft. He attended the March on Washington. But when King invited him to sit on the dais, he refused, indicating that King’s message should not be diluted by the attention that would be accorded to someone whose only credential was his celebrity. Both Russell and Chamberlain were disappointed but not surprised when the NBA refused to call off a game between Chamberlain’s Lakers and Russell’s Celtics the day that King was assassinated. Most recently, he posted a photo on social media of himself taking a knee in honor of Colin Kaepernick and all those with the courage of their convictions.

He was private. He knew who he was and cared little for public opinion, especially as shaped by the sports writers of his day who were offended by his lack of cooperation. He made it clear that he played for the Celtics, not for the city of Boston. And when he played and coached his last game, he left. It would be decades before he returned. He refused to be honored by organizations that subtly or overtly did nothing against racial abuse. When Boston retired his jersey, he didn’t return. When the NBA inducted him into the Hall of Fame, the first Black player to be accorded that honor, he refused to go because it was barely short of criminal that he should have been the first. Eventually he relented and returned when the Celtics re-retired his jersey in 1999 and when he was inducted into the Hall of Fame in 2021 as a coach. In the end, the NBA retired his jersey number (6) and named the NBA Finals MVP award in his honor.

He wrote several autobiographies from which passages are read by actor Jeffrey Wright, but one of the best quotes from his book “Red and Me” was “Whenever I leave the Celtics locker room, even heaven wouldn’t be good enough because anywhere else is a step down.” Bill Bradley, New York Knicks Hall of Famer, one of the many basketball superstars interviewed in the film stated categorically, “Russell was the smartest player ever to play the game.”

The production values are terrific and the voice-over narration by Cory Stoll is strong and authoritative. The choice of interview subjects is superb. Particularly interesting are the comments by his daughter Karen, a lawyer, that put much of the history in perspective. A bit rushed or glossed over are the years when he precipitously left Boston and his family, with only a superficial recounting of the coaching jobs he held after Boston. Still, given that the multiple lives of this iconic superstar could easily fill six hours rather than the three on offer, it’s a pretty good start. I’ve only scratched the surface. Whether you’re a basketball fan or not, there is much to enjoy and learn. 

I’m still a fan of the man, who died in 2022. I couldn’t agree more with President Obama who said, in awarding him the Medal of Freedom in 2011, “He endured insults and vandalism, but he kept on focusing on making the teammates who he loved better players and made possible the success of so many who would follow.” He added, “He is the best of who we are. The best of who we aspire to be.”

Russell, in talking about himself said “I can honestly say I’ve never worked to be liked. I’ve only worked to be respected. I have fought in every way I know how. I’ve fought because I believed it was right to fight. No man should fear the consequences because every man should do what he thinks is right.”

Premiering Feb. 8 on Netflix. 

Neely Swanson spent most of her professional career in the television industry, almost all of it working for David E. Kelley. In her last full-time position as Executive Vice President of Development, she reviewed writer submissions and targeted content for adaptation. As she has often said, she did book reports for a living. For several years she was a freelance writer for “Written By,” the magazine of the WGA West and was adjunct faculty at USC in the writing division of the School of Cinematic Arts. Neely has been writing film and television reviews for the “Easy Reader” for more than 10 years. Her past reviews can be read on Rotten Tomatoes where she is a tomato-approved critic. 

The post Bill Russell: Legend’ appeared first on Beverly Hills Courier.

What I thought would be of interest is all those categories that on one level we understand, and on a deeper level we don’t. These are the so-called crafts categories and the first thing to consider when dealing with the various crafts is how they help define the story and/or characters in the film.

Cinematography: It’s the camera. Point and shoot? Not quite so simple. The cinematographer or director of photography (DP) is an arm of the director. The director will often say what he’s after in a scene, what look he’s going for, or how he wants it shot. But it’s usually the DP who is the guiding force, knowing how to achieve what the director wants or suggesting an alternative approach that may actually be better. Cinematography encompasses the lighting, framing, focus (wide or closeup) and composition of the shot. It’s not just the placement of the camera, but how that placement helps define the action and tell the story. One of the best historical examples I can think of is the shot of Lawrence of Arabia (Peter O’Toole) appearing as a spec on a horizon of infinite sand dunes coming closer and closer into focus. That one shot tells you everything you need to know about how that character views himself and how that story will be told going forward. David Lean, the director, may have told F.A. Young, the cinematographer, what he wanted to see but it was Young, playing with light, shadow, and reflection who executed it. A great cinematographer leaves an indelible mark, improving poor material or further heightening great work.

Production Design: Also known as the Art Director, sharing the stage with the Set Decorator, they establish the overall look of the film. They define where the film is in terms of time, location, and even mindset. A good example from this year’s films, sadly not nominated in this category, is “Living.” First you see archival footage of London circa 1954 setting the time and locale. The train stations and tea houses are period perfect, but it is the interior office space, a dark wooden warren of small cramped cubby holes with paperwork piled practically to the ceiling that helps explain who Mr. Williams and his employees are, what the time period was like, and most importantly, highlighting the hierarchy within the job as illustrated by desk placement in the office. The mindset has been established, now comes further character definition through Costume Design along with Hairstyling and Makeup.

Costume Design: Costume designers belong to the Art Directors Guild, and, along with the Art Director, they work to establish character and enhance the overall look of the film. Working with the director, the costume designer helps come up with the concept of the characters through dress – who they are, where they’ve come from, where they’re going, boundaries in terms of class or education, self-confidence or lack thereof. One of my favorite small films this year was “Mrs. Harris Goes to Paris.” Not only did costume designer Jenny Beavan get to recreate Dior gowns of the late 1950s, more importantly she established character and class with the way she costumed Mrs. Harris transformed from drab cleaning lady to confident woman, no longer a wallflower. Costume design in film is truly a case where clothes do make the man, or rather the character.

Make-up and Hair Styling: Make-up became a category in 1981, in part because of protests over the lack of recognition for the extraordinary work that was done in creating “The Elephant Man.” Hair stylists were added to this category in 1993. Make-up and hair styling are part and parcel of creating the appearance and effect of the characters. “Elvis,” also nominated for Costume Design and Production Design, has very exacting needs in terms of character and time definition. This is a very period-specific film that must recreate and enhance what we already know about Elvis and the 1950s. In many ways it may be harder to recreate within distinctive parameters than to create from whole cloth.

Sound: You’d think this would be an easy one to figure out but there is a lot here that doesn’t meet the eye (or the ear). Sound includes sound mixing, recording, sound design and sound editing. It might be recorded live during filming but also includes re-recording. Films are not shot chronologically, but partial scene by partial scene. Sometimes what’s recorded on set can’t be used for one reason or another so re-recording in a studio is necessary. This is where dubbing comes in. An actor, in a studio, speaks his lines into a microphone trying to match it to his performance on the film being played in front of him. This was hilariously portrayed in “Singing in the Rain” as the producers were attempting to dub sound into their silent pictures. Sound mixing, often taking place during filming, is the process of balancing what is being recorded to make it harmonious. The object is to get the sound level to enhance and not overpower the scene. In post production, a good example of this would be rain, or building tension with background sounds or music. You want to be aware of the noise but at a more subliminal level. Sound editing can involve the manipulation of sound to reflect the overall atmosphere or what the main character is hearing. In sound editing, individual sounds are created or manipulated to contribute to the depth and effects in the film. Originally, sound editing was predominantly used in Sci-Fi and war movies where those sound effects were original creations added in post-production. Sound nominees “All Quiet on the Western Front” and “Avatar: The Way of Water” are two sides of the sound editing coin.

Visual Effects (VFX): According to Studio Binder, “VFX is a term used to describe imagery created, manipulated or enhanced for any film.” Seems to be a lot like sound editing and mixing, but in the visual field rather than auditory. Visual effects often integrate the existing film footage with footage created to manipulate or enhance the concept or atmosphere. It can involve shooting with a green screen where an actor will perform in front of a blank green or blue screen and the appropriate background will be added in post-production. This could be something as simple as a character appearing to be in Paris or monsters filling the background in a horror film. The effects could also be computer generated (CGI) to simulate situations that are too dangerous to shoot live or things that don’t actually exist (like imaginary creatures in Sci-Fi). The object is to bring as much reality into an unreal situation as possible. There is much artistry in this craft making it all so seamless you don’t realize it’s there. But other times, the object is to make the unreality stand out. An excellent example of that would be in “Everything Everywhere All at Once” or the excellent Indian film “RRR”(Neither nominated in this category, by the way). This year’s Visual Effects nominations leaned toward fantasy (“Avatar: The Way of Water,” “The Batman” and “Black Panther: Wakanda Forever”) and war (“All Quiet on the Western Front” and “Top Gun: Maverick”).

Film Editing: Both the simplest to understand and the most difficult to do. As previously mentioned, movies are not shot chronologically, not even by whole scenes. The script is divided into digestible parts that depend on many factors such as grouping locations together, filming according to actor availability, whether the day’s filming will be indoors, outdoors or at a different location. Multiple takes are made of each scene shot, whether a close up of the hero or a long shot of a group of people in the background. When shooting, the director may have in mind what he’d like to see in the final version but he’s still making up his mind about emphasis. The editor and the director will have discussed what the director is trying to achieve scene by scene. Knowing this, the editor takes the resulting film snippets and puts them together to make the film flow as a whole, enhancing the tension and pacing for drama or timing for comedy, as needed. If you have seen “Everything Everywhere All at Once,” you will have been struck by the nonsensical intersecting stories and pacing. As otherworldly as it is, somehow it all pulls together seamlessly. That’s the editor.

Film Score: The score is an original piece of music that is created to enhance the story and emotions based on the director’s suggestions. This is usually done post production with the director sitting with his chosen composer watching the film and signally where he feels the music is needed and what emotion or actions to highlight. My favorite story about a film score composer relates to three-time winner Max Steiner who wrote the score for the 1939 film “Dark Victory” starring Bette Davis. Davis, playing a woman going blind from an inoperable brain tumor, was adamant to both the studio and director that her final ascent to her room to die with dignity should be silent. That she needed no external enhancement to underscore her emotions. She proclaimed, “Either I’m going to climb those stairs or Max Steiner is going to climb those stairs, but I’ll be goddamned if Max Steiner and I are going to climb those stairs together.” Davis was right but she lost that fight.

Director: This brings us to the circus ringmaster better known as the director. He (and this year, as in most other years, it is a he) chooses the people to make up all the parts he needs to formulate his vision of what the movie should be and how it should look. It is unusual for a director not to be nominated when his film is up for Best Picture. But, looking at the numbers, there are five nominations for director and 10 nominations for Best Picture. Someone is going to be left at the curb. 

Writing: This category is divided into Original Screenplay and Adapted Screenplay. The most important takeaway here is to remember one thing. There is no film without the writer. This year, like most others, they had some great stories to tell. Of special note, all five writers nominated for Best Original Screenplay were also nominated as Best Director; and all five of those films are also candidates for Best Picture. 

Now about those surprises and snubs…

“Living” should have been on the Best Picture list. I can’t say what should have been dropped in its favor but it was a gem of subtle emotion, time stamped in an era struggling to get beyond a war. Both writer Kazuo Ishiguro, nominated for Best Writing (Adapted Screenplay), and Bill Nighy for Best Actor were deservedly singled out, but the movie itself was a polished diamond that tapped into human nature, both good and bad. Every piece, from the production design, editing, cinematography, costume design, and sound were pitch perfect.

“The Woman King ‘’ was an outstanding feature directed assuredly by a woman, Gina Prince-Brythewood, who guided Viola Davis (also not nominated) to one of her best performances. Production Design, Costume Design, Sound, Score, Cinematography were all stunning and all overlooked.

The Documentary Category in general. Run by an opaque committee, no one is sure how they come up with their choices. I was certainly disappointed that “Viva Maestro” and “Turn Every Page,” films that inspired and enthralled, did not appear on any lists. Maybe I’m missing something, but I’m not sure what.

In Cinematography, I must confess that I have not seen “Bardo, False Chronicle of a Handful of Truths,” but I did see “Empire of Light.” Roger Deakins’ work was good, but it’s sort of like the MVP rarely if ever comes from a bad team. A better choice might have been Ben Davis for his stunning and evocative photography of Ireland in “The Banshees of Inisherin.”

I was very disappointed that Paul Dano (“The Fabelmans”) was overlooked for his performance as the father. He’s so good you can’t imagine that he’s acting. His character subtly and thoroughly underpinned the movie; the perfect counterpoint to Michelle Williams’ self-involved mother. While I’m at it, it’s too bad there wasn’t room for Seth Rogen to be recognized as the catalyst in the parents’ breakup. Long appreciated for his comedy, he wasn’t just the comic foil but instead was a smiling, malevolent presence in that hearth and home. Again, like Dano, you didn’t see him acting.

There were other surprise nominations, notably Paul Mescal in “Aftersun” for Best Actor; Brian Tyree Henry for Best Supporting Actor; Ana de Armas in “Blonde” and after a stunning social media and email campaign, Andrea Riseborough in “To Leslie,” neither of which I’ve seen. But no nomination for Viola Davis? Really? And I’m extremely perplexed by the love fest given to “Triangle of Sadness.” Best Picture? Hardly.

At the end of the day, and that day will come on March 12 when the ceremony is televised, it’s all opinion, whether it’s yours, mine, or theirs. I’ll stay tuned to watch and I bet you will too. 

The post The Oscars: The Who, What and Why appeared first on Beverly Hills Courier.

Rémi and Léo are the best of friends. But their relationship transcends mere friendship; it is a brotherhood. This is the summer of their 13th birthdays and nothing can separate them. They spend their days creating games inhabited by imaginary soldiers that they will vanquish; telling each other stories of their own invention; and running through the flower fields tended and nurtured by Léo’s family. They eat and sleep at Rémi’s house, spoiled by his parents Sophie and Peter. There is nothing they can’t do together and nothing will come between them. They think and act as one, attached at the hip, arms intertwined or around their shoulders.

But when summer is over, they start at a new school where everyone seems bigger, smarter, and much more mature. The harsh reality of middle school transcends language and borders. They are the new outsiders, arriving like a glowy-eyed twin set. That Rémi and Léo are unabashed in their closeness is inexplicable to the others who look for labels. The lifelong brotherhood of the boys seems suspect; they must be more than “friends.” Rémi, the less sophisticated of the two, seems oblivious to the implications; Léo is not. By the end of that first week, Léo, terrified of being judged, has already altered his relationship with the unaware Rémi.

Slowly, surely, Léo distances himself from his best friend. He joins a new circle that excludes Rémi. Their daily bike rides to school take on a different meaning. Léo adopts a macho attitude to bond with his new friends, leaving a perplexed Rémi to fend for himself. Both are left vulnerable to expectations and perceptions they had never encountered. The consequences will be devastating to both.

Dhont explores the toxicity of assumption in depth. That the two boys may or may not have or feel an undercurrent of sexuality is not the point. That they must be categorized by others, and in Léo’s case by himself, is the danger that society has already thrust upon them. Why is there no room for intimacy in a male relationship? What is intimacy but closeness shared by two individuals who are more than the sum of their parts? When their friendship is shredded, they become less than. The loss of identity is the price Léo will pay.

The portrait of Léo painted by Dhont becomes part of you with the empathy, cruelty, hurt, disbelief and misunderstanding seeping into your pores as you begin to channel him and remember what it was like the first time you tried to become what others wanted rather than who you were. Léo has no idea how to manage the love and revulsion he feels simultaneously. Knowing who you are comes crashing into who others think you should be, making him as much a victim as Rémi. But oh, the consequences of action and inaction; consequences that will live a lifetime.

Revealing more would diminish the impact that this extraordinary character study will have on you. There is no “older but wiser” here. There are no answers and no happily ever after. One is left with a heartfelt “Why?” and the resultant consequences.

The script is a marvel of economy; a story told simply over a single year. The view of adolescence is accurate and subtle. There are no overt villains; there are no heroes. It’s a complex portrait of life, not a slice. These are simply kids as they are, as they have been trained to be. This is no simple “coming of age” story, more a “disillusion of age” tale.

The casting is pitch perfect. The schoolyard classmates have a spontaneous reality to them. None are overtly cruel, weighting the consequences of future actions even more tragically; they are kids, realistic adolescents, blithely unaware. Their dialogue is steeped in improvisation, giving it even more truth. To them, everything is a joke or a trial balloon for how far they can go. All add substance to the story.

The parents of both boys are sympathetic, supportive, and, like most, clueless to the hidden lives of their sons. Their lack of insight into their respective children is due as much to the previous idyllic relationship of the boys and the adolescent nature keeping the adults at a distance. All of them add substance to the narrative. Émilie Dequenne (Sophie) and Kevin Janssens (Peter), Rémi’s parents, and Léa Drucker (Nathalie) and Igor van Dessel (Charlie), Léo’s parents, revel in their sons’ friendship and creativity, encouraging a closeness that none of them realize is about to come to an end. They live in the garden of Eden, not knowing a snake lurks nearby.

Dhont didn’t know who he was looking for but knew the qualities he  needed for Léo and Rémi. He discovered Gustav De Waele, Rémi, in an acting class; Eden Dambrine, Léo, was spotted on a train. A dancer, it was his presence when interacting with friends that really attracted Dhont. When he paired those two during auditions, he knew they were the perfect Rémi and Léo. Their chemistry was immediate. De Waele projects an ambiguity that defines his character. It is impossible to guess how aware Rémi is of what is happening to him and to his friend. It underscores his innocence, making the consequences that much deeper. Dambrine makes Léo an enigma. One can see his confusion and the depth of his despair as he tries to be the square peg in the round hole. His anguish is palpable and it is amazing that such complexity can be present in an inexperienced teenage actor.

Cinematographer Frank van den Eeden certainly filmed the landscapes idyllically, but it is his unobtrusive technique when following the children in their normal activities that gives the film its almost cinema verité moments.  But, in the end, “Close” is truly a directorial tour de force. Dhont knew what he wanted to say and said it with grace, dignity, and depth.

“Close” was definitely one of the best films I saw in an advance screening in 2022. I weighed whether to include it in “The Best Movies of 2022” (Beverly Hills Courier, January 6, 2023) but decided to keep it in reserve because it will definitely be one of the best for 2023. Nominated for this year’s International Oscar, included among a number of other worthy contenders, my vote goes for this one. It has all the elements of a classic that will endure.

In French, Dutch, and Flemish with English subtitles.

Opening Jan. 27 at the AMC Century City and AMC Grove. 

Neely Swanson spent most of her professional career in the television industry, almost all of it working for David E. Kelley. In her last full-time position as Executive Vice President of Development, she reviewed writer submissions and targeted content for adaptation. As she has often said, she did book reports for a living. For several years she was a freelance writer for “Written By,” the magazine of the WGA West and was adjunct faculty at USC in the writing division of the School of Cinematic Arts. Neely has been writing film and television reviews for the “Easy Reader” for more than 10 years. Her past reviews can be read on Rotten Tomatoes where she is a tomato-approved critic. 

The post Close’ – Too Far appeared first on Beverly Hills Courier.

In “When You Finish Saving the World” we meet the Katz family. The focus is on Evelyn, altruistic leader of a women’s shelter who has put all of her heart and energy into providing a safe place for battered women who need to start afresh. Her voice, soft, even comforting, says so much about how she would like to be perceived by the greater community. She has always been passionate about social justice and is visibly disappointed that her son Ziggy is an entitled, shallow, uninformed teen lacking meaningful values. Ziggy’s life is social media and for the last several years he has been writing modern folk music with, I must admit, uninteresting and unimaginative lyrics that are livestreamed across the ether to the third world where he has a big following, especially in China. Each new song is presented on Zoom where a thumbs up means a monetary gain, and many thumbs up means even more money and better positioning on his hosting platform.

Ziggy, the personification of slacker youth, is a disappointment to his mother. She had such hopes for him when he was a tot and accompanied her to all her protest marches. Today, he knows little or nothing about the world at large, political issues, or even his own governmental processes. Evelyn, for her part, dismisses all of Ziggy’s interests as trivial. Truth be told, it’s hard to take him seriously. When asked by his mother what his livestream long-term goals are, he replies, “To get rich.” There is no connection between mother and son. Not that Ziggy’s pursuits reflect any depth of personality but Evelyn doesn’t spend a lot of time listening to him. Nor he to her.

Grounding the story, if not the characters, is Roger, the paterfamilias. Deliberately not explored, Roger is wallpaper in the background who is the unacknowledged glue that keeps the wheels moving. He cooks, he listens, he works, and he is ignored to the point that you realize Evelyn and Ziggy are two sides of the same narcissism.

There’s a lot of heavy lifting in relationships and, in their own ways, neither Evelyn nor Ziggy is prepared to do anything other than paper over the differences. Ziggy has fallen for the beautiful smart girl at school, Lila. She’s a social activist who wears her politics on her sleeve. Veering to the left, she sees the ills of the world in black and white. Ziggy, entranced, understands nothing of her worldview because the only world he sees are the foreign faces on his music platform. Social injustice? Invasion? Historical exploitation? Modern day slavery? These ignite her passion. He’d love to enter her world if he can find a shortcut to knowledge. Alas, there is no shortcut as his mother points out. His ignorance, previously worn proudly on his sleeve, is now his undoing.

Evelyn, dismayed by Ziggy’s superficiality, chooses to remedy this by attempting a do-over with another teen. Angie, recently brought to the shelter with her teenage son Kyle after a domestic abuse incident, is grateful for the space. Disorganized, unsure of her place in the world, she has been graced with a child of depth and thoughtfulness. It was Kyle who enabled his mother to leave her situation. Evelyn is immediately taken with Kyle, the better son, wasted on a mother without ambition. But, like Ziggy, Kyle’s ambitions are limited, both by his upbringing and his vision. When he leaves school, he’d like to go back to working for his father as a mechanic at his auto repair shop. Evelyn sees a different future for Kyle and proceeds to “adopt” him, filling his head with college aspirations. Maybe Kyle can be her do-over. But highlighting Evelyn’s obtuse worldview is her inability to value personal success, no matter how limited or alien to her values, whether it’s Kyle or Ziggy.

Sadly, neither Evelyn nor Ziggy see a detente in their relationship. They cross paths but there is an anti-magnetic force that conspires to pull them apart. And always in the background is Roger, ready to listen or comfort or just be noticed.

Eisenberg strides the line of superficiality and depth with ease. Almost a slice of life, much like the French do so well, very little seems to happen until, almost imperceptibly, Ziggy and Evelyn are forced to glance internally and understand that something is lacking within them. Worldviews aren’t changed and yet a window opens.

Adding to Eisenberg’s deceptively simple scenario are his outstanding actors. The story is underpinned by the supporting actors who put the conflicts in motion. Eleonore Hendricks plays Kyle’s mother. Off balance, she can still see that Evelyn is adding pie in the sky to her son’s practical dreams. Her aspirations for Kyle may be colored by her inability to see the intelligence that Evelyn sees or at least imagines, but she does understand that there is a lifetime of satisfaction in repairing a car compared to feeling inadequate academically. Billy Bryk, Kyle, reveals the maturity within this working-class kid who has not had the encouragement to aspire higher than car repairman. But Bryk makes us see, even if Evelyn can’t, that there is great satisfaction in a job well done even if it’s not a job valued by the Evelyns of the world.

Outstanding character actor Jay O. Sanders as Roger, father to Ziggy and husband to Evelyn, has the exceptionally difficult role of making his presence known. That he plays his disappointment under the radar is exactly who Roger is and allows us into his life, as barely illustrated as it is. No doubt intended to be a background presence, he elevates it to a critical level in understanding who his wife and son are.

Finn Wolfhard is Ziggy, all dull affect, shallowness, and in the end perplexed at who he is or who he should be. Ziggy is actually the least interesting character in this story, and that is by design. Sometimes it’s more difficult to portray diffidence and apathy than excitement and passion. He has no greater goal than thumbs up on an app.

Finally, there is the always excellent Julianne Moore as Evelyn whose very passion is underscored by some of the same apathy seen in her son. She is magnetic and makes us admire her as she tries to help others and cringe when she misappropriates another woman’s child to find the satisfaction as a guiding force that she lacks with her own son.

The soundtrack, composed of Wolfhard’s own music for Ziggy and the classical music that brings pleasure to Evelyn, underscores the vast chasm between the characters.

This small, independent film deserves attention and an audience. I was drawn in.

Opening Jan. 20 at the AMC Century City and the AMC Grove. 

Neely Swanson spent most of her professional career in the television industry, almost all of it working for David E. Kelley. In her last full-time position as Executive Vice President of Development, she reviewed writer submissions and targeted content for adaptation. As she has often said, she did book reports for a living. For several years she was a freelance writer for “Written By,” the magazine of the WGA West and was adjunct faculty at USC in the writing division of the School of Cinematic Arts. Neely has been writing film and television reviews for the “Easy Reader” for more than 10 years. Her past reviews can be read on Rotten Tomatoes where she is a tomato-approved critic. 

The post When You Finish Saving the World’ – Is There Room for Me? appeared first on Beverly Hills Courier.

After a year of exile, “Hollywood’s Party of the Year” was back. Hosted by Emmy-winning comedian and writer Jerrod Carmichael with a diverse palette of presenters, he kept things moving. Carmichael was an unusual choice because his stand-up style of comedy is laid back. There’s always a punchline and it’s usually an astute observation on the foibles of mankind, but when it lands, it’s sharp and to the point. The ballroom was jumping and noisy, so when Carmichael arrived on stage, he asked for some quiet as he launched into why he was asked to host the show. A simple answer…because he’s Black. Carmichael, who recently came out as gay in his HBO special called “Rothaniel,” had more costume changes than Diana Ross at the Hollywood Bowl.

The show was full of stars with almost all the nominees present. Jeff Bridges and Kevin Costner (a winner for “Yellowstone”) were, as Regina Hall hilariously put it, “sheltering in place” in Santa Barbara due to the rainstorms. The red carpet was drenched, but stars still managed to pose and answer the requisite inane questions. Perhaps not as loosey-goosey as in the past, the stars enjoyed themselves allowing us to participate vicariously. The studios of “Tár” and “The Fabelmans” are hoping for a much-needed bump at the box office after their wins. For the viewing public, the Globes provided a chance to see favorite actors and stars (not necessarily the same thing) get up, twirl a dress or tuxedo, or a tuxedo dress in the case of Billy Porter.

The next show in the entertainment industry awards lineup is the Critics Choice Awards, which will air Jan. 15 on the CW. Unlike the Oscars, both the Golden Globes and Critics Choice include television categories in addition to motion pictures. More controversial with the Golden Globes is the division of “Best Motion Picture” into two separate categories: Drama and Musical or Comedy. This year this bifurcation allowed both Cate Blanchett (“Tár) and Michelle Yeoh (“Everything Everywhere All at Once”) to win best actress in a film, the former in drama, the latter in comedy or musical. Similarly, “The Fabelmans” won for Best Motion Picture Drama and “The Banshees of Inisherin” for Best Motion Picture Comedy or Musical. 

At this year’s Critics Choice Awards, Jeff Bridges will be honored with a Lifetime Achievement Award presented by Michelle Pfeiffer. Kate Hudson will present the SeeHer Award to Janelle Monáe and Chelsea Handler will host. 

Of course, this is just the start of the season. The Directors, Producers, Writers and Screen Actors Guilds all announced nominations this week. Then comes the parade to the awards shows with the DGA, Producers Guild, Screen Actors Guild, the WGA and The Independent Spirits all leading up to the Oscar telecast on March 12. ‘Tis a bountiful season. Happy viewing. 

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As a disclaimer, I did not see two of the highest-grossing films of the year, “Black Panther: Wakanda Forever” and “Avatar: the Way of Water.” Will I see them in the future? Perhaps. I’m a story and character development person. The former fits, the latter doesn’t particularly. Besides story and character development, what I look for in a “best” movie would definitely be how the film captured my attention, my emotions, my interest. With that in mind, here’s my list, in no particular order.

“Lost Illusions,” written and directed by Xavier Giannoli, was nominated for 15 César Awards (the French Oscar), winning seven, including Best Film. It is a truly sumptuous adaptation of an early 19th century novel by Honoré de Balzac that is remarkably modern in its dissection of society, corruption, tabloid journalism, and the increasing gulf between rich and poor that only continued to rise after the revolution. Lucien, a gifted writer and the hero of this saga, is left penniless in Paris by his former patroness. He makes his way with his pen for hire, often dipped in poison. It is an era ruled by the reinstated aristocracy and the all-powerful newspapers whose articles are purchased by the highest bidder. Their motto is, print rumors and then denials and you get two for the price of one. William Randolph Hearst built his newspaper empire on just such a platform. Beautifully written, well directed, acted beautifully, “Lost Illusions” rings as true today as it did then. I was misleading when I said the films were in no particular order because this was my favorite film of the year. Available on MUBI. Review available on my Rotten Tomatoes page.

“The Banshees of Inisherin,” written and directed by Martin McDonough,
reunited the dream team of Colin Farrell and Brendan Gleeson, bearing no similarity to “In Bruges,” other than the brilliant writing and acting. A deceptively simple story of a friendship that was and is no longer. Padraic (Farrell), a simple man, is devoted to his friend Colm (Gleeson) and their daily visit to the pub. Then one day, out of the blue, Colm unceremoniously announces that he no longer wishes to be friends. This simple statement, action really, upends Padraic’s life of constancy and necessary predictability. Colm, a self-described intellectual in what he views as a land of simpletons, would now prefer to spend his days in contemplation, composing music on his fiddle. Padraic’s sin? He’s nice but dull. As his world collapses around him, he wonders why “nice” isn’t enough. Colm would rather cut off his fingers than subject himself to what he considers mindless drivel. His self-mutilation is a metaphor for the Irish civil war being waged at that time, one hand destroying the other. Available on HBO Max. Reviewed in the Courier’s Oct. 22 issue.

“Everything Everywhere All at Once” is the psychedelic, hallucinogenic adventure of Evelyn Wang, a middle-aged mother (Michelle Yeoh) swept into alternative universes by Waymond (Ke Huy Quan), the man she thinks is her husband. It is all precipitated by a visit to the IRS for an audit by a “by the books” functionary, Deirdre Beaubeirdre (Jamie Lee Curtis) who may or may not be a time-shifting mistress of evil ready to capture and kill Evelyn, proprietress of a laundromat who had the temerity to try deducting a karaoke machine as a business expense. Worse yet, it is entirely possible that her gay daughter Joy, whose only desire in life is to be acknowledged for who she is, may actually be Jobu Tupaki, the arch-villain of the alternate universe. This breathless, exciting, otherworldly adventure, directed and written by Dan Kwan and Daniel Scheinert, is impossible to describe. The acting is as otherworldly as the plot, with Michelle Yeoh slyly playing on her Chinese action persona from “Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon,” and Jamie Lee Curtis, hilarious, as you’ve never seen or even imagined her. Don’t try to follow the threads; just hold your breath and go with it. Available on Showtime.

“The Fabelmans” is ostensibly Steven Spielberg’s origin story but it is so much more than that. Certainly it’s “coming of age,” not just of young Sammy (Spielberg’s alter ego) but of his parents as well. Always looking through the lens of a camera, life is seen clearly and obtusely at the same time. The camera may not lie, but it can be made to see through the perspective of its owner, in this case Sammy, who watches his family collapse and his classmates persecute him and yet finds, within these episodes, a different story to tell, much like those films the future Steven Spielberg would create. As John Ford, the director, tells Sammy, “Horizon on the bottom, interesting. Horizon on the top, interesting. Horizon in the middle, boring.” Directed by Spielberg and written with Tony Kushner, the engaging and thoughtful story is propelled further by the actors, with Gabriel LaBelle as the teenage Sammy; Paul Dano as his father Burt; Seth Rogen as “Uncle” Benny, the catalyst to the upended marriage; and the ethereal Michelle Williams as Mitzi, Sammy’s beautiful, narcissistic mother. Reviewed in the Courier’s Nov. 25 issue. Available On Demand.

“Top Gun: Maverick” is a good old-fashioned Hollywood saga chock full of action, incredible cinematography, and a genuine movie star for a lead. The highest-grossing film of 2022, and rightfully so, the story is good, the production values are extraordinary, the characters actually develop, the conflicts are realistic, the dangers are heart stopping and the acting is engaging. This is Tom Cruise at his very best. Joseph Kosinski’s direction is streamlined and forceful; the screenplay by Peter Craig and Justin Marks successfully integrates the memories of characters from the original film while incorporating a whole new group of arrogant, charismatic, and flawed young pilots to create something new and even better. I’ve always had a soft spot for the original. Living in San Diego at the time, my son’s soccer coach was one of the original aerial consultants, the father of another friend was the admiral in charge of Miramar, the Top Gun base of operations, and later, I was hired by the chairman of the USC film writing program, Jack Epps, co-writer of the original screenplay. How could I not be hooked? Luckily, “Top Gun: Maverick” did not disappoint. Available on Paramount +.

“Tár” is that rare bird that is ostensibly about the rarified atmosphere of art, music, and the aspirations of the intellectually elite. Centered in the world of classical music, exploring the inner life of the leading female conductor, Lydia Tár, we are given an up close and personal look at how she thinks, works, and lives. Charismatic and demanding, she is followed as she conducts, auditions new musicians, lectures, discusses her world views on international talk shows, and leads a life of apparent domestic tranquility with her wife, the concertmaster of Lydia’s orchestra, and young daughter. But all the excellence we see on the surface disguises Lydia’s insecurities. Trailed by her assistant, Francesca, who aspires to become Lydia’s assistant conductor, it is she who is witness to the abuses and excesses that will be Lydia’s undoing. Cate Blanchett has rightfully garnered the buzz as the leading contender for best actor. Her performance is compelling to the point of mesmerizing and even frightening. Todd Field, writer and director, has immersed himself so thoroughly in the world of classical music that one could easily believe he lives in it. But his mastery is that this film isn’t about music at all. It is a dive into the world of power politics and the consequences of behaving as though rules no longer apply. I have always admired his past work, “In the Bedroom” and “Little Children,” but here, he has surpassed himself, and possibly everyone else. Available On Demand.

“Living,” based on Akira Kurosawa’s classic “Ikiru,” is an ode to living your best life, no matter when you start. Mr. Williams (played by Bill Nighy in what may be a career high) is a civil servant whose only accomplishment is that he has accomplished nothing, an admirable goal as far as his superiors are concerned. Diagnosed with a terminal illness and spurred on by a simple admonishment by a former employee, he sets out to consummate one act — build a playground on a tract of land bombed out a decade ago during the war. Directed masterfully by Oliver Hermanus and written by Kazuo Ishiguro, a Nobel Prize winner in literature, the plot may seem slight but the character development is everything. It is an elegy to the human condition. Reviewed in the Dec. 23 issue of the Courier. Now playing in theaters.

“The Menu” is a delicious send up of wealth, pretense, and fine dining. A dark comedy with thrills and chills; it is the ultimate cat and mouse game where the cat traps all the rodents with the exception of the smartest mouse, rewarding her ingenuity with her life. Starring Ralph Fiennes and Anya Taylor-Joy as the aforementioned cat and mouse, we are given an inside look at the rarefied air of the outrageously expensive land of extraordinary restaurants led by superstar chefs. Each puzzle piece, or rather, menu course, fits together to provide a big bang finish. Written knowingly by Seth Reis and Will Tracy, and directed humorously by Mark Mylod, this is a soufflé of equal parts comedy and horror. Reviewed in the Nov. 18 issue of the Courier. Available on HBO Max.

“Hold Me Tight,” written and directed by actor Mathieu Amalric, explores the real and the imagined in an upending event in the life of Clarisse as she lives both the past, present, and future of her family. Packing her belongings and surveying her surroundings for what may be the last time, Clarisse leaves in the family car. As she drives, she inserts a tape of her daughter playing the piano. The look on her face is beatific. Arriving at her destination, a ski lodge, she dines alone. Amalric has deliberately made the time frame unclear, keeping the viewer off center throughout most of the film. Suffice it to say that all is not as it appears and you must brace yourself for the many hairpin turns as melancholy yields to harsh reality. Vicky Krieps, seen most recently in “Corsage,” is the star and nothing short of spectacular, drawing us into her interior life until we are her. Available On Demand. Review available on my Rotten Tomatoes page.

“Official Competition” is a delectable sendup of acting, directing, producing, and pretense starring Penelope Cruz and Antonio Banderas, hilarious as you’ve never seen them. Cruz stars as Lola Cuevas, terminally hip, the hottest director in the world specializing in obtuse, existential, opaque films that are taken as deep art. Banderas as Felix Rivero, a highly paid action movie star not known for substance, looking to find meaning in his craft. Paired with renowned theater actor and teacher Ivan Torres, played by Argentinian star Oscar Martinez, Cuevas has deliberately set them against one another for effect. That the effect may be deadly is beside the point. This Spanish language film skewers the characters and the public personae of the actors themselves. It is a film that both wallows in subtext and ridicules it at the same time. Available on AMC+ or Prime Video On Demand. Review available on my Rotten Tomatoes page.

“All Quiet on the Western Front,” the German language film based on Erich Maria Remarque’s classic novel, is the definitive anti-war movie. Tracing the lives of four friends who idealistically enlist in the German army for the glory of the fatherland and the adventure, they are soon disabused of these ideals. It is 1917 and the troops have been unable to gain any ground in France. The death toll is high. The uniforms of the dead are quickly repaired and reassigned to the even younger recruits who are no more than cannon fodder in the field. Soon the four are reduced to one, Paul, doing his best to stay out of the line of fire. The photography is grimly realistic, the explosions are ear-shattering, and the nihilistic approach to the inevitable deaths is paralyzing. The portrayal of the commanding officers and their entitlement born of not having to sacrifice life and limb fuels the cynicism that underpins the film. Available on Netflix.

“The Woman King” is a marvel of story (Maria Bello and Dana Stevens), direction (Gina Prince-Bythewood), acting, music (Terence Blanchard), cinematography (Polly Morgan), and choreography (Jénel Stevens), all coming together seamlessly to produce a film of staggering virtuosity. Inspired by the history of the kingdom of Dahomey (now Benin) in West Africa, the film tracks the rivalry and war between Dahomey and the Oyo Empire in the early years of the 19th century over the Atlantic slave trade and economic dominance of the region. The righteous nature of Dahomey’s desire to curtail the sale of slaves to European buyers is greatly exaggerated but the depiction of the female warriors, the Agodjie, as courageous and valiant soldiers and bodyguards to the king has the ring of truth to it. Led by Nanisca (a brilliant Viola Davis), the Agodjie train, regroup, and fight off the Oyo. The fight choreography alone is worth the price of admission and this, like “Top Gun: Maverick,” is best seen on a large screen. As the stakes grow ever higher, with life and death in the balance, and vengeance against past wrongs an important element in the outcome, you’ll sit on the edge of your seat rooting for these female soldiers who know no fear. Available On Demand.

Along with this list of feature films, both foreign and domestic, I highly recommend three outstanding documentaries that were released this year. Remarkably, none of the three made the shortlist for the 2022 Academy Awards, confirming what some have referred to as a disconnect between the isolated Documentary committee and the rest of the Academy.

“Viva Maestro,” directed by Ted Braun, is the perfect confluence of music and drama as Gustavo Dudamel is followed around the world, conducting, teaching, and interacting with students and seasoned musicians alike. The Maestro in the title is a reference not just to Dudamel but also to his teacher, mentor, and founder of La Sistema in Venezuela, the late José Antonio Abreu. Any opportunity to see Dudamel in action is not to be missed, and we, in Los Angeles, have been lucky enough to have him lead our own Los Angeles Philharmonic. Available on HBO Max. Review available on my Rotten Tomatoes page.

“Louis Armstrong’s Black & Blues,” directed by Sacha Jenkins using a treasure trove of archival films and photos, is an intimate portrait of Louis Armstrong that is as straightforward as it is revealing about the public life he presented and the private life he lived. It is moving and will challenge your preconceived notions of the artist you thought you knew. Available on Apple+.

“Turn Every Page” documents the extraordinary collaboration of Robert Caro, one of the most important historians of the last 50 years, and Robert Gottlieb, his editor, as important in his field as Caro is in his. Reviewed in the Dec. 30 issue of the Courier. In theaters.

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Lizzie Gottlieb’s lifespan follows the same trajectory as the relationship between her father, Robert Gottlieb, and Robert Caro, the writer he edited. Born in 1971, it would have been just after her father began editing “Power Broker,” the biography of Robert Moses that put Caro on the map. A noted documentarian, she saw a movie in their acclaimed collaboration and, to quote a famous musical, she wanted to be in the room where it happened while they worked on Caro’s finale, the fifth and final book in his monumental series on Lyndon Baines Johnson, the 36th President of the United States. Little did she reckon with the strict parameters they set up. She could interview them; she could talk to them and others about their collaboration; she could do almost anything she liked in researching her story. What she couldn’t do was watch them work together or invade their process. Little did they reckon with her persistence, although her father should have known.

Lizzie may have been denied access to the “room where it happens,” but both men were very forthcoming on their relationship – the ups, the downs, the fights, and the genuine affection. It is, after all, a collaboration of 50 years, but one that isn’t as long as their respective marriages.

Gottlieb, the older, married his second wife, Maria Tucci, in 1969. Tucci, a well-respected New York actress, maintained a healthy distance from her husband’s work as she continued her independent career and helped raise their children. He was already a celebrated editor by that time, having started as an assistant at Simon and Schuster and ascending rapidly to become the editor and chief, later moving to Alfred A. Knopf, where he became president of the company. But there was always room in his day for Caro, even when he left Knopf to become editor-in-chief of the New Yorker.

Caro married his wife Ina in 1957 and they have worked together ever since. Ina, a writer herself, is the only person he trusts as a researcher. Starting out as a journalist, he became obsessed with the “master builder,” Robert Moses, when he realized that Moses had more power in New York than any elected official. It was from that realization that he knew he needed to write the book that became “The Power Broker,” which took seven years to finish. It was Ina who supported his vision and managed to keep them afloat even while facing the harsh reality that there was probably a very limited market for such a book. This changed, both financially and psychologically, when he found a literary agent, Lynn Nesbit. Nesbit was enthusiastic about Caro’s possibilities from the moment she read part of his manuscript. She not only found him the money to finish the book but, more importantly, she found him the editor who would work with him throughout his professional career, Robert Gottlieb. Gottlieb, already the president and editor-in-chief of Knopf Books, knew it would be a masterpiece after reading only 15 pages of what would become “The Power Broker.”

Robert Gottlieb is now 91 years old; Robert Caro is 87. At this stage in their lives, that four-year difference is significant. Caro has been working on the fifth volume of the Lyndon Johnson saga for several years, but he’s not done and, as you can see, they’re not getting any younger. For both men, this is a race to the finish, or as Gottlieb calls it, an actuarial issue. He’s hoping they will both make it to the end.

Lizzie got around their ban by interviewing them separately. Caro still writes his drafts longhand and then types the manuscript on his Smith Corona electric, with a self-adopted two finger approach, using carbon paper to make a copy of the work. For anyone under the age of 35, this will be an alien concept. There are those writers who still produce a first draft by hand. David E. Kelley is a classic example. But an electric typewriter is a device more familiar to visitors at the Smithsonian. And carbon paper? Go ask your parents or grandparents.

The thread running through all of Caro’s work, whether Moses or Johnson, is the dissection of political power and its effect on his subject, on society, on history. Who wants it, who gets it, how do they acquire it and how do you keep it? His greatest early lesson in the investigative process came from his managing editor at Newsday, Alan Hathaway. Explaining how investigative journalism worked, Hathaway told him, “Just remember one thing. Turn every page. Never assume anything.”

Gottlieb has been inextricably associated with publishing since the 1950s, in his own way taking up the mantle left by Maxwell Perkins, renowned editor of Hemingway, Fitzgerald, Thomas Wolfe, and others at Scribner and Sons. Perusing the shelves at the Strand Bookstore, a New York institution, Gottlieb points to a copy of “Catch-22” and informs his grandson that he was the one who came up with the number 22. It was originally Catch 18, but someone else at the time was about to publish a war book with “18” in the title and Gottlieb suggested to Joseph Heller that “22” was an even funnier number. The list of his authors is a compendium of some of the most famous literary figures of the later 20th century including Doris Lessing, Toni Morrison, Salman Rushdie, John le Carré, Ray Bradbury, Bill Clinton and so many others. Some of the books that passed through his hands during his early years were “True Grit,” “Something Wicked This Way Comes,” “Midnight Cowboy,” “The Chosen” and “The Andromeda Strain.”

There is a famous quote that is attributed to too many to credit, but it states, “If you want to write, read.” The same is true for editors. Reading has always piqued his interest and curiosity. But he always remembered that what he was working on was not his book. In his initial relationship with Caro, the editing was fraught, primarily because Gottlieb insisted that the story Caro was telling needed to fit in one volume. The initial manuscript, weighing in at 1,000,057 words, had to be cut to 700,000. A book’s spine can only hold so many words without collapsing. As Gottlieb explained to Caro, “I might be able to get people interested in Robert Moses once. I’ll never get them interested twice.” What made the editing process so hard in this case was that all of the manuscript was interesting. How do you choose what to cut? And that’s why the collaboration was so important. Despite Gottlieb’s duties as president of the publishing house, he always gave Caro his undivided attention.

This was a writing/editing marriage that was emotional, fraught with anger, mutually supportive.

Hilariously, but also on point, is the discussion of the difference in their use of punctuation, particularly the semicolon. Personally, I love the semicolon; it’s a continuation not a stop. Where else will you ever get an in depth look at grammar outside a classroom, and sadly, grammar seems to be a dying art form.

But I could go on and on. This is a deep dive into story and production. By analyzing their relationship, we also get an inside look at Caro’s process and the importance of his historical work and how, with the help of his editor, he honed in on topics of depth beyond his subjects.

There are many informative documentaries out there, but this one is more. My understanding of literature, writing, history, personality, collaboration is all so much deeper after living through dialogues with and about these two giants of 20th and 21st century writing. But, even more important, it’s fun, lively, and humorous. These are important subjects discussed by serious people like Colm Toibin, Bill Clinton, and David Remnick, among others. It’s about process, faith, and loyalty. It’s about a relationship that started when they were young men in 1970 and will last the rest of their lives. But as Gottlieb expressed, it is hoped that at least Caro will live long enough to finish his work. An acknowledgment that editors, even great ones, can be replaced; writers cannot (Note the correct use of the semicolon).

Gottlieb is the more idiosyncratic of the two with interests that extend to ballet and his collection of plastic purses. And he writes as well. But you’ll need to see this wonderful film to put these disparate pursuits in context.

“Turn Every Page” also gives you an introduction to Caro and how he works. For a more complete picture, read his autobiographical book “Working.” It was that book that made me want to read everything he’s touched. I’ve started with the Lyndon Johnson quartet (soon, one hopes, to be a quintet) and am proud to have finished Volume One. I am undaunted by the mountain I still have to climb but am determined to complete the journey.

“Waiting eagerly is not a very proactive line of work.” Gottlieb expressed his relationship with Caro in Shakespearean terms, taken from “King Lear.” “My role with Bob is what Cordelia says is her role with King Lear. It’s to love and be silent.”

Lizzie filmed for five years and finally, at the end, the two Bobs agreed to let her into the editing room but with a major restriction: no sound. Editing is private but even without sound you see them working, discussing fine points, no tempers. Seeing markups lets you know how they approach this dance.

The musical score by Olivier and Clare Manchon is subtly and effectively in the background. Ending with Chet Baker’s “Do it the Hard Way” seals the package.

Opening Dec. 30 at the Laemmle Royal and the Monica Film Center on Jan. 13, 2023. 

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“Corsage,” a speculative imagination of Elisabeth’s life,  takes up the saga as she’s about to turn forty. One of the renowned beauties of the Western world, she was inordinately self-focused on maintaining her beauty and physical fitness. Like Scarlet O’Hara, she starts her day being tightened into a corset, trying to maintain the wasp waist of her youth. Afterwards there are the myriad creams and potions to soften her skin and assuage the ravages of time. Helping her maintain that girlish figure is extreme fasting and rigorous exercise. Elisabeth may actually have been one of the first and most famous bulimics of her era.

Daily rides occupied much of the rest of her time when she was not visiting her adopted homeland of Hungary. A freer society and one that revered her, she found more and more comfort there, leaving Vienna for months at a time.

Elisabeth was a fashion icon and dressing was extremely important to her image. Director Marie Kreutzer viewed the Empress as one of the first foremost influencers of her day. An accomplished horsewoman, fluent in many languages, she traveled extensively. In this all important year entering “middle-age” she chooses to go where she is most comfortable, visiting England and Hungary, places she is rumored to have lovers. The Emperor, knowing how unhappy she is and unable to provide solace, gives her the freedom to abandon her royal duties.

In real life, Franz Josef was and remained madly in love with his Empress, a love that was never reciprocated. Unable to overcome his mother’s domination, it clearly affected Elisabeth’s feelings about Josef and Austria. Her boredom with formal ceremony showed through in a reluctance to attend events with her husband, remarked on by all within the court’s sphere.

Like many women (and men, too) her birthday party, meant to cheer her up, is nothing to celebrate. It is one more reminder of her uselessness. Even her interest in the mentally ill is triggered by self-interest.

Cracks begin to show in her husband’s devotion resulting in yet more travels on the part of Elisabeth, first leaving for England where a rumored lover lives. Returning to court, she offers herself to her husband but finds an unwilling partner.

I believe Kreutzer has attempted to make Elisabeth a tragic heroine, an early Princess Diana, a woman who, unhappy with a life at court where she has no substantive duties, becomes increasingly frivolous and marginal. She comes alive only when defying society’s norms, whether making conquests, trying to discuss politics with her husband, controlling what she eats and how, or smoking. Dissatisfaction was satisfying. Lamenting her own place in society, she did not hesitate to marginalize the women around her.

Kreuzer has built in anachronisms that jar the viewer. It is probable that she used them to juxtapose Elisabeth with modernity, but the use of the songs “Help Me Make it Through the Night” and “As Tears Go by” don’t seem to work to underscore her mood. Instead, they take you out of the moment. That Elisabeth figuratively gives the finger to the court reduces rather than elevates her. A scene intended to show her rare joy, cavorting for the new motion picture camera, is pure fantasy. It’s not that these things couldn’t have worked, it’s just that Kreuzer didn’t go all in. Had she taken the example of Baz Luhrman in “Moulin Rouge,” which took liberties with a historical period and some real people, and then shook it to the rafters with a modern soundtrack of rock songs, dance, and a plausible period plot, she might have better made her point on the hopelessness felt by Elisabeth.

Her reading of the history between Franz Josef and Elisabeth is more speculation than truth. Yes, she was a woman and as such was marginalized. Yes, he was the Emperor and his word on all things, whether military or domestic, was final. But there is no historical record of her trying to invest in domestic and Empire politics, outside her love for her adopted Hungary, as the film would have you believe.

Telling the story of an unhappy royal, Kreuzer would have done better to tell it historically or, like Luhrman, she should have followed the adage “go big or go home.” She did neither.

That I’m not an enthusiast of this sumptuously photographed film is probably evident. Judith Kaufmann, the cinematographer, successfully emphasizes the emotion of each scene with a color palette enhanced by imaginative lighting.

But I am a major fan of Vicky Krieps who plays Elisabeth. Krieps gives the Empress more depth than the script infers. Her silence speaks louder and more eloquently than words. Not a great physical beauty, which is not to say that she is not beautiful, she, nevertheless, conveys the ethereal allure that enhances the character. Her small gestures and the subtle movement of her eyes reveal who Elisabeth is, as well as who she would like to be.

Although I found much of the film tedious and repetitious, I was always enraptured by Krieps. There is very little that this native from Luxembourg can’t do as shown by her recent starring roles: “Bergman Island” in English, “Hold Me Tight,” in French, and now “Corsage,” in German.

In German, French, and English with English subtitles.

Opening December 30 at the Laemmle Royal.

Neely Swanson spent most of her professional career in the television industry, almost all of it working for David E. Kelley. In her last full-time position as Executive Vice President of Development, she reviewed writer submissions and targeted content for adaptation. As she has often said, she did book reports for a living. For several years she was a freelance writer for “Written By,” the magazine of the WGA West, and was adjunct faculty at USC in the writing division of the School of Cinematic Arts. Neely has been writing film and television reviews for the “Easy Reader” for more than ten years. Her past reviews can be read on Rotten Tomatoes where she is a tomato-approved critic. 

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Today is the first day of Peter Wakeling’s new civil service job in the public works division. Boarding the train into London, he meets his colleagues, Middleton, Rusbridger, and Hart, all long-termers with helpful advice. Their boss, Mr. Williams, will soon board the train, but ride separately. He is not to be addressed unless he addresses you. If Wakeling was unaware, which is unlikely, of the hierarchical system in business (or anywhere else, for that matter), he has just had a lesson of great importance in the art of survival.

Dressed impeccably, all the men make their way through a warren of cramped, dark office spaces. Theirs, like the others, is separated by a large glass and wood door opening onto five desks in close proximity, the fifth belonging to Girl Friday, Margaret Harris. Odd man, or rather woman, out, she has a sunny smile and a sense of humor. But then she can afford to. She’s a short-timer, both by choice and expectation, and has been offered an assistant manager position at a nearby Lyons Corner House and Tea Shop. The sixth and most prominent desk at the head, psychologically separated from the others by mountainous vertical files, is Williams’ seat of power. The overall look is positively Dickensian and has, no doubt, not changed since the mid-19th century.

A hush falls over the group as the pinched, prune-faced Williams arrives, umbrella sharply at his side, bowler hat firmly affixed, pinstriped suit immaculate. Unburdening himself of his accessories, he sits and the work of the day can begin. Inboxes are filled to overflowing with projects waiting for approval. Outboxes are virtually empty. Like all the other departments, their job is to pass along requests to someone else for rejection. This is post-war England, rationing still exists, and there is no money for rebuilding. Their job is to push paper, literally and figuratively, until it disappears through neglect, benign or otherwise.

Returning for another one of endless go-rounds are the three ladies who want a bombed out enclosed square in their lower class neighborhood made into a park for the children who have no recreation areas. Taking their petition, Williams explains that this is really a case for a different department and that they must get the approval there. But, as a kindness, he will send his new employee, Wakeling, to accompany them. This, as you will surmise, was not a favor to the women but a way to inculcate Wakeling into maintaining the status quo. Needless to say, when they end up where they began, Williams gives them a tight smile, takes the petition and files it among the others in his inbox, to stay there until they inevitably reappear.

But today is somewhat different. Williams announces that he will be leaving early for an engagement. The look of surprise on the men’s faces indicates how out of the ordinary this is. So, bowler on head, umbrella at his side, suit smoothed, Williams departs. He has an appointment with his doctor for the results of tests taken weeks ago. On the one hand, the news is dire, on the other, it is the first day of the rest of his life.

Home offers him little in the way of comfort. Living with his son and daughter-in-law, he finds no outlet for conversation. His son is definitely a chip off his block and the daughter-in-law lets her resentment of his presence show through in her every action. Taking a later train the next day, he has decided to skip work. And then skips it again. It becomes a pattern of action, or perhaps it’s inaction, changing only when he accidentally stumbles over Miss Harris, now employed at Lyons. In a remarkably uncharacteristic gesture, he asks her to tea and an unlikely friendship is born.

She, full of hope beyond her station, opens his eyes to the possibilities life still might hold. And it is this carpe diem moment that propels him back to the office to make a change, to make a difference, no matter how small.

Based on the 1952 Akira Kurosawa film “Ikiru,” “Living” has been exquisitely adapted by the Nobel Prize-winning novelist Kazuo Ishiguro (“Remains of the Day”). The story is simple, but the character development is among the best you will ever see and that is all in the writing. The subtle change in bearing and outlook occur almost imperceptibly from beginning to end. The dialogue is sparse and yet its economy is positively poetic. Although this is a story centered on Williams, the supporting cast’s actions or, in some cases, non-actions help define Williams while also shining a light on them and what they may or may not become in the future.

Directed with a very sure hand by Oliver Hermanus, he does justice to the script and pulls the story together by successfully creating a world that in some ways is long gone and in others, psychologically, remains the same. His sense of what this film should look like as well as what it should represent is masterful, taking a grain of sand and creating a vast beach. Why have we never heard of Hermanus before? He should be at the top of every list.

Cinematographer Jamie Ramsay has, as illustrated in the beginning, created a retro-look with the initial washed out colors that gradually gains depth along with the story. Production design by Helen Scott is beautifully on point. The opening titles of “Living” were inspired by every Ealing or Rank film of the 50s and 60s, blending seamlessly with the archival footage setting the scene at the beginning of the movie.

The acting is pitch perfect from the four middle managers, Alex Sharp as Wakeling, Adrian Rawlins, Middleton, Hubert Burton, Rusbridger, and Oliver Chris as Hart. Each wears his own insecurity and aspiration hidden in the breast pockets of their vests. Aimee Lou Wood as Miss Harris is the sparkling catalyst to an unexpected burst of warmth of the stiff upper lip Williams variety. She represents that first glimmer of a hope in a society stagnating in class consciousness. Wood, a standout in “Sex Education,” the fantastic British limited series on Netflix, shows a depth of character beyond her comedic background. She is winning, funny, warm, and the perfect foil to all the men who look past her.

The tour de force belongs to Bill Nighy as Williams. There is probably nothing that Nighy can’t do, but given a world-class script and great director, he soars. Nighy is a lesson in what character development is all about. This was not simply a case of starting out one thing and becoming something more or different at the end. Nighy takes the expectations of class, family, and hierarchy and ever so gradually leads you from cold circumspection to his end point of compassion and forgiveness, both of himself and of others.

Come Oscar time, this movie, Ishiguro, Hermanus, and Nighy will surely be nominations and strong contenders for the ultimate prize. This is a film not to be missed.

Opening Dec. 23 at the Laemmle Royal. 

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There was nothing unusual on Dec. 9, 2019, when two tourist boats took the hour and a half journey to the island. Some were passengers of a cruise ship taking one of the recommended excursions for that day, others were tourists from Australia and other parts of New Zealand. All were looking forward to a relatively unambitious hike to the crater and a selfie to remind them of this adventure. That the volcano was at a Level 2 risk, indicating a higher level of activity, wasn’t deemed to be a problem by the guides. Whakaari was almost always at risk level 2; level 3 signified eruption. Paperwork was signed acknowledging the risks entailed with such a trip, but all risks were played down. After all, what activity exists without risk?

The boat ride to the island was through rough seas that day, and, in retrospect, seems portentous. Choosing a faster route, only 20 minutes, one small group accompanied helicopter pilot and tour guide Brian Depauw, who landed his aircraft on one of the small existing helipads on the island.

The Kiwi tour guides were well trained and, for the most part, very experienced. One group was led by Hayden Marshall-Inman making his 1,111th trip. Tipene Maangi, a Maori tour guide, was a last minute substitute on the trip, and Kesley Waghorn led another group.

Particularly helpful are the graphics illustrating the routes taken by the groups up to the crater and what the presumed route down would be. Because the volcano is active, there is the constant presence of steam at the crater, making it difficult to determine the normal steam conditions and that of increased levels. Another drawing showed how the steam builds up from the pressure created by magma rising up from below. Even the normal “safe” level of steam makes it difficult to breathe, necessitating gas masks. Hard hats are worn to prevent injury from possible falling rocks.

Timed visits allowed for one group to return as another group ascended. But something was amiss. The level of steam was increasing, the surrounding rocks were glowing eerily, and the atmosphere was hotter. Group one had made it safely down the rocks and to one of the boats when all hell started to break loose at the top. Standing at the edge of the crater, the second group began to panic. “Run!!” one of the guides shouted. But not all of them could.

Interviews with survivors and some of the victims’ families infuse this film with a “you are there” immediacy. The struggle just to survive is told as though they were still in the middle of their battle to get out. Adding to the propulsive danger felt by viewers to this story is the spectacular cinematography as the aerial footage shows the power of the eruption, the difficulty of the terrain, and the claustrophobic hills enclosing the escape routes.

This is also a tale of heroism, not just of survivors aiding others but also of local citizens putting themselves in grave danger trying to help where they can, under circumstances that are nearly impossible. You will meet Mark Law and Tim Barrow, commercial helicopter pilots, who, upon hearing of the disaster, climb into their cockpits, land under death-defying circumstances and put themselves at risk for strangers.

Some of the tour survivors tell their personal histories bravely and poignantly. But the stories of the witnesses, survivors, and rescuers are highpoints to be encountered by the watching, not by my telling. This is a truly visceral experience. The photos taken by the tourists living through the moment are explosive. Hans Zimmer’s score is as evocative as it is ominous. The work of Directors of Photography Dominic Fryer, Mike Jonathan, Mark Lapwood, and Murray Milne is beautiful, harrowing, and narrative.

A word of caution. The next time you’re given a release of liability to sign, carefully read it and weigh the risks. The difference between risk and calculated risk here was the difference between Level 2 and Level 3. When deciding, ask yourself, who comes out the winner when it’s a contest between human nature and mother nature?

One can only hope that those “adventure tourists” visiting Mauna Loa right now have calculated an escape route that doesn’t involve the Daniel K. Inouye Highway.

Streaming globally December 16 on Netflix.

Neely Swanson spent most of her professional career in the television industry, almost all of it working for David E. Kelley. In her last full-time position as Executive Vice President of Development, she reviewed writer submissions and targeted content for adaptation. As she has often said, she did book reports for a living. For several years she was a freelance writer for “Written By,” the magazine of the WGA West and was adjunct faculty at USC in the writing division of the School of Cinematic Arts. Neely has been writing film and television reviews for the “Easy Reader” for more than 10 years. Her past reviews can be read on Rotten Tomatoes where she is a tomato-approved critic. 

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Mendes apparently believed that it was enough to assemble a marvelous cast and that his incomplete concept would come together; that the performance would generate itself. Or, quoting the reviled but previously very funny Woody Allen, “Right now it’s only a notion, but I think I can get the money to make it into a concept, and later turn it into an idea.”

“Empire of Light” is a panoply of marginally explored ideas looking for the glue to stick them together. Mendes, the director, forgot to tell Mendes, the writer, that he needed an actual story through-line to film. This was not a “slice of life” film like the Brits did so well in the 60s with their kitchen sink dramas or the French continue to do. Instead he gave us several threads, none of which are woven together enough to involve us either emotionally or intellectually.

It’s the cusp of 1981 when we meet Hilary, a middle aged woman who has had some sort of mental breakdown in the recent past and is now seeing a psychiatrist who prescribes lithium, our first hint of her bipolar disorder. She works as an assistant manager at the Empire, a glorious art deco movie house showing the first signs of aging and neglect, much like Hilary herself. Stabilized and numb to her surroundings, she is, nevertheless cocooned by her co-workers, sympathetic Neil, jolly punkish Janine, and marginally grumpy Norman, the projectionist. This is her family. But like many families, there is an undercurrent of abuse and that appears in the guise of Ellis, the owner and operator of the Empire. All know of Hillary’s troubled background. It played out right there at the ticket counter, but it is Ellis who uses that knowledge for his own gain. Hilary, numb to external forces, is an easy mark.

Then one day, in walks Stephen. He’s young, together, gorgeous, and black. He’s immediately adopted into their work family. But this is the early 80s and England is troubled with an anti-immigrant movement and racism in the form of skinheads. The ugliness of the prejudice is juxtaposed with the lovely seediness of this beachside resort town, Margate. But Stephen, born in Britain to a Trinidadian mother, can’t walk down a street without being accosted by hostility or the threat of bodily harm. He is a kind soul and clearly bright.

As unlikely as it seems (and this is a hard sell), Stephen and Hilary bond. He wants to be an architect but can’t get into college. Hilary encourages him to keep trying. She comes alive when she’s with him. Their friendship, with benefits, transcends what society would dictate for each of them.

Without revealing much of the ensuing action or consequences, suffice it to say that ultimately nothing jells. Characterization was left in the hands of the actors because there is no there, there in the story. Mendes was unable to capitalize on his idea to bring these characters into the milieu of the 80s with its revolutionary music scene, racism, and politics of isolation, not unlike those of the post-pandemic world. The overt hatred of the skinheads is cartoonish without depth or development.

This film takes place within a movie palace and yet there is little communicated about how the art form can bring people together. Somehow we’re left with it just being the place they work. It’s like leaving money on the table when you don’t draw any parallels to movies and life in general. Again, this is a case of the writer giving the director nothing to work with and leaving it up to the actors to find character when there’s no overarching plot into which they will fit. It’s improvisation by spectacular actors that goes nowhere.

The film, such that it is, is worth a watch for Olivia Colman alone (but not necessarily at a movie theater). Always excellent, here she is mesmerizing. In perhaps one of the best portrayals of a person living with and overwhelmed by an inexplicable illness and its effects, she makes you ache. Seamlessly flowing from “normal” and functioning to flying out of control without warning, or deeply, sadly withdrawn, it invites you into the mind of the affected. Happily ever after for Hillary is mere survival. It is truly a shame that one of her best portrayals is in a movie that fails to integrate it into a feasible story.

Colin Firth as Ellis does despicable things but somehow, because he’s an actor capable of communicating depth when all the character’s actions are shallow, remaining sympathetic to the audience when his actions are anything but. One can intuit that he is deeply dissatisfied and frustrated with the life he’s living, but it’s definitely not on any page he was given.

Michael Ward is Stephen, a young man whose promise is thwarted at every turn and yet he remains sunny. He suffers the most from the poorly conceived script because we know so little about his back story other than origin and that he wants to be an architect. But that again is a pitch and a miss for Mendes because here he is, working at a glorious icon of art deco architecture and nothing is made of it. We only know he wants to be an architect because he says so. He doesn’t draw; he doesn’t elaborate to his co-workers about the bygone era of this fading resort town. He’s just this gorgeous young man who suddenly appears, bonds with the much older Hillary like a life raft on a rocky sea, and takes abuse without complaint. Despite this film, Ward will go far in the future because he pops on screen. Imagine what he could do if he were given an actual character to portray.

Oftentimes writers become directors to protect their vision. This is a case, much like Julie Taymor and “Spiderman, Turn Off the Dark,” where the director felt that writing just gets in the way of vision. Mendes fundamentally underestimated the need for narrative structure and left himself without a cohesive story.

More’s the pity because the actual visuals produced by cinematographer Roger Deakins are superb. His play with light and the loving way he filmed inside the movie palace were delicious.

Is this a bad film? You would think so from my review, but it’s really just not a good film with a spectacular performance by Olivia Colman that stands almost in isolation. The harshness comes from the anticipation that a film called “Empire of Light” featuring a beautiful theater and a great actress might have been able to draw interesting and deep parallels between life and light and movies. Mendes got the money but the concept and idea never developed. Just consider me a woman scorned.

Opening December 9 at the AMC Century City 15 and the AMC Grove 14, as well as the Laemmle Monica Film Center, Laemmle Glendale, Laemmle Town Center 5, and Laemmle NoHo7.

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So many things these days start with the disclaimer “This is a work of fiction based on a true story.” “Invincible” should lead with the caution “This musical is a work of imagination loosely based on a famous play.” But oh what a play they’ve chosen to reimagine, “Romeo and Juliet.”

The back story, elaborated recently in the New York Times Dec. 1, 2022 edition of the Arts and Leisure section entitled “Romeo and Juliet Rock Out Again,” may be even more interesting than the finished project. Bradley Bredeweg, a television writer, had just reread “Romeo and Juliet,” so it was fresh in his mind when he slid a CD of his favorite Pat Benatar hits into the car player and had his Eureka! moment. As the songs spooled out of the speakers he connected them to specific moments in the play. They all fit. In no time flat he’d written the musical and was presenting it at a small theater in LA. Of course there’s always that pesky problem of music rights, but who’d notice? It’s not like the “Rockwell Table and Stage” in Los Feliz was on anyone’s radar. But it was. Pat Benatar and her husband and creative partner Neil Giraldo had been working on a show that incorporated their catalog. They caught wind of Bredeweg’s project (the entertainment world is smaller than you’d think) and soon cease and desist letters were flying across the country. Permission is sacrosanct when using anyone’s material; well, anyone living (royalties stretch further back but that’s another lesson entirely). But there’s a bit of happily ever after for Bredeweg, Benatar, and Giraldo because they decided to collaborate. And now we have Bredeweg’s reimagination of “Romeo and Juliet” with music by Benatar and Giraldo.

I say “happily ever after” mutedly because this show that they hope eventually to bring to Broadway still has a long way to go.

The idea is solid even if it reinvents characters, choices, and the substantive underpinnings. As laid out in the program, the action takes place in Verona, contemporary time unspecified, following a civil war between the Montagues and the Capulets in which the Capulets have emerged the victors. Although the head of each family has died, only Lord Capulet is celebrated a hero with the attendant laurels. Paris has been appointed Chancellor of Verona in his stead and is obsequiously served by Tybalt Capulet, a weasley hothead if ever there was one. Paris is actively pursuing fair Juliet, primarily for the additional political and financial weight she would bring in marriage. Her widowed mother is not opposed and she, too, would gain politically.

On the losing side are the Montagues, now without their leader, Lord Montague. Lady Montague, in mourning, is particularly protective of her son Romeo, a rather feckless teenager. He and his friends, Mercutio and Benvolio, are in and out of mischief, plotting constantly to embarrass and get back at the dreaded Capulets. An invitation to a masked ball hosted by the Capulets falls into their grubby hands and it is there that they are headed. Well you know the rest, at least you do if you’ve seen either “West Side Story” or read “Romeo and Juliet.”

Bredeweg’s stroke of genius was his ability to place Benatar’s songs into the play without positioning it as a jukebox musical. Even for someone, or rather especially for someone, unacquainted with the music, it seems to fit the scenes organically, never stopping the action of the moment. He has also melded modern vernacular and sprinkled it with some of the more famous dialogue from the original. You have to admit, Shakespeare definitely knew how to capture a moment. What does jar, however, is the use of random profanity because saying s*** or f*** takes you completely out of the moment. So often today’s writers confuse swear words with edginess. The use of profanity is a sign of laziness. Honestly, you couldn’t think of another way to express anger or frustration?

It grieves me to say that overall the production doesn’t work well enough. Some of the fixes would be easy; some not. The easiest fix is the sound. The opening number was over-amplified and the orchestra drowned out the singing. One major weakness lies with costuming and production design. Costumes and production design are the keys to any show, theater or film. They literally set the scene and give the audience an anchor to “who, what, and where.” The set is simple–a single three-story building that serves primarily to house the Capulets. There is a changing digital backdrop on the wall showing non-descript tenements and cathedral interiors, but these rotating photos do not tie the story to a time frame. This is perhaps a post-war apocalyptic era but the production design could make that clearer.

More troublesome was the costuming. If this is a dystopian war-torn city, as the riot police outfits would imply, then a modernistic, almost “Mad Max” costuming would have established the ongoing conflict and who the winners and losers were without exposition to set that stage. Instead there is a mishmash of leather jackets, sophisticated party dresses, jeans, Eurotrash micro minis, and skinny suits (Paris wears a red one and Tybalt’s outfit is hard to place). Everyone is in something different and none of it speaks to the time frame.

But, these are the easy fixes. What is harder to rectify is the lack of chemistry between the characters. “Romeo and Juliet” is a play of passion–the passionate enmity, the passionate love, and there is a decided lack of passion in “Invincible.” In fairness, some of it may be due to an under-rehearsed and somewhat inexperienced cast, some of whom are very good and others of whom are not. The lack of story and character development is almost fatal. The thunderbolt of love that should be evident in the meeting of Romeo and Juliet is entirely missing. They meet cute at a bar, he dances, she watches, and… That’s all folks. Before you know it, he’s asking the Friar to marry them and then he goes off to tell Juliet of his plans. That’s sort of not how it works, certainly not in Romeo and Juliet. Whether it’s “Invincible,” or “Romeo and Juliet,” or any love story, there has to be attraction, passion, and determination. It’s not done in the telling, it’s done in the action.

Director Tiffany Nichole Greene assembled an interesting, diverse cast, only some of whom were able to grasp their characters. Nevertheless, it would be unfair to fault the acting because if it’s not on the page, it’s hard to find a center. That being said, Sharon Leal as Madame Capulet and Dionne Gipson as Madame Montague are very good singers and grapple with characters that are ambiguously described. Kay Sibal as Juliet shines like a star. She has true stage presence and a voice that reaches into the soul. A recent graduate of UCLA’s Musical Theater program, this should just be the start of a major career. Khamary Rose, Romeo, suffers most from the lack of definition in the script concerning his character. He has a great voice and when his mike failed him during a crucial love scene his singing still projected to the back of the house.

By far the most accomplished actor, giving a true star turn, is Jon Patrick Walker as the Friar. He is genuinely funny and empathetic. The stage comes alive when he’s on it.

Special mention should also be given to Galen Hooks, the choreographer. The dance sequences did more to identify time, place, and character than any other element in the show. All the dancers executed the routines smoothly, professionally, and with that excitement that was missing in everything else.

Despite all of my objections, I enjoyed the show. I saw what they were trying to do, and though I don’t think they succeeded, it was an interesting exercise in imagination. Running an hour and 45 minutes without an intermission, they have two choices. Make it slightly longer with an intermission and expand the Romeo and Juliet scenes, or cut it shorter and eliminate some of the overly long, and not particularly well-executed fight scenes. But as all of the previous productions of the source material show, it’s tough to tell the story of Romeo and Juliet in less than two hours.

Are they ready to move to a bigger stage? I think not; or at least not any time soon. “Invincible” is not yet invincible.

At the Wallis Annenberg Center for the Performing Arts; 9390 N. Santa Monica Blvd., Beverly Hills until Dec. 18. 

Neely Swanson spent most of her professional career in the television industry, almost all of it working for David E. Kelley. In her last full-time position as Executive Vice President of Development, she reviewed writer submissions and targeted content for adaptation. As she has often said, she did book reports for a living. For several years she was a freelance writer for “Written By,” the magazine of the WGA West and was adjunct faculty at USC in the writing division of the School of Cinematic Arts. Neely has been writing film and television reviews for the “Easy Reader” for more than 10 years. Her past reviews can be read on Rotten Tomatoes where she is a tomato-approved critic. 

The post “Invincible” – Not Yet appeared first on Beverly Hills Courier.

“EO” won the Jury Prize at the Cannes Film Festival in 2022 and that made me smile. Not because I thought this was an assurance that the film was good, but because I thought that finally the prize went to a movie that wouldn’t be a treatise on the existential nature of life. Cannes Film Festival winners are often overly intellectual dissections of existence and, although there have been many that I’ve appreciated over the years, they appeal, at best, to a niche market. Even the rare American film, most recently “The Ladykillers,” a remake by the Coen brothers of a much better movie, to win the prize has not translated to box office success, let alone stood the test of time.

But somehow, director Jerzy Skolimowski, writing with frequent collaborator Ewa Piaskowska, has managed to turn the tale of a simple donkey on the run into a metaphorical vision of the world. And it works at several levels. EO, played by multiple donkeys, all of the Sardinian breed, is a surprisingly dynamic vessel holding the keys to man’s nature. His eyes, deep pools that will remind you of a cherished golden retriever, or in my case a soulful dachshund, are reflections of what you want to see. Whether he is sustaining a beating at the hands of thugs, for no reason other than they could, or the quiet, affectionate grooming by a new friend, he soldiers on. His only destination is away. EO’s journey, interrupted many times, is filmed through his eyes and allows us to view from his perspective. Like the best human actors, EO’s eyes are the windows to his soul. It doesn’t matter whether you believe that EO is showing us his soul because the filming sucks us into the whirlpool of emotion that we project onto him.

So often while you watch, you will be so absorbed that it is startling when you stop and realize that you are EO and he is you. His journey takes many turns, some joyous, some not but that’s for you to discover.

What is truly extraordinary is the photography and lighting. Cinematographer Mychal Dymek has used an immersive approach that views the scenery through EO’s eyes. Dymek has gone beyond the handheld camera and seems to have attached it to EO’s neck, blurring and clarifying the scenery as the donkey slows, trots, or grazes. When he pulls back the camera, placing EO in contrast to the environment, as he does when EO crosses a bridge next to powerfully cascading waterfalls, one feels the impossibility of his voyage to nowhere in particular. His use of filters and angles enhance Skolimowski’s rather dark view of humans when they come into contact with the donkey.

Sandra Drzymalska plays Kasandra with so much compassion that you can feel EO’s loss. The great Isabelle Huppert has a small, unnecessary role, but it’s always a pleasure to watch her. But the real star of this film is the sextet who play EO, Tako, Hola, Marietta, Ettore, Rocco, and Mela, each bringing his or her own spontaneity to their scenes, keeping the crew always on alert for a different interpretation of the filmed action.

I’m not sure I ever imagined that I would be entranced by the meanderings of a donkey. Dialogue is at a minimum and might actually not be necessary because the human actions speak much louder than their words. Skolimowski and Piaskowska have produced a film that takes us on a thoughtful journey that offers much to contemplate about the essence of being. And yes, somehow this movie about a donkey is a treatise on the existential nature of life.

Opening December 2 at the Laemmle Royal and the Los Feliz 3.

Neely Swanson spent most of her professional career in the television industry, almost all of it working for David E. Kelley. In her last full-time position as Executive Vice President of Development, she reviewed writer submissions and targeted content for adaptation. As she has often said, she did book reports for a living. For several years she was a freelance writer for “Written By,” the magazine of the WGA West, and was adjunct faculty at USC in the writing division of the School of Cinematic Arts. Neely has been writing film and television reviews for the “Easy Reader” for more than ten years. Her past reviews can be read on Rotten Tomatoes where she is a tomato-approved critic.

The post The Journey of “EO” appeared first on Beverly Hills Courier.

So much has been made of Steven Spielberg’s newest film being autobiographical but dissecting the personal aspects of this wonderful movie diminishes its universal impact. The filmmaking is sly and misleading. Ostensibly his own origin story, undeniably it is that, but it is so much more. And Tolstoy knew from whence he came.

Young Sammy Fabelman and his sisters are nurtured by the protective environment provided by their loving parents. Father Burt is an engineer entranced with the new field of computer science, whose imagination and skill in this field attracts the attention of bigger and better corporations. Burt and his beautiful wife Mitzi are lured from their friends and family in New Jersey to Arizona where he will work for GE. At Mitzi’s behest, Burt brings along his best friend Bennie to work alongside him. Everyone loves Bennie. He’s non-stop fun, caring, and always there whenever he’s needed, and even when he’s not.

Mitzi, who, in her youth, came very close to reaching a concert level ability on the piano, now plays for her own pleasure, always with an eye to “what could have been.” In many ways, she is the spiritual antithesis of her scientific husband. She loves the arts and encourages that love in her children. Burt, madly in love with his wife, supports her artistic endeavors but sees the rest of life in practicalities. Art is a wonderful avocation but not a life goal.

Seeing a bit of herself in Sammy, it is she who puts that first movie camera in his hands. Shy, he blossoms behind increasingly more sophisticated equipment and sees the world in the narratives he can tell behind the lens. Sammy learns the power of storytelling and as his skill grows, he begins to realize that his life is inextricably tied to the potential of the camera.

But Spielberg is deceptive. This isn’t really about what Sammy learns but about what he sees. And what he begins to see are the cracks in the family foundation. When Mitzi’s mother dies, her depression, always looming beneath the surface, takes hold and she loses her tie to the real world. She withdraws from her husband, her children, and the reality they represent. Always close to Bennie who could make her laugh, she increasingly leans on him. Her self-absorption leads her to an “us and them” bunker mentality, one that includes Sammy, who she views as an artist, and excludes Burt, with whom she feels she shares nothing.

The lens is laser-focused on the family. Stung by his father’s inability to see that his obsession with filmic storytelling is not a hobby but part of a future he feels passionate about, he turns toward his mother who seems to understand him better until his lens reveals a truth he wasn’t looking for. Each of the parents is blind to a bigger picture.

When they move again for Burt’s work, the already strained family fabric frays some more. Everyone but Burt faces a hostile environment. For the children, but especially Sammy, it is a harsh confrontation with antisemitism combined with the fish-out-of-water existence that so many out-of-sync teenagers face when confronted with a rich kid/jock atmosphere that they are no more prepared to face than an alien from “ET.” Mitzi, whose hold on daily life was already fragile, now feels she’s without an anchor and she begins to withdraw further.

And it is here, in the portrayal of the parents, that you begin to realize that Sammy’s story is peripheral to theirs. Spielberg inherently understands his father’s inability to grasp the angst of his wife. He is the prototypical husband/father/professional of the 50s and 60s, with the exception of his exceptionalism. The stereotypic breadwinner who, when confronted with disharmony at home is completely at sea. 

Mitzi, unhappy with the past, dissatisfied with the present, is unable to see a future. Instead of digging deep within herself, she lays the blame at the feet of Burt, guilty because he doesn’t understand Sammy’s gift; guilty because he doesn’t understand what he doesn’t understand; guilty because he’s Burt.

Extraordinary is Spielberg’s ability to sympathetically paint Burt as someone who’s confused by the world around him. He is fundamentally a good man who doesn’t understand that he’s losing something at home that he may never have fully grasped. It is emblematic that he continues to refer to Sammy’s overriding love and talent as a hobby. He sees the world in algebraic terms, Sammy’s worst subject.

But it is the portrayal of Mitzi that defines “The Fabelmans.” He portrays her self-absorption and narcissism clearly. Trapped in the role society has defined for women of that era, Spielberg is kind in how he reveals a woman who is, as it turns out, inherently unsympathetic because of the ways she manifests her frustration.

Casting Director Cindy Tolan did a superb job. In a small but pivotal role, Judd Hirsch is the old world, Yiddish speaking brother of Mitzi’s mother, who enters as dramatically as he leaves. Arriving to sit Shiva for his sister, he reveals the key to his niece’s unhappiness and dissatisfaction with the hint that it will probably never disappear.

Seth Rogen as Bennie successfully portrays loving ambivalence with a seductive self-serving edge that is hidden from everyone except the camera.

Gabriel LaBelle as the teenage Sammy is a revelation. It’s difficult to be both the protagonist and the vessel through which the story unfolds. His character is always searching and finding what he’s not looking for.

Paul Dano plays Burt Fabelman and he has, perhaps, the most difficult role because he must appear effectively clueless. Almost bland in demeanor, Dano is able to convey love, dismay, and helplessness with only a flicker of his eyes. He makes you ache for his lack of understanding, because it’s possible that there is no way to understand.

Finally there is the luminous Michelle Williams as Mitzi, the beautiful caring mother who, in the end, cares only for herself regardless of the consequences. To portray an ultimately unsympathetic character whose very complexity disguises her self-absorption, is an artform not mastered by many. That, in the end, she is still able to generate empathy is a tribute to her skill.

But let’s not forget the role of the director in all of this. Spielberg makes you realize how instrumental the director is in eliciting performance. You may think that it’s all about casting good actors, and good actors play an enormous role, but watch the scene where Sammy is directing one of his fellow Boy Scouts on how he should play a scene that he doesn’t understand, and you will see instantly what a gift Sammy, the stand-in for Spielberg, has.

Writing the script with longtime collaborator Tony Kushner, it is a marvel of depth, sincerity, subtlety, sweetness, and melancholy while never resorting to overt sentimentality. 

As always, the score by John Williams was excellent, subdued, and followed the delicacy of the story.

 Janusz Kaminski, Spielberg’s cinematographer of choice, uses a palette that follows the lights and darks of the narrative.

Perhaps the key to Spielberg’s filmmaking is found in a brief encounter with John Ford, played by David Lynch. Ford points to two paintings in his office and asks Sammy to identify the location of the horizon in each. Nodding at Sammy’s answers, he leaves him with this advice: “Horizon on the bottom, interesting. Horizon on the top, interesting. Horizon in the middle, boring.”

“The Fabelmans,” much like most of Spielberg’s past films, avoids that middle horizon.

Now showing at a theater near you. 

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Although this is not a “rise and fall” story because Charlie Trotter never really fell from the heights he worked hard to achieve, it is a “warts and all” tale about a perfectionist who expected the same from everyone around him. That’s really not new because anyone trying to reach the top of his or her profession never accepts second best even if, in the end, they are the prime beneficiaries.

In some ways Chuck, the name he carried until he opened his eponymous restaurant, Charlie Trotter’s, was born with a silver spoon in his mouth. Maybe not silver but at least silver-plate. He was a standout gymnast at his high school, New Trier, the toniest of tony public high schools in the north Chicago suburbs. When Chuck finally alighted on a path, having worked in a few kitchens along the way, his father, a very successful businessman, backed him in his first and most famous restaurant. Charlie was 28, a basically self-taught chef, and newly married to first wife Lisa who ran the front of house. Success soon followed but success such as his comes at a price and Lisa, who was no longer a priority, was the first to go.

Charlie was a contradiction in terms. Generous to a fault to loyal workers, he gave many a start in his restaurant regardless of their previous experience. If they gave 100% to him, they had a place. Most, as in life, did not have that to give and soon departed.

He could also be vengeful to those who left to start their own endeavors. Such was the case of Grant Achatz who got a place in the kitchen by bombarding Charlie with letter after letter asking for a chance. Charlie gave him his start but the relationship frayed when Achatz decided to expand his experience and work elsewhere. Disloyalty, as defined amorphously by Trotter, was a cardinal sin and Achatz became persona non grata.

At the height of the fame and excellence of Charlie Trotter’s, the Michelin guide did not deign to review restaurants outside of New York. Most concede that had they done so in the late 90s or early 2000s Charlie Trotter’s would surely have merited three stars. When they finally did expand their territory in 2010, Charlie Trotter’s was awarded two stars. By then, the restaurant was no longer at its peak and would close in two years’ time. It certainly didn’t help his ego when, in 2011, Achatz’s restaurant Alinea received three stars. If Achatz had been persona non grata before this, he was now dead to Charlie.

Trotter, who died in 2013 at the age of 54, comes alive in archival footage, interviews with former chefs, including Achatz with whom he reconciled prior to his death, many former workers, his ex-wife Lisa and his third and last wife Rochelle, his mother, sister, and friends.

Many famous chefs learned at his elbow and they have interesting and generous perspectives to share. Among them is local super star chef David LeFevre who created and still oversees the best restaurants in Manhattan Beach. LeFevre’s journey started with an internship at Charlie Trotter’s before setting off on a series of apprenticeships in renowned restaurants in France. He landed back at Charlie Trotter’s, eventually leaving and heading the kitchen at the Water Grill in downtown LA, earning them their first Michelin star. Leaving there, he returned to the town he grew up in, Manhattan Beach, creating MB Post, and a veritable kingdom of others. LeFevre is generous and open about what he learned at Charlie Trotter’s and from Charlie himself.

There’s always a price to pay and Charlie paid it. So did everyone around him. Closing Charlie Trotter’s in 2012, he intended to tour the great kitchens of the world. Medical problems he refused to address resulted in a stroke that killed him. Whether you approve or not of his methods, his personality, or vindictiveness, they are not the salient issues. In the end, everyone gets their say and they are generous in their acknowledgement of his genius and what he accomplished in American cuisine. Like I said, warts and all.

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In its own way, the movie releases of 2022 have followed the pattern of the pre-pandemic years but in a more muted way in terms of the grosses. Some of this is because studios are still trying to figure out the balance between theatrical release, Video on Demand (VOD), and streaming. The total number of films released in the United States so far this year that have grossed at least $10M domestically is 70. Keep in mind that in the past a $10M gross for a movie on its opening weekend was considered a bad result. I’m betting you’d be hard pressed to name more than 10 of this year’s films, and certainly few if any at the bottom of the list, although that’s where you’ll find overlooked gems like “Mrs. Harris Goes to Paris,” “See How They Run,” and “Bros.”

HOW ARE FILMS RELEASED

Late Winter:

In harsh terms, films coming out in January, February, and, to a certain extent, March are being dumped on the market by their studios either because those films didn’t live up to expectations or because of a recognition that they aren’t marketable. This past winter saw the release of “The 355,” “Jackass Forever,” and the surprisingly popular but critically reviled “Uncharted.” You just never know.

Spring:

April is something of an anomaly because movies for younger children appear, like “Sonic the Hedgehog 2,” and “Fantastic Beasts: The Secrets of Dumbledore,” both of which made money, buckets of it in the case of “Sonic.” Adult films like “Ambulance” and “Memory” came out and plummeted, leading one to wonder if they, too, fell into the “what are we supposed to do with them?” category. Both arrived on Amazon Prime shortly thereafter.

Summer:

May is the beginning of tentpole season. This is the time when studios put out what they think will be their blockbusters, especially their superhero movies aimed at teenagers who are out of school with nothing to do but see the same movie over and over. Seven of the top 10 grossing films of the year (and there is little doubt that they’ll stay in those positions) premiered between May and July, led by “Top Gun: Maverick” in May. That particular film has given the studios hope that there may still be people out there who are willing to buy tickets and popcorn and travel to theaters to see movies on big screens in the dark.

Fall:

Much like the spring openings, premieres in September and early October are a grab bag of excellent films and headscratchers. They are spotty releases, some of which equaled or surpassed the hopes of their distributors like “The Woman King,” and the sleeper hit “Smile.” And others disappointed, like “Don’t Worry Darling,” which seemed to be torpedoed by behind the scenes gossip (and bad reviews), and “Bros” that for some reason vastly underperformed given the great critical and audience reviews. As the late, great screenwriter William Goldman said, “Nobody knows anything.”

Early Winter:

So now we come to the case in hand: films released in November and December. In general, these are the prestige releases. There will be a few tentpoles, some family favorites, lots of foreign films, and perhaps most importantly the major Oscar contenders. While a few (and believe me not many) Best Picture Oscar contenders will have been previously released, most will come out between now and the end of the year. The reason that studios release their Oscar contenders at this time is all about impact and memory. In most cases, films that premiered before October are long forgotten, no matter how good they were. There have been exceptions in the past, one of them being last year’s winner “Coda,” released in August 2021 among much bigger films and little fanfare.

Oscar qualification rules are very specific. In the period between January 1, 2022 and December 31, 2022, a film must receive a theatrical opening of seven consecutive days in the same commercial theater (a minimum of three screenings per day) in one of the following metropolitan areas: Los Angeles County; City of New York; the San Francisco Bay Area; Chicago; Miami; and Atlanta. And most importantly, any release receiving its first public exhibition outside a theatrical showing will not be eligible. This includes VOD, Pay per View (PPV), DVD, airing on Broadcast or Cable television, or by internet transmission (i.e., streaming). Films premiering the day of or after the theatrical release remain eligible, a major concession over pre-pandemic rules.

So on with the show. Here are the films to watch out for.

November: 11/4

“Good Night Oppy,” an inspirational documentary about the rover named Opportunity (Oppy) that was sent to Mars on a 90-day mission and ended up surviving for 15 years. It not only tracks the incredible footage and scientific information Oppy sent back, but it also reveals the close bond that Oppy’s human handlers formed with this little robot millions of miles away.

“Armageddon Time,” a coming of age story from writer/director James Gray with a powerhouse cast including Anthony Hopkins and Anne Hathaway.

11/11

“Black Panther: Wakanda Forever” is the much-anticipated follow-up to “Black Panther,” that was the rare Marvel film that crossed over into well-written and acted drama. “Wakanda” takes place after the death of King T’Challa (the late Chadwick Boseman). Whether this repeats as one of the few tentpole movies to be nominated for Best Picture, it will still be exciting to see the next chapter.

“Spirited,” a clever musical take on “A Christmas Carol” from the standpoint of the ghosts, may not win any major awards but it should be a family hit, especially with stars like Will Ferrell as the Ghost of the Present, and Ryan Reynolds as the stand-in for the Scrooge. Streaming 11/18 on Apple+.

11/18

“She Said” is the story that helped break open the Harvey Weinstein assault cases and propel the #MeToo movement. It is based on the Pulitzer Prize-winning book by New York Times reporters Jodi Kantor and Megan Twohey, starring Zoe Kazan and Cary Mulligan.

“The Inspection” is based on the true story of Elegance Bratton who, as a young, Black, gay man rejected by his mother finds success and acceptance and support with a group of comrades in a most unlikely and prejudiced arena, the Marines.

“The Menu” is a delicious (and I mean that in all sorts of ways) comedy/horror film about a surprising dinner at an exclusive restaurant on a remote island. It is stuffed with stars like Ralph Fiennes as the chef.

“EO” is the quirky and charming film directed by famed Polish director Jerzy Skolimowski about the life of a donkey who escapes his Polish circus and gradually makes his way to France. Poland’s submission to the Oscars, it won the Jury Prize at Cannes.

11/23

“Bones and All” will be a limited release for those with a taste for the ghoulish. Starring Timothée Chalamet, who seems of late to be attracted to the more bizarre aspects of life, it is something of a cannibal love story. Perhaps not to my taste.

“The Fabelmans.” This much anticipated film directed by Steven Spielberg and written by him with Tony Kushner is his own, very personal coming of age story starring Michelle Williams and Paul Dano. Spielberg exposes himself more than he has in the past, although it will probably still not be enough for some people.

“Strange World” is a Disney animated action adventure fantasy sure to please the kids and not bore their parents. It may even cross over to older teens.

“Nanny” is a psychological horror tale about a recent immigrant who has been hired to care for the child of a rich couple in New York City. The family dynamics and the nanny’s increasing sense of instability are a volatile mixture. Streaming on Amazon December 16.

“Glass Onion: A Knives Out Mystery” is the sequel to “Knives Out.” This time it sports a new mystery, a sunny Greek island, and a new starry ensemble of suspects and victims, all led by Daniel Craig, the inscrutable detective with the funny accent. Streaming on Netflix December 23.

11/25 

“White Noise,” adapted and directed by Noah Baumbach, is based on the celebrated novel by Don DeLillo. Streaming on Netflix December 30.

November is full of interesting releases, but December ramps things up for Oscar consideration. Look for Part Two of this series in the Nov. 25 issue of the Courier. Until then, happy viewing! 

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Rahimi has arrived in the holy city of Mashhad to investigate the unsolved killings of prostitutes in this holiest of holy cities in Iran, the equivalent of Mecca to Shia Muslims. She is on assignment and there is much at stake. Encountering the first of many rebuffs, she is refused the lodging she has reserved when the clerk discovers she is a single, unmarried woman. So sorry for the mistake but they are fully booked, that is until she announces that she is a journalist and public note will be made of this slight. Suddenly a room is found.

Reporting to the local office of her paper, she has Sharifi, her journalist guide, bring her up to date with the killings. A new victim has recently been found, dumped in the same location as the others. Questioning the police officer in charge of this case, she would like to know what is being done to catch him. He shrugs and indicates that they are waiting for him to make a mistake. Are they not concerned that he will go on killing? Not particularly. He will eventually slip up and then they will find him. Rahimi is appalled but not surprised. In this strict religious hierarchy, women matter little and prostitutes matter not at all. Even the police feel that the unknown killer is doing society a service by ridding the streets of “corrupt” women. That it is men who feed this problem is not an issue. 

Some lip service is given by the head of the police to the fact that these women are trapped because they are poor and have no income or means to support their families. But this is not a view shared by society in general. 

Ali Abbasi, the director who co-wrote the script with Afshin Kamran Bahrami, is more interested in illustrating the hypocrisies built into a society that seems to blame women for all transgressions, even those by men, because their mere presence is a sinful temptation to all. The morality police actively work to subvert the investigation. 

This is not, strictly speaking, a mystery thriller. Early on in the film, the viewer is aware of the killer, a banal family man named Saeed who is in thrall to the Iman Reza, the patron “saint” so to speak of the largest mosque in the world. He prays to Iman Reza for the strength and guidance to perform his war on corruption in the streets.

It is Rahimi, putting herself at great danger, who successfully unmasks Saeed and leads to his apprehension by an ambivalent police force. But the hunt and capture is only a side story. It is Abbasi’s exposure of the media circus surrounding Saeed’s prosecution that reveals more about this society than anything else. As Rahimi, now monitoring the trial, depressingly knows, even with his admission of guilt, too many feel that Saeed is a righteous soul doing God’s work. He has become a hero. His well justified execution, if it ever comes to that, would make him a martyr. The victims, it becomes clear, have no one to speak for them, not even their families, shamed by the actions of their dead daughters, sisters, mothers.

As your stomach tightens, waiting to see what will or won’t happen to Saeed and how blame will be showered on Rahimi, you are witness to a history that happened and continues to happen in Iran. This movie is based on serial killings carried out by Saeed Hanaei in Mashhad in the early 2000s and the media circus that followed his eventual capture, but not before he had killed 16 women, the same number of killings by the Saeed of this story.

How long, Abbasi posits, can this continue? How long can women be denied rights and blamed for all the wrongs? Zar Amir Ebrahimi, who plays Rahimi, will have to watch from afar because she was hounded out of Iran when a private sex tape was leaked, ending her career. There was, of course, no retribution for her partner. She now lives in Paris. For her performance in this film, she received the Best Actress award at the Cannes Film Festival. As Rahimi, her determination shows through in the quiet set of her jaw and the simmering anger that is held back in her speech but clear in her eyes.

Mehdi Bajestani in the role of Saeed, remarkably conveys a sympathy, confusion, and naivety present at all times whether choking a prostitute or instructing his son in manhood. As though trapped in a role he created but didn’t fully understand, his Saeed is guilty and innocent at the same time.

Nadim Carlsen, director of photography, has perfectly captured the seamy side of the location, with Amman, Jordan substituting for Mashhad. This is an important juxtaposition that underpins the movie. It should not be surprising that Abbasi was denied permission to film in Iran. Ironically, although that may not be the apt term, “Holy Spider” is Denmark’s submission to the Academy Awards. 

In Farsi with English subtitles.

“Holy Spider” opens November 4 at the Laemmle Royal and the Alamo Drafthouse Downtown. 

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The story is as deceptively simple as the main character Pádraic whose entire day is centered around dropping by his best friend Colm’s cottage to walk together to the pub for their daily 2:00 drink. That his world is upended on the day that Colm unilaterally decides that the friendship has ended is an understatement. No warning, no explanation, no “it’s not you, it’s me.” Just no answer at the door, no more communication, no more conversation at the bar or anywhere.

Pádraic, not the sharpest tool in the shed, prides himself on being nice. When is nice not enough? Colm, older, has had an epiphany. His life is a bottomless pit of nothing made occasionally more interesting by the music he plays on his fiddle. By his calculation, he has maybe twelve more years to live, and he wants them to mean something more than a pint (or several) of beer. Pádraic is part of that bottomless pit, the embodiment of Inisherin’s arid coastline. When pressed about the reason he no longer wants to be friends, Colm is blunt. “You’re dull,” he tells Pádraic.

Pádraic lives in a cottage with his sister Siobhan, a wiser soul who buries herself in books. Puzzled and hurt, he asks her, “Am I dull?” Kindly, gently, she responds, “You live on a small island off the coast of Ireland. Of course, you’re dull.” “But I’m nice. Isn’t it enough to be nice?” And therein lies the dilemma. Pádraic is nice; it’s his whole identity. But, as Colm eventually tells him, a hundred years from now, no one will remember nice, but they’ll still remember Mozart. “Who’s Mozart?” asks Pádraic, proving the point that he’s still missing.

Siobhan aches for her nice brother. Yes, he’s dull; yes, he needs her. But the insular, tiny, close-minded Inisherin holds nothing for her. She longs for intellectual stimulation and will need to leave to find it. Again, something Pádraic will never understand. Siobhan understands Colm’s dilemma but not his method. He has torn Pádraic’s heart out from him; Pádraic who is kind to everyone even if he doesn’t understand the world at large.

And what is that world at large? It’s 1923 and close to the end of the Irish Civil War that doesn’t seem to have touched the Islanders who just want to be left alone. It would seem that everything is going on in Ireland and nothing is going on in Inisherin. But even that is deceptive. Like the rest of the Republic of Ireland, about to lose the sovereignty of the northern part of the country, Inisherin is governed by a corrupt and violent policeman, Peadar Kearney, and the all-controlling Catholic church as represented by the local prelate who honors the confidentiality of the confessional only when it’s convenient. Colm’s self-mutilation is a metaphor for the Civil War, one hand destroying the other.

Playing out like a Greek tragedy, our hero, Pádraic has difficulty in reconciling what Colm views as a fatal failing, his dullness, with his belief in the value of niceness. The Greek chorus is personified in the character of Dominic, son of the brutal policeman and acknowledged village idiot who, despite his moronic outlook, often articulates things more clearly than the intellectual musings of Colm. This isn’t “Oedipus” or “Agamemnon” or “The Trojan Women.” This is about one man deciding not to be friends with another and the unexpected consequences on them and their neighbors.

Seemingly the very definition of a “small” film, “The Banshees of Inisherin” is about, as Colin Farrell states, “fidelity, friendship, separation, loneliness, sadness, death, grief and violence.” It is these village characters, it is Ireland of 1923, it is the world in general. And it all started when one man said to his best friend, “I don’t want to be friends anymore.”

McDonagh’s talent doesn’t rest just on the words, as poetic and thrilling as they are, or the direction of the actors or filming of the backdrops, it is, in its own way, exemplified by the actors he chooses to say those words and direct in their physical interactions. From the minor, supporting characters to the leads, McDonagh has opened up a jewel box of treasures that make the island of Inisherin come alive.

David Pearse is the priest who comically withholds penance spitefully and Gary Lydon is the malevolent policeman who brutalizes the town as figuratively as he literally beats his son Dominic. Barry Keoghan is Dominic, the idiot who has moments of greater clarity than even the most brilliant villager, a tie between Siobhan and Colm. Kerry Condon plays Pádraic’s sister, the very kind and intellectually frustrated Siobhan. That her future will never be in Inisherin is a future foretold.

Brendan Gleeson, Colm, inhabits his character without saying a word. His life’s frustration, his aspirations, as dwarfed as they are, can be read on the worn, used roadmap that is his face. As incomprehensible as Colm’s actions seem to be, they are projected on his slumped posture. That his reactions to Pádraic are as violent and destructive as they are speaks to his frustration and self-hate. He is meant to be incomprehensible and yet, in the end, he is understandable.

Colin Farrell gives the performance of his career as Pádraic. Having had a previous breakout performance in “In Bruges,” also written and directed by McDonagh and starring Gleeson, he works with what he knows of Gleeson’s approach to character to infuse his own character with added depth. Effortlessly using his eyes to convey his dashed hopes and lack of understanding, Farrell gives Pádraic a life that no one else could have done. He really makes you wonder why “nice” isn’t enough if you’re not gifted with intellectual strength. His “nice” is his depth and identity and Farrell’s Pádraic makes you ache and identify with him. He does live, as Siobhan pointed out, “on a small island off the coast of Ireland.” Dull is in the wheelhouse of everyone on that island but most lack the character of Pádraic. Farrell is a revelation. One can only hope that there are more McDonagh and Gleeson in his future.

The production values are excellent, from the cinematography of Ben Davis to the location of Inishmore Island to the period costumes of Eimer Ni Mhaoldomhnaigh and the underlying music by Carter Burwell.

But this is all Martin McDonagh. And I worship at his altar whether on stage or on screen.

Opening October 21 at the AMC Century City and the AMC Grove 14. 

Neely Swanson spent most of her professional career in the television industry, almost all of it working for David E. Kelley. In her last full-time position as Executive Vice President of Development, she reviewed writer submissions and targeted content for adaptation. As she has often said, she did book reports for a living. For several years she was a freelance writer for “Written By,” the magazine of the WGA West and was adjunct faculty at USC in the writing division of the School of Cinematic Arts. Neely has been writing film and television reviews for the “Easy Reader” for more than 10 years. Her past reviews can be read on Rotten Tomatoes where she is a tomato-approved critic. 

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Ostensibly about the making, or rather remaking, of a popular early 2000s sitcom, we are given an inside glimpse of how TV gets made with all the high stakes elevated. It is a hilarious production about a Hulu-produced show that will be shown on Hulu, that is actually a Hulu produced show that will be shown on Hulu. Talk about meta! 

Levitan is pretty straightforward about how a show gets made, from the directors and backstage crew, to the stars as they behave on and off screen, to the studio execs (Hulu) who are skewered for their lack of insight, venal behavior, and vindictiveness, all in the name of fun. But no one is left unscathed – singed slightly, but not unscathed.

Hannah, whose latest independent film shot from a lesbian perspective, is at the studio to pitch her idea for a reboot of “Step Right Up,” a hit sitcom from the early 2000s that went off the air when the lead, Reed Sterling, left to pursue a features career (a series of clips indicate how poorly that went). She nervously presents her idea to the head of the studio and his team of yes-men and women. She posits the question, “What if we continue ‘Step Right Up’ as all those characters would be today?” The problems they face in the 2020s would be vastly different than those of 2000 with the son Zack all grown up but even now living at home with mom, stepdad, and interfering dad still sticking his nose in everything. They could have real world problems and try to navigate them without always looking for the punchline. Not entirely understanding this modern-day concept, Daniel, the studio exec, decides that the brand identification is strong enough to give this a try provided all the original actors are available, and costs are kept to a minimum. They are, and all of them are desperate to do the show, albeit for different reasons.

Bree (the original mom), after leaving the show, married royalty in some unknown icy duchy north of Norway. That marriage is on the iceberg and she’s broke. Clay, the interfering ex-husband, is not only broke but also trying to get sober after years of out of control behavior that was never as funny as he thought it was. Reed Sterling, the former lead, is still as pretentious as ever. The features career didn’t pan out as he’d hoped and Broadway work was restricted to minor, experimental shows way way Off Broadway. He loves the “grittiness” of this new show and is eager to get back. Zach, the son, has had the most successful career of any of them, having starred in innumerable TV movies aimed at the Nickelodeon crowd. His life lessons have all been learned from these insipid films, the titles of which, all hilarious, are quoted incessantly. 

Complicating the dynamics are the previous personal relationships between the stars, Bree and Sterling, who had a hot and heavy on-set romance but haven’t spoken for 15 years. 

So on with the show! Everyone is excited to use actual acting skills that never came to play in the original. It seems too good to be true because it is. All the air is let out of the room when they discover that the original creator of the series, a man who has never met a low-brow gag he didn’t love, is now running the show. Out went Hannah and in came Gordon, who still holds the rights. It is more complicated than that, but we don’t want to spoil the reveal.

The number of past series about making a television show are numerous. One of the most recent is the fabulous Showtime series, “Episodes,” created by David Crane, co-creator of “Friends,” and writer Jeffrey Klarik. Other comic insider series were “Beggars and Choosers” and “Action.” None had the kind of viewership that their excellent writing and production values warranted.

“Reboot” at its heart (and soul) is about relationships, both on and off screen. It’s father and daughter drama; it’s about recovery and becoming better; it’s about past loves and present ones; and it does this with a great deal of humor. Everyone can relate to the human aspects on full display. “Reboot” is about character with some insider Hollywood thrown in. As exaggerated as everything might seem, from the executives, to the crew, to the actors, there’s enough reality here for it to ring true. 

In addition to outstanding writing, great direction, and terrific production values, “Reboot” has a remarkable cast. Levitan found actors who are perfect for the roles.

Leading the group is Keegan-Michael Key as Sterling. He walks a fine line between pretentious and sincere, but pretentious is a lot funnier and he always finds the right self-impressed note. 

Playing opposite him as the rambunctious, inappropriate good old boy is Johnny Knoxville as Clay Barber who, in the original series, ruined more takes from his drunken escapades than an undisciplined child. Clay, trying to walk a tightrope of good behavior, positively pops on screen. Knoxville actually does have more depth than “Jackass” would have led you to believe. 

Judy Greer as Bree hits all the right notes and timing as the aging, needy, entitled female lead who, like the others, has made more bad choices than good. 

Calum Worthy as Zack is the perfect doofus. Rachel Bloom, late of “Crazy Ex-Girlfriend,” is the writer personified: needy, arrogant, insecure, stubborn, and talented. Paul Reiser, in probably his best role since “Mad About You,” is pitch perfect, able to straddle megalomaniac, entitled, stubborn, talented, and protective, sometimes all at once. The way his character and that of Rachel Bloom play off each other is a master class. 

Levitan has created an in depth look at relationships, set against a backdrop of making a television show that finds the parallels between a fake family and a real one. Filmed on the Fox lot in Century City, an extra layer of reality is added, giving it a “you are there” feeling.

The only criticism I have is that these eight half-hour episodes are over too soon. I’ve already watched all the episodes twice and will probably watch again. 

The first three episodes are now streaming on Hulu with episode three.   

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With the proliferation of content, there has been what seems to be an exponential increase in the number of episodic submissions for Emmy consideration in an endless array of categories. Because of the increase in shows and brackets, the Emmy Awards are now spread out over three nights. The first two nights, called the Creative Arts Emmys, were held at the Microsoft Theater at L.A. Live on Sept. 3 and 4. The Primetime Emmys were broadcast on NBC on Monday Sept. 12.

Before we begin, here’s a little Emmy history. The awards were first given out in 1949 at the Hollywood Athletic Club for Los Angeles area programming only. There were only five categories, one of which was given for the “Most Outstanding Television Personality: Shirley Dinsdale and her puppet Judy Splinters of the ‘Judy Splinters Show.'” It wasn’t until 1952, in a ceremony hosted by Lucy and Desi, that shows outside L.A. were considered, and in 1955 the Emmy Awards were broadcast nationally in primetime on NBC. In 1959, specific categories were designated, and those award categories just kept increasing and increasing until, in 2007, the Creative Arts were separated from the Main Ceremony.

It’s impossible here to lay out all the different divisions (92) in the 22 categories under consideration for the Creative Arts Emmys. Such a peculiar name – Creative Arts– because it would be assumed that all categories fit under that title. This of course was the Television Academy’s effort at highlighting what they, and the general public, were least interested in despite the fact that these awards are not only important to the production of a television show but also very important to the people nominated.

The Creative Arts Emmys try to show good faith by presenting a few awards that might be of interest to the general public, although the general public neither attends nor sees these shows. Categories that used to be part of the Primetime Emmys but are now some of the only A-List awards on offer during the Creative Arts Awards include Guest Actor awards for both Comedy and Drama Series. Comedy winners were Nathan Lane in “Only Murders in the Building” and Laurie Metcalf in “Hacks,” while Drama winners were Colman Domingo in “Euphoria” and Lee Yoo-mi in “Squid Game.”

I doubt whether anyone watches a show for Costumes or Production Design, but so many of these classifications involve years of experience and expertise that is unimaginable to most of us. Production Design sets the scene and helps define character and story. There  are five different divisions that include Narrative Contemporary Program (for both half hour and one hour or more); Narrative Period or Fantasy Program (for both half hour and one hour or more); Narrative Program (one for half hour and one for one hour or more); Variety, Reality or Competition Series; and Variety Special. No wonder they had to split the awards over three nights because the Primetime Emmys television broadcast will also include 26 awards in several different categories. Overall, there were a total of 625 nominations (out of thousands of submissions).

A great deal has been made of how many nominations each platform received, with HBO Max (140) and Netflix (105) duking it out against Hulu (58), Apple+ (52), Disney+ (34), and Amazon (30). CBS, NBC, ABC, and FX accounted for most of the rest of the nominations. But what exactly do these numbers mean, especially in terms of what you’ll want to watch? They are meaningless. In most cases, the vast majority of those nominations were for Creative Arts Emmys. In other words, they relate to the outlying categories, many of which were mentioned above, but also include stunts, casting, visual effects, sound, editing, music, hairstyling, makeup, technical direction, directing of variety specials, documentaries, and reality, cinematography, lighting design, Main Title Design (really? This is a category?), hosting, and animation. I sincerely doubt that you are going to search for something to watch because the Main Titles are creative, or the stunts were exceptional.

How do those total nominations translate to the premier categories? I would definitely seek out shows that were nominated for writing, acting, and directing. In those “elite” classifications, HBO had 66, Netflix 29, Hulu 30, Apple+ 24, Disney+ 1, Amazon 6, and ABC 7. And what made some of those numbers disproportionately high? Hits. Out of HBO’s overall total, 25 could be attributed to “Succession,” 20 to “The White Lotus,” 17 to “Hacks,” 16 to “Euphoria,” 14 to “Barry,” and 7 to “Station Eleven.” That’s a whopping 91 out of their 140 total. In contrast, Netflix had fewer hits, and no comedy nominations. The significant series accounting for most of their premier nominations were “Squid Game” with 14 and “Ozark” with 13. Hulu fared better because they had more hit shows. Most of ABC’s nominations related to “Abbott Elementary,” and almost half (11) of Apple+’s elite nominations were for “Ted Lasso.”

I haven’t seen all of the shows nominated for Emmys, not even all of the ones that won, far from it. But that doesn’t stop me from having an opinion as I help you find where the most watchable shows reside. Here are some of the notables.

HBO Max: (Find the nominees on the HBO Max sidebar “Browse,” and scroll to “Awards and Acclaim – 2022 Emmy Nominees.”)

“Succession” Now in its third season, it would be best to start at the beginning with this multiple Emmy Award winner. Although all of the main actors have been nominated in the past, it is the masterful Brian Cox as Logan Roy, a fictional stand-in for a Rupert Murdoch prototype who is breathtaking in his depth as he wages war against his son Kendell, played by the excellent Jeremy Strong who won an Emmy in 2020. “Succession” continued its winning streak with Emmys for Best Drama, Supporting Actor, Directing, and Writing.

“Barry” After a long delay, the third season of this dark comedy about a hitman, created by and starring Bill Hader, returned with a vengeance. If you have not seen this show previously or even if you did, I recommend that you start over to get the full flavor of the evolution of Barry, the hitman who wants to be an actor; his boss, played by the eternally excellent and understated Stephen Root; Barry’s acting teacher played by Henry Winkler (a previous Emmy winner for this role), and the incomparably funny and bizarre Anthony Carrigan as NoHo Hank.

“Hacks” is a comedy about a fading female standup comedian starring Jean Smart (who has now won back-to-back Emmys for this role) trying to revive her career. She makes it all worthwhile. Her range is astonishing, giving what could have been a routine series a great deal of depth. The supporting cast is uniformly interesting.

Hulu: (find all the nominees at press.hulu.com/guides/best-shows)

“Only Murders in the Building” accounts for 17 nominations. Lower your expectations a bit, but it’s certainly quite fun with a convoluted plot, wonderful guest stars like Nathan Lane, and leads Steve Martin and Martin Short.

“Dopesick” is a chilling docudrama that lays out the opioid crisis and the involvement of the Sackler family. Nominated for 14 Emmys, almost all are major categories. The acting elevated what was already a great story to amazing heights, highlighted by the performances of Michael Keaton (winning the Lead Actor in a Limited Series) and Kaitlyn Dever.

“The Dropout” details the machinations of Elizabeth Holmes, subject of the best-selling “Bad Blood: Secrets and Lies in a Silicon Valley Startup”, and an equally good HBO documentary entitled “The Inventor,” directed by Academy Award winner Alex Gibney. Excellent writing, directing, and acting signal this as one to see. Amanda Seyfried was awarded this year’s Emmy for Lead Actress in a Limited Series.

Netflix: (find all the nominees on the “Categories” sidebar- 2022 Netflix Emmys)

“Ozark” If I had to choose one drama series from the recent past, the four seasons of “Ozark” would be it. At every level, the evolution of this normal, midwestern family dragged into the drug trade, is superb and gut wrenching, leavened with humor, with some of the most interesting characters you will ever meet. The acting is astonishing, the writing is top form, and the direction always keeps things moving. The leads (Jason Bateman and Laura Linney), supporting actors (the astonishing Julia Garner who just hat-tricked the Emmy with a third win for her role as Ruth Langmore) and guest actors will leave you dazzled. Who knew the Ozarks of Missouri were so dark. Again, see this one from the beginning. Be aware that there is violence but it’s never gratuitous.

Apple+: (From the Top Bar, scroll down until you get to 2022 Emmy Nominees)

“Ted Lasso” This comedy series has won multiple Emmys in the past and cleaned up again this year, winning Comedy Series, Directing by M.J. Delaney, Lead Actor (Jason Sudeikis’s second), and Supporting Actor (the hilariously foul-mouthed Brett Goldstein’s second). It is a classic fish out-of-water story about a minor American college football coach who is hired to coach an English professional soccer team. A neat combination of sincerity, duplicity, cynicism, and hilarity, it takes a few episodes to bond with the characters, but when you do, there’s no letting go. Although in its second season, start at the beginning. The cast is uniformly excellent but for me, the standout is Hanna Waddingham (who won last year’s Supporting Actress in a Comedy) as the team owner, Rebecca. She is the embodiment of why life isn’t fair. She’s gorgeous, stacked, a nuanced actress with impeccable comic timing, and she can sing.

Amazon: (Totally opaque without an awards category; you just have to know what you want to see)

“The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel” starring the marvelous Rachel Brosnahan and Alex Borstein, both of them Emmy winners for this show, is wrapping up. There will be one more season of this Amy Sherman Palladino-created series and mourning can start now. Although it would be possible to start at any point in the series, why deprive yourself of starting at the beginning of Mrs. Maisel’s story arc, one that leads both to success and failure. You’ll get a better understanding of what Joan Rivers must have gone through to get to the top (and then fall again).

“Lucy and Desi” This wonderful documentary, directed by Amy Poehler with lots of input and home movies provided by Lucie Arnaz, is a love letter to the couple who created the three-camera format and brought their home lives to the screen, for better or worse. This well-executed film was the antidote to the awful Aaron Sorkin so-called docudrama called “Being the Ricardos.”

Notable Emmy Nominees/Winners and where to find them:

“The White Lotus” (HBO): This year’s winner for Limited Series, it boasts a large cast in a beautiful setting at a luxury hotel. Created by the quirky Mike White (winning writing and directing Emmys) and starring the over-the-top Jennifer Coolidge (Emmy for Supporting Actress in a Limited Series), “The White Lotus” also won for Supporting Actor for Murray Bartlett, bringing the overall total, including Creative Arts awards, to 10 Emmys. Although I never found my way through more than a couple of episodes, I am clearly an outlier.

“Euphoria” (HBO): In its second season, this is a dramatic look at high school life starring Zendaya, who won the Emmy in 2020 and again in 2022 for lead actress in a drama. Based on an Israeli series, “Euphoria” delivers on its mature subject matter.

“Severance” (Apple+): A critically acclaimed dystopian view of mind control and the forced cerebral separation of work life from personal life. A science fiction series that is well produced, well-acted, and completely escaped me (Not only is science fiction not my genre, but I’m exceptionally concrete).

“Squid Game” (Netflix): A major hit from Korea, this new series has caught fire with its “Hunger Games-” like approach to a deadly competition with a huge prize and enormous stakes winning Primetime Emmys for Directing and Lead Actor (Lee Jung-Jae), as well as numerous Creative Arts Emmys (including Guest Actress and Stunt Performance, but not the reason to see this well-produced foreign series).  Violent but exceptionally well-produced.

“Yellowjackets” (Showtime): A highly touted one hour drama about a girls’ soccer team lost in the Canadian wilderness that seamlessly combines horror, drama, and teen angst. I will definitely order Showtime, if only to see this series.

“Abbott Elementary” (ABC): This charming, if slight, half hour comedy about life in a struggling grade school in an underserved neighborhood, created by and starring Quinta Brunson (Emmy for Writing for a Comedy Series) from “A Black Lady Sketch Show” (another series worth sampling) features a cast full of watchable actors from Tyler James Williams (“Everybody Hates Chris”), Janelle James, a standup comedian and comedy writer, and the redoubtable Sheryl Lee Ralph, the original Deena in Dream Girls on Broadway, who sang her 2022 Emmy acceptance speech for Supporting Actress in a Comedy Series.

“The Beatles: Get Back” (Disney+): An outstanding documentary directed by Peter Jackson.

Obviously, a lot of shows have been left off this list, but just sampling the nominees and winners from the major platforms will keep you busy well into the next Emmy season.

In the meantime, as Julia Child frequently said, “Bon Appetit!”  

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Part I of “How to Navigate Streaming Services” gave you the basics on what to look for and how to make your way through the most commonly watched streamers: Netflix, Hulu, Amazon, HBO Max, Disney+, and Apple TV+. Here, we will go into a deeper dive on the plethora of services available. 

FREE TO YOU AND ME

As mentioned in Part I, there are two wonderful, and essentially free, streamers available to you. The first is PBS Passport that opens up almost the entire library of shows, past and present, from the Public Television repertory, including live streaming of “NewsHour.” And it’s all available for a mere $5.00 per month tax deductible donation. Log on at PBS.org, scroll down to PBS SoCal/KCET Passport, and click on “become a member.”

The second is Kanopy.com, available for free through the L.A. County (and City) Library systems of which the Beverly Hills Library is a member. Kanopy offers an extremely wide range of American and International film and television. With your membership, you are entitled to 10 free films per month. This is the one channel that I enjoy scrolling all the way through to cherry pick for “My Watch List.” Unlike the other services, they don’t have a financial stake in directing you to certain choices. If you don’t have a library card, you can sign up online and get instant access, not just to Kanopy but also to the thousands of eBooks that can be sent directly to your multiple devices. Simply go to lacountylibrary.org and click on “Get a Library Card” on the top banner.

TRICKS OF THE TRADE

Here are a few more tricks to honing your choices. The categories you should check first on any streamer that has them are “Leaving Soon,” or “Leaving This Month.” The “New Releases” classification is trickier because only the first few films or series listed under that banner will actually be new. What they actually mean is “new to us.” If you really want an unbiased view of what the most popular streaming shows are, Nielsen.com/top-ten lists the streaming numbers. You’ll probably be as disappointed as I was.

IMDB.com

Sometimes the old-fashioned ways work the best. I will sometimes make a list of films or TV shows I’d like to see and then do a search for them. I previously suggested a Google search, but a more efficient way is to enter the name in the search bar of IMDb. IMDb.com is a must have app, and unlike IMDb Pro, it is free. Although it is wholly owned by Amazon, it is fairly even-handed when it comes to reporting information. As an example, in the search bar at the top, I entered “Indiana Jones and the Raiders of the Lost Ark.” When it comes up, there is a yellow banner that appears on the bottom right of the screen that says: “Watch on Showtime.” (It also says “with Prime Video Channels” because one way to subscribe to Showtime is as a hub on Amazon.) To see if any other streamer carries this title, click on “More watch options” below the yellow banner. In this case the only non-Showtime option was, of course, renting or buying it from Amazon. This is, obviously, where the conflict of interest appears because Showtime can not only be purchased at Showtime.com, but also as part of a hub offered separately by Apple TV+, Hulu, as well as Amazon.

FIND YOUR SHOWS

Using the streamers, you already subscribe to, you can also do searches for individual actors whose work you like. You will then see a list of the films shown by that channel featuring your targeted actor.

Here’s a helpful hack that I have used successfully many times. When I click on a film that interests me, I can scroll below it and find films that are similar, many of which I also add to my list. Netflix (“More Like This”) and Hulu (“You May Also Like”) are the most accurate; Amazon (“Customers Also Liked”), with a base of product similar to Netflix and Hulu, is not quite as on point with their recommendations. With HBO Max it’s “More Like This;” and Apple TV uses “Related,” but because Apple does not have a large library of free content, the “related” offerings are often for an extra charge.

Most importantly, with any subscription you are thinking of purchasing, browse the catalog to see how relevant it is to you. With the majors like Netflix, Amazon, Hulu, and HBO Max, it’s more a question of what the budget will bear because they all have extensive libraries with lots of product you’ll want to see. Apple TV+ has limited content, but the ability to watch “Ted Lasso,” “Coda,” “Schmigadoon,” and “Pachinko,” makes the $5.00 per month a bargain. For any streaming purchase, check the benefits offered by your credit card. American Express Platinum offers limited time rebates on several streamers including Hulu and HBO Max.

Now on with the smaller streaming services, or what I refer to as hubs. Subscriptions to these smaller channels can sometimes be purchased through larger streamers like Amazon, Hulu, and Apple TV+ and wrapped into your monthly charge, but can also be bought separately. Each of them offers a free trial of varying lengths, depending on how you subscribe to them. 

Showtime offers a wide range of current and past favorite movies, television series, and documentaries, with some offbeat indies thrown in for good measure. This is where you will find the Emmy-nominated series “Yellowjackets” and perennial favorites like “Billions” and “Dexter.” Hulu offers a very limited selection of past Showtime titles for free. If you purchase directly from Showtime.com, you will receive a 30-day free trial after which you will pay $10.99/month. Subscriptions to Showtime as a hub from Amazon, Hulu, or Apple TV+ offer shorter free trials, but sometimes at a lower monthly price for the first 3-6 months. If you bundle Showtime with Paramount+, it’s only $3.00 a month.

FIND YOUR NICHE

There are enough small streaming services to feed an addiction and are as different as they are similar. All offer free trials with pricing that ranges from a low of $1.99/month (a special deal running right now for Peacock) to $10.99 for larger services like MUBI and Showtime. Most, but not all, are ad-free. A list of some of the more interesting and popular sites will follow, although my bias toward foreign and classic films skews the list slightly. Personal favorites, BritBox and MHz Choice, were mentioned in Part I.

The Criterion Channel (Criterion.com) offers a wealth of important classic and contemporary films from around the world. Many of these films can also be found on Kanopy, so be aware of that before signing up.

MUBI.com streams slightly offbeat international films, some of which I have reviewed favorably in the past like the French “My King” with Vincent Cassel, and “Transit,” a German film I loved by Christian Petzold’s who also directed the amazing “Phoenix.” You can also find all three of these movies on Kanopy, so always check.

Topic.com specializes in more contemporary international films. I particularly liked a French series called “Nox,” and the Israeli series called “Hostages.” Both were true nail-biters.

Film Movement Plus (filmmovementplus.com) offers an offbeat collection of independent films from around the world. I recently enjoyed a quirky Indian film entitled “Adieu Godard,” and a documentary called “Fanny: the Right to Rock” about the first important all-girl rock and roll band that was revered by David Bowie.

The so-called Sundance Channel is more complicated because there are actually two channels, one of which is recommended and the other of which is not. Sundancetv.com appears to be a repository for a combination of old television series and a few quirky current shows all of which seem to feature Isabella Rossellini. Sundancenow.com is considerably more interesting, offering an array of American as well as international films and television. I will at some point use the free seven-day trial to sample “The Bureau,” a French series with lots of buzz and a top-notch cast led by Mathieu Kassovitz. Again, some of their offerings like “The Fall,” a stunning crime thriller, and “River,” can be found on other streamers, in this case on Netflix.

Brief mention should also be made about the broadcast networks that have started their own streamers with varying degrees of success. Paramount+ is the umbrella streamer for Viacom, and Peacock is from NBC/Universal. Paramount+ offers shows from CBS, BET, Comedy Central, Nickelodeon, and MTV, as well as CBS Sports, Football, and UEFA League soccer. Peacock and its various permutations (plus, premium, etc.) contains content from USA, Bravo, NBC, MLB, Premier League soccer, horse racing, and the Olympics. Neither is particularly transparent in exactly what and how much they include. Do you get day and date or day after offerings of their respective Broadcast networks, CBS and NBC? How many seasons of their shows are included? Both have tiered prices that feature ad free content (although there are exceptions). Both offer premium plus-type plans that are essentially ad-free and also more expensive.

I could continue endlessly about streaming channels. There is definitely something for every conceivable ethnicity, demographic, language, and orientation, from fitness buffs, royalty fans, Broadway shows, romance movies, gangster movies, horror films, Bollywood, old TV shows from the 50s and 60s, as well as specialty film brands like Cohen Media, IFC Films Unlimited, AMC+, Flix Latino, and Cinemax. And for those in love with learning there is the “Great Courses Signature Collection.”

CAVEAT EMPTOR

And then there’s YouTube. YouTube is an endless source of free entertainment but keep in mind that much of it has been illegally posted. Nevertheless, you can find almost anything with the click of the search button. They will always try to steer you to their Pay TV service, YouTube TV, which like Hulu + Live, Philo TV, Sling TV, fubo TV, and DirecTV Stream, models itself after cable TV offerings, necessitating individual add-on subscriptions to your individual streamers of choice. If you want Cable or Satellite TV offerings, you could subscribe to their lowest tier, giving you access to local stations, and then do your own add-ons.

It’s all there, for a price.

DID ANYONE SAY EMMYS?

In anticipation of the Emmy Awards Sept. 12, go to IMDb and click the Menu at the top left. This will bring you to a page with a column entitled “Awards & Events.” Click on “Emmys “and scroll down to “Where to Stream This Year’s Nominees.” Click, and “Open Sesame:” a complete list of shows that have been nominated in at least one category and on what platform(s) they can be found. If you want a list of nominee categories, you will have to go to Emmys.com and follow the prompts that will eventually lead you to Awards/nominees-winners/2022. The Creative Emmy winners will already be listed. I will probably just subscribe to the lower rung of Peacock at $1.99 just to watch. After all, I can unsubscribe at any time, although at $1.99/month, what’s the point?

In Part III of this series, we will take a more in depth look at the shows that won Emmys in the various categories. 

The post How to Navigate Streaming Services: Part Two appeared first on Beverly Hills Courier.

Today’s reviews are as different as they are alike. What do a nature documentary and a series about adolescence have in common? Both are terrific family viewing, although each stands alone across multiple demographics. Each lends itself to discussion and learning, although it may be more of a learning experience for parents than their kids. Kudos to Disney+ for opening the conversation.

“Epic Adventures with Bertie Gregory” – Larger than Life

This new Disney+ original series from National Geographic is a foray into the David Attenborough wildlife documentary territory and it’s a stunner. With a crew of experienced cinematographers, sailors, riggers, and multi-talented jacks of all trades, Bertie takes us on his journeys around the world and lets us look through his lens at animal life normally inaccessible to humans.

I watched three of the five episodes in Season One and was thoroughly surprised by how entranced and involved I was. The first, entitled “Eagles Reign,” tracks the hunting habits of the Crown Eagle in Zambia. With rear talons larger than a lion’s tooth, the crown eagle is the top predator of the sky. Jerry-rigging a camera into a tree, Bertie and his crew zero in on a nest with a baby chick. They watch as the mama eagle feeds her baby fresh prey. Using a drone, they track the eagle on its hunt for food. Aided enormously by intelligent and thrilling narration and unbelievable film footage, you feel as if you are on the quest with Bertie and his crew. An advisory is warranted for very young children because this is nature in action and Bertie’s goal is to film an eagle pursuing prey and swooping down for the kill. As they say, there will be blood. There will also be almost unearthly beauty and incredibly vivid sound effects.

“Shark Island” (episode four) takes Bertie and his crew down to Cocos Island, Costa Rica, the sharkiest place on earth where there are more than 14 different species. Filmed primarily underwater with state-of-the-art cameras, they are on the lookout for what they call the Hammerhead highway.

Episode Five takes us to Antarctica where there is a clock on the number of days they are allowed to stay. But first, their masted schooner must navigate the deadly waters between Ushuaia, Argentina and Antarctica, the dreaded Drake Passage. Landing on Elephant Island, their goal was to find Fin Whales, one of the largest mammals on earth, second only to the blue whale. But it’s not just a few fin whales he wants, it’s a rumored aggregation of whales. Close to extinction a few years ago, they have steadily increased in numbers since hunting was banned. Releasing his drone camera, he gets his first shots of this torpedo-shaped mammal that weighs 80 tons, exceeds 80 feet, and can live for 90 years. Bertie was determined to be the first to record this remarkable recovery.

With only days left to film before their permit runs out, they hit pay dirt. His mission to find a feeding aggregation of fin whales succeeds and he is able to record hundreds feasting on krill, their streamlined shape altered by the expansion of their baleen plates that blow up like balloons as they suck in the krill. You, the viewer, are witness to the largest gathering ever filmed.

This is an outstanding series, perfect for family viewing and discussion. The camera work alone makes the series worth it. The very appealing Bertie Gregory is a worthy successor to David Attenborough and his various BBC nature documentaries.

“Growing Up” – For all ages

Disney + has hit another bull’s eye with this ten-episode docu-series centered on a diverse group of young people recounting their journey through adolescence. Calling this production inspirational is giving it short shrift.

Too often, coming of age shows highlight the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. The pot of gold at the end of “Growing Up” is all about survival and finding one’s true self. And it is a treasure not to be undervalued.

Of the ten episodes available for viewing, I randomly selected five. But within those five, there were a number of factors they had in common. All these young people, now between the ages of 19 and 22, felt themselves as outsiders with nowhere to turn and no one to “see” them. None saw themselves represented in mainstream media and all suffered from varying degrees of self-loathing.

Positioned as a group therapy session, the ten youths featured in this series sit in a semicircle, supportive of one another, occasionally asking questions but always attentive. Each individual tells his or her own story through a combination of reenactment footage, voice over narration, and interview. Although all the episodes have a great deal to say about the trials of adolescence and the depression that often accompanies it, the story of Alex is perhaps the most important because it deals with clinical depression, a mental illness that is still too little known and still too stigmatized.

White, middle-class Alex, self-described as happy in childhood, lost her anchor in middle school when it seemed as though everyone moved on without her. Previously with a posse of friends, she found herself alone. She wanted to connect but couldn’t. Her distance from her peers grew and she felt unable to talk to her parents. Even changing schools was just a band aid on the larger problem of the depression she felt. She didn’t see a future for herself as her thoughts became darker and darker. Afraid of dismissal or judgment, but no longer able to function and feeling numb inside, she finally went to her mother. Her parents listened, and took immediate action, finding her a therapist with whom she could share her thoughts and feelings. There would be no quick fix but talking therapy and medication would help her to find a way through her pain. A poster in her therapist’s office says: “The reason we struggle with insecurity is because we compare ourselves with everyone else’s highlight reel.”

At the heart of all of these stories is a need to be able to see yourself, believe in yourself, and not judge yourself by the criteria of others. All of these stories have something fundamental in common and that is supportive parents; parents who see, and listen, and act. Rather than view these parents as anomalies, it is better to look to them as examples because in each case, parents listened to their kids and found a path, with them, to help make bad situations better. In the case of Alex, depression is not a simple self-esteem issue. It is a medical issue that can be ameliorated but maybe not cured. In the cases of all the kids who told their survival stories, self-acceptance is not obtained from others; finding it is an often-painful journey.

All episodes of both series stream on Disney+ beginning September 8.

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