Dumbo: A bumpy flight

Dumbo (2019) • View trailer 
3.5 stars. Rated PG, for dramatic intensity
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 3.29.19

1941’s Dumbo, Walt Disney’s fourth animated film, is a simple little fable powered by the loving bond between mother and child. The story carries some powerful messages: the importance of believing in one’s self, along with a gentle nod toward inclusion.

The moment of truth: With a capacity crowd breathlessly awaiting "something they've
never seen before," little Dumbo is encouraged by his friends — from left, Joe (Finley
Hobbins), Milly (Nico Parker) and Holt (Colin Farrell) — to go out and do what he does best.

It also features one of the saddest scenes in Disney animated history, set to the poignant Ned Washington/Frank Churchill song “Baby Mine.”

Disney purists likely were uneasy at the news that a live-action remake was coming from Tim Burton, whose flamboyantly macabre sensibilities were far better suited to his 2010 handling of Alice in Wonderland. Burton, overseeing this sweetly gentle tale?

In fairness, Burton gets it right … for a bit.

The story is set in 1919, as the rag-tag Medici Bros. Circus kicks off another season on the road. Disneyphiles are guaranteed to smile when this travel montage is set to an orchestral Danny Elfman theme that includes snatches of Casey Junior’s song, as the plucky engine pulls the entire entourage in its clickety-clack wake.

The circus is run by irascible ringmaster Maximillian Medici (Danny DeVito) — there is no “Brother,” of course — who’s forever bedeviled by the resident Shakespeare-spouting capuchin monkey, Barrymore. Aside from the other animal stars, the troupe features the usual assortment of faux “wonders”: snake charmer Pramesh Singh (Roshan Seth), heavily muscled Rongo the Strongo (DeObia Oparei) and mermaid Miss Atlantis (Sharon Rooney), among others.

They all keep an eye on children Milly and Joe (Nico Parker and Finley Hobbins), who anxiously greet every train at all their stops along the way, hoping that their father Holt (Colin Farrell) will be among the soldiers returning from the war. (As is cruel Disney custom, their mother is dead, having succumbed to influenza.) When Holt finally does show up, their relief is undercut by the realization that his left arm was a war casualty.

The loss has left him bitter, and he’s uneasy around his children: the typical man who always left such matters to his wife. As a further twist of the knife, Holt — once a star attraction, as a skilled horseback rider — has no job, Max having sold the horses to keep the tottering circus financially afloat.

Such gloomy tidings are shunted aside by the arrival of the circus’ newest attraction: the baby just born to elephant Mrs. Jumbo. Alas, this youngster has freakishly oversize ears, much to Max’s dismay, and the sneering taunts of cruel handler Rufus Sorghum (Phil Zimmerman). The circus performers, accustomed to being regarded as outsiders themselves, find nothing to laugh at.

Whereupon we hit this film’s first potential problem.

Superpower Dogs: Ruff 'n' ready

Superpower Dogs (2019) • View trailer 
Four barks. Rated G, and suitable for all ages
By Derrick Bang

IMAX filmmakers certainly know how to make a dramatic entrance.

Cinematographer Reed Smoot opens Superpower Dogs with a vertiginous, giant-screen shot guaranteed to terrify viewers with an aversion to heights: a drone’s-eye view of a lunatic skier glancing over the edge of a tall, snow-covered precipice at the Canadian Rockies’ Whistler Blackcomb resort.

After a brief pause, he schusses off. (Madness!)

Halo and her handler/trainer, "Cat" Labrada

Jaw-dropping as that is, the money shot is yet to come. Having miscalculated the avalanche potential, and now buried somewhere in the snow at the bottom — a scenario we assume has been fabricated for this film — the victim’s best hope for survival helicopters into the frame: dangling, James Bond-style, at the end of a looooong winched cable.

Meet Henry and Ian: seasoned members of the Canadian Avalanche Search and Rescue team.

Henry’s the one with four legs. Border Collie by breed, life-saver by training.

Writer/director Daniel Ferguson’s film is both dramatic and deeply touching: a long-overdue valentine to the fur-covered companions who’ve steadfastly been friend and protector for millennia. The title comes from the extraordinary strength, endurance and — most notably — sensory capabilities that make dogs … well … super.

As is true of all the best IMAX documentaries, Superpower Dogs blends engaging characters and storytelling with easily digested science lessons. The latter’s high points are ingenious visualizations of a rescue dog’s powerful muscles and skeletal frame, along with the fine-tuned complexities of an unerring sense of smell we scarcely can conceive … even after being shown how it works.

Henry is but one of the half-dozen dogs profiled in this 45-minute film, and he definitely works in the most visually dazzling environment. Not the most spectacular, though; that distinction goes to twin bloodhounds Tony and Tipper, who help well-armed rangers track poachers that threaten the endangered animals — and human residents — within Kenya’s massive Lewa Wildlife Conservancy.

Given only the lingering scent from a muddy boot print — a mere impression in the soil, mind you, not the boot itself — Tony and Tipper can track its owner for miles, and over the course of days. Their evidence is actually admissible in Kenyan courts, making them the only member of the animal kingdom with the authority to testify in a trial.

Simply stunning.

Henry, Tony and Tipper notwithstanding, Ferguson spends most of his film following another dog from birth: Halo, runt in a litter of 10 Dutch Shepherd puppies. She’s selected for disaster response training by Fire Capt. “Cat” Labrada of Florida Task Force 1, one of America’s most elite search and rescue teams.

Us: Wasted potential

Us (2019) • View trailer 
Two stars. Rated R, for violence, profanity and dramatic intensity
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 3.22.19

Oh, dear.

This is what happens, when you succumb to the intoxicating warmth of too much fawning publicity.

We have met the enemy, and he is us: Gabe (Wilson Duke) and his daughter Zora
(Shahadi Wright Joseph) nervously confront a terrifying unknown, with the
only weapons at hand.

Case in point: Jordan Peele, likely still basking in the glow of a well-deserved Academy Award, for his big-screen writing/directing debut on 2017’s Get Out.

And then, for his sophomore follow-up, he pulls an M. Night Shyamalan.

Peele’s much-anticipated new film — teased for several months now, by deliciously creepy-crawly previews — is a profound disappointment.

Much worse than that, actually. Its beguiling first act notwithstanding, Us quickly becomes boring, stupid and relentlessly gory.

It’s a classic example of an enthusiastic one-sentence elevator pitch that has nowhere to go, because the premise remains half-baked and unfulfilled. All suspense-laden expectation, and no payoff. All style, and no substance.

Such a pity.

No question: Peele is a master of mood and scene-setting. He gets considerable mileage from cinematographer Mike Gioulakis’ disconcertingly s-l-o-w pans toward — or away from — a tight close-up, whether of somebody’s face or (ahem) hundreds upon hundreds of white rabbits in stacked wire cages.

Rarely have amusement park attractions and deserted — yet oddly pristine — subway stations been more unsettling.

And, yes, there’s no denying the utter horror of the moment when one faces a strikingly similar — and yet somehow defective— duplicate of one’s own self. Director Don Siegel knew that full well, when he helmed 1956’s Invasion of the Body Snatchers. Peele capitalizes on that same sense of paralyzing dread.

Trouble is, Siegel and screenwriter Daniel Mainwaring had a solid template from which to build their film: Jack Finney’s marvelously disturbing novel. Peele serves as his own quarterback — writer, director, producer — and fumbles the ball.

Gloria Bell: A toneless ring

Gloria Bell (2019) • View trailer 
Two stars. Rated R, for nudity, sexuality, profanity and drug use
By Derrick Bang

Director Alfred Hitchcock famously observed that “drama is life with the dull bits cut out.”

This film is nothing but life’s dull bits.

When Arnold (John Turturro) and Gloria (Julianne Moore) check into a fancy Las Vegas
hotel/casino, she expects they're about to enjoy a romantic weekend. She really should
know better, by this point in her own movie...

As therefore should be expected, it’s slow, tedious, monotonous and unrelentingly boring.

Director/co-scripter Sebastián Lelio’s approach is no-frills cinéma vérité: We essentially eavesdrop on a fiftysomething woman going about a longstanding routine involving work, family, down time and all the other minutia of a (more or less) average life. Singing to the car radio, while driving to and from work. Efficiently doing her job. Enduring an upstairs neighbor from hell. And so forth.

It feels very much like real life. Indeed, totally feels like real life. Which is rather silly, because most folks go to the movies to escape real life. Why spend money to endure 102 insufferable minutes of stuff that confronts us on a daily basis?

Nor does it help much, that our character — Gloria Bell — is portrayed by an actress as incandescent as Julianne Moore. The subtleties of her performance are sublime; numerous little moments convey a stunning wealth of emotions. Even so, it’s hard to do more than admire her talent and craft: “Wow, that’s a terrific bit of acting from Julianne Moore.”

We still don’t give a damn about Gloria Bell.

Particularly since this slice of her life — an American remake of Lelio’s 2013 Chilean film, Gloria — manipulates her in a manner that seems wholly inconsistent with how she’s introduced.

Gloria, 12 years divorced, lives alone in an apartment beneath the unit occupied by the landlady’s clearly unstable adult son, who shrieks incoherently at all hours of the day and night. (Nothing ever gets done about him.) Gloria occasionally returns home to find that a cat — always the same cat, of unknown origin — has somehow sneaked inside again. (We never learn how.)

She works as an insurance claims adjuster; her phone manner is calm, soothing and helpful. We imagine she gets terrific customer service ratings. She has a co-worker (Barbara Sukowa, as Melinda) who frets about their company’s meager retirement plan, and worries that she’ll have to work until she’s 80. Late in the film, Gloria helps Melinda exit the office. (Has she been fired? Departed of her own volition? We never know.)

Wonder Park: Far from it

Wonder Park (2019) • View trailer 
One star. Rated PG, despite quite scary sequences
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 3.15.19

This animation misfire is a total disaster.

Actually, it’s worse than that. I’ve been bored, nauseated, disgusted and repulsed by bad films over time, but only rarely do stinkers prompt the degree of hostility that swelled exponentially, as Wonder Park slogged to its conclusion.

June is delighted to discover that one of her favorite stuffed toys is a living, talking blue
bear in the parallel realm where her fantasy theme park also is real. Too bad her joy is
about to be shattered by a relentless hoard of chattering zombie monkeys...

To paraphrase the title from one of Roger Ebert’s books, I hated, hated, hated this film.

The premise is hopelessly weird, the execution deeply flawed. Mind you, we’re talking about a medium that has successfully made heroes of gourmet rats, frost-generating princesses, and dogs struggling to survive on an island of trash.

I’m surprised Josh Appelbaum, André Nemec and Robert Gordon are willing to acknowledge having written this clumsy, incoherent, ill-conceived mess. I can’t imagine how the initial elevator pitch would have gone. What in the world could have prompted Paramount execs to believe this notion ever could have been made into a coherent film?

We’re talkin’ irredeemable stinker, folks.

The story, such as it is:

June Bailey (voiced by Brianna Denski), a precocious young genius probably destined for an engineering career, loves amusement parks. She and her mother (Jennifer Garner) have spent years sketching out the ultimate fantastical theme park, filled with delightfully crazy rides. They call it Wonder Park, and its pretend “ambassadors” — who “put the ‘wonder’ in Wonder Park” — are June’s assortment of stuffed animals.

But here’s the thing: Every outrageous new ride that June whispers into the ear of her stuffed monkey, Peanut, is heard and instantly fabricated by a living, breathing Peanut, who — in some alternate universe — is the magical architect of an actual Wonder Park. Which is stuffed with happy human patrons, who aren’t the slightest bit fazed to be hosted by a talking monkey (Norbert Leo Butz) and counterparts of June’s other stuffed critters: Greta, a wild boar (Mila Kunis); Boomer, a narcoleptic blue bear (Ken Hudson Campbell); Steve, the porcupine safety officer (John Oliver); and beaver brothers Gus and Cooper (Kenan Thompson and Ken Jeong).

Ohhhhh-kay. This is a stretch. Probably an impossible one, but we gotta roll with it.

(As the story proceeds, there’s a strong echo of the real-world/fantasy-world divide in The LEGO Movie, which feels a bit like copycatting.)

Five Feet Apart: Brings hearts together

Five Feet Apart (2019) • View trailer 
3.5 stars. Rated PG-13, for dramatic intensity and occasional profanity
By Derrick Bang

Mother Nature must’ve been really cranky when she came up with cystic fibrosis.

The genetic disorder is ghastly enough on its own, but insult to injury comes from the fact that two such victims must be very, very careful to avoid proximity to each other: a detail that apparently inspired Mikki Daughtry and Tobias Iaconis to concoct a premise laden with irony and Shakespearean-level tragedy.

Unable to enjoy anything close to a proper date, Stella (Haley Lu Richardson) and
Will (Cole Sprouse) make the most of various hospital locales.

What if two CF sufferers fell in love?

The result, Five Feet Apart, is a sweet little melodrama orchestrated with considerable care by director Justin Baldoni.

That seems a contradiction in terms, for a late entry in the “dying teenager” cycle that erupted after 2014’s adaptation of John Green’s The Fault in Our Stars. And, indeed, this film follows some of that mini-genre’s clichés: resolute young protagonist determined to beat the odds; engaging sidebar characters; little victories snatched from the jaws of frustrating setbacks. And vice-versa.

Some of the plot points are predictable; there’s simply no getting around it. Such stories come with limitations and built-in expectations.

But there’s also no getting around the fact that Haley Lu Richardson is quite charming in the lead role, and she’s well supported by Cole Sprouse and their co-stars. More crucially, Daughtry and Iaconis tell an engaging story while also supplying a gentle primer on the ins and outs of CF. This film doesn’t shy from grim details, but Baldoni avoids unnecessarily graphic or invasive sequences. We get it.

Indeed, everything comes together quite well … until a third-act hiccup that almost destroys the good will that Baldoni, Daughtry and Iaconis have built to that point: a sequence that abruptly stops feeling genuine, and becomes contrived Hollywood stupidity. Rips us right out of the movie.

The error was obvious to everybody at Tuesday evening’s preview screening, when the theater suddenly erupted with disappointed variations of “Oh, come on.”

So let’s set that aside, for the moment.

Plucky, 17-year-old Stella Grant (Richardson) has battled CF her entire life, meeting the enemy with a blend of high spirits, dogged research and the cheerful acceptance of limitations and frequent medical intervention. She has loyal gal pals who keep up with her candid vlog; she knows the nearby hospital staff on a first-name basis, thanks to treatment regimens that can last days or weeks. She manages the overwhelming quantity of meds with a scientist’s meticulous precision.

Captain Marvel: Well titled!

Captain Marvel (2019) • View trailer 
Four stars. Rated PG-13, for sci-fi action and violence
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 3.8.19

Carol Danvers has endured more trauma, conflicting origin stories, alternate identities and just plain mean-spirited punishment than any other Marvel Comics character, likely because several generations’ worth of (mostly male) writers didn’t have the faintest idea what to do with a heroine who’d been created in the mid-1970s, as little more than a sop to the feminist movement.

Having traveled to Louisiana in search of Maria (Lashana Lynch, left), the friend who believed
her long dead, Vers (Brie Larson) finally begins to stitch jumbled memories into a coherent past.

All that finally changed in 2012, with the arrival of writer Kelly Sue DeConnick, who alongside artist Dexter Soy orchestrated a new series that firmly established Danvers’ Captain Marvel as a worthy figure in the Marvel universe.

And as an individual who can hold her own against heavyweight colleagues such as Thor and the Hulk.

That Carol Danvers has been granted similar respect by co-writer/directors Anna Boden and Ryan Fleck in the newest — and thoroughly enjoyable — entry in the meticulously crafted Marvel film universe. Captain Marvel manages the delicate balance of interpersonal angst, kick-ass action and whimsical snark, without succumbing to either slapstick self-parody or tedious cataclysmic excess (the latter a serious problem in many superhero films).

Credit also goes to Brie Larson, for her thoroughly engaging portrayal of a character who is equal parts pluck, resolve, intelligence, humor and (so it would seem) reckless stubbornness.

The result is just as entertaining as 2017’s Wonder Woman, which proves anew how much more satisfying the result can be — dare I say it? — with a woman playing a key role in the filmmaking process.

(Boden and Fleck have worked together since the turn of this century, initially on short subjects and documentaries, and later on features such as Half Nelson and Sugar.)

Panicked viewers who choked on their popcorn, while watching so many of their beloved heroes vanish in puffs of smoke at the conclusion of last year’s Avengers: Infinity War, may have wondered about that gadget Samuel L. Jackson’s Nick Fury activated before he, too, faded away. This film answers that question, while also bringing two long-established sets of Marvel’s cosmic players — the Kree and Skrulls — into the film franchise.

This is an origin story with multiple interwoven layers, thanks to a cleverly structured plot by Boden, Fleck and co-writers Geneva Robertson-Dworet (Tomb Raider) and Nicole Perlman (Guardians of the Galaxy). They keep us guessing during a complicated narrative that never becomes hard to follow, despite several unexpected twists.

Never Look Away: You simply can't!

Never Look Away (2018) • View trailer 
4.5 stars. Rated R, for graphic nudity, sexual content, dramatic intensity and brief violent images
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 3.1.19

He who saves one life, saves the world entire.

It therefore stands to reason that he who destroys one life, destroys the world entire. And he who destroys many lives, destroys a galaxy of worlds.

When finally given the opportunity to create any sort of art that he desires, Kurt (Tom
Schilling) finds it difficult to reverse years of the repressive limitations he was forced
to observe, lest he come to the attention of the wrong sort of people.

Hold that thought.

German writer/director Florian Henckel von Donnersmarck’s Never Look Away is like getting thoroughly absorbed by a sweeping historical novel … and I mean that in the best possible way.

Von Donnersmarck previously brought us 2006’s mesmerizing The Lives of Others, which deservedly won the Oscar for that year’s best foreign film, and also should have been nominated — at the very least — for screenplay.

He’s clearly intrigued by what prompted the madness that infected his country during the Nazi years, and the repression that followed amid the subsequent blockaded decades, prior to the barriers coming down in November 1989 (and the Berlin Wall’s destruction, two years later). 

The Lives of Others focused on a Stasi (secret police) operative inexorably drawn into the desires and behavior of those he surveilled over the course of several years. Never Look Away takes a much longer view of how one young man’s life becomes woven — without his awareness — into the fabric of a heinous Nazi loyalist.

Von Donnersmarck opens his new film in 1937 Dresden, as 6-year-old Kurt Barnert (Cai Cohrs) is taken by his beloved young aunt, Elisabeth (Saskia Rosendahl), to see the touring Entartete Kunst (“Degenerate Art”) exhibit at a nearby museum. Von Donnersmarck takes his time with this sequence, as cinematographer Caleb Deschanel’s camera slowly pans over works by Paul Klee, Wassily Kandinsky, Ludwig Kirchner and others, while a smug Nazi guide contemptuously dismisses everything as a “disgusting sign of mental illness.”

But young Kurt is transfixed, with whispered encouragement from Elisabeth. “Never look away,” she tells the boy. Never be afraid of something new, something different, something challenging.

Alas, her three-word mantra soon takes on an entirely different meaning.