The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society: A tasty treat

The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society (2018) • View trailer 

Four stars. Rated TV-14, for dramatic intensity
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 8.28.20

Films with excessively long titles generally should be regarded with suspicion.

 

As two classic examples, nothing can be gained from watching 1962’s The Incredibly Strange Creatures Who Stopped Living and Became Mixed-Up Zombies!!? or 1967’s Oh Dad, Poor Dad, Mamma’s Hung You in the Closet and I’m Feelin’ So Sad.

 

As the members of the Guernsey book club watch with varying degrees of amusement —
from left, Isola (Katherine Parkinson), Eben (Tom Courtenay), young Eli (Kit Connor),
Amelia (Penelope Wilton) and Dawsey (Michiel Huisman) — Juliet (Lily James, far
right) bravely agrees to taste the infamous potato peel pie.

Happily, The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society — exclusive to Netflix — is an entirely different creature: a solid British charmer from director Mike Newell, who brought us Enchanted April, Four Weddings and a Funeral and Mona Lisa Smile. Scripters Don Roos, Kevin Hood and Thomas Bezucha have fashioned a solid adaptation of the best-selling 2008 book by Mary Ann Shaffer and Annie Barrows: not an easy task, given that it’s an epistolary novel, composed entirely of letters written between characters.

 

(Actually, the book’s creation is a fascinating story unto itself; curious souls are encouraged to research how Shaffer came to write it … but was unable to finish it.)

 

We meet author Juliet Ashton (Lily James) midway through a cross-country tour to promote her newest book; the setting is 1946, in a post-war England just beginning to rebuild itself. She is accompanied by publisher and best friend Sidney Stark (Matthew Goode), a solicitous fellow with the good-natured patience to tolerate his favorite writer’s occasional whims.

 

Such as her impulsive decision, following the exchange of a few letters, to visit the island community of Guernsey. Her curiosity is piqued by a farmer named Dawsey Adams (Michiel Huisman), who mentions belonging to a local book club dubbed, yes, the Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society.

 

Her departure displeases dashing American GI Mark Reynolds (Glen Powell), whose proposal she has just accepted (too rashly, we suspect). Even so, he graciously agrees to await her return.

 

Juliet’s arrival in Guernsey is greeted with enthusiasm by Dawsey and the other book club members: Eben Ramsey (Tom Courtenay), Amelia Maugery (Penelope Wilton) and Isola Pribby (Katherine Parkinson). Juliet soon learns that the “Society” was concocted during the early days of Guernsey’s German occupation, as a fabricated justification for breaking curfew (briefly revealed in a flashback prologue).

 

Needing to maintain the charade in order to satisfy a Nazi chaperone, the Society continued to meet on a regular basis. Even after their “minder” grew bored and stopped attending, the group realized how much they valued a book’s ability to whisk them away from what had become a bleak and brutal existence.

 

Howard: Done too soon

Howard (2018) • View trailer 
Four stars. Rated TV-PG, for no particular reason
By Derrick Bang • Published in The Davis Enterprise, 8.28.20

 

I remember — vividly — when everything changed.

 

Songs had been an essential part of Disney animated features going all the way back to 1937’s Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs, although their placement — and quality — tended to be random.

 

Lyricist Howard Ashman works with star Paige O'Hara, in order to shape her performance
so that the nuances of "Belle," the opening story-song in Beauty and the Beast, are
perfect from start to finish.

Every hit that emerged — “When You Wish Upon a Star,” from Pinocchio; “A Dream Is a Wish Your Heart Makes,” from Cinderella; and “The Bare Necessities,” from The Jungle Book — left dozens of instantly forgettable tunes behind. Most did little to augment or advance their respective storylines; they were simply jammed into the film every so often, of necessity (so the theory went), to prevent viewers from getting bored between songs.

 

Such films were no different than clumsy live-action movie musicals, where the action would pause — for no good reason — just so the characters could break into song.

 

Then, after Disney churned out a series of unremarkable animated features from the mid-1970s through most of the ’80s, came 1989’s The Little Mermaid.

 

Such a revelation.

 

It felt as though the genre had been re-invented as a professional Broadway musical, with clever, lyric-rich songs that not only were their own integrated book, but were brilliantly employed to advance the plot.

 

No surprise, since the songs came from somebody who grew up with a Broadway musical mentality.

 

Disney documentarian Don Hahn’s Howard, debuting on Disney Plus, is an affectionate, long-overdue tribute to Howard Ashman, the genius lyricist who — alongside composer Alan Menken — virtually transformed the Disney animated musical template. The tragic irony: Even as this was happening — even as The Little Mermaid was released, on Nov. 17, 1989; even as Ashman was working on the studio’s next two projects — he had only 16 months to live.

 

Ashman was one of the early, high-profile individuals to die of AIDS, at a time when the disease still was cruelly dismissed as “gay cancer.” Hahn’s film doesn’t shy from this aspect of Ashman’s final years; the approach is equally frank with respect to his gay lifestyle. Such candor speaks to Hahn’s belief that we now live in more enlightened times, which contrasts greatly to the challenges Ashman faced, as he grew up and entered the entertainment industry.

 

Chemical Hearts: Partial combustion

Chemical Hearts (2020) • View trailer 

3.5 stars. Rated R, for profanity, sexuality and teen drug use
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 8.21.20

There’s never been any shortage of stories focused on the bittersweet angst, hopes and heartbreak of young people in love; as one character in this film observes, we can go all the way back to Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet.

 

Henry (Austin Abrams) doesn't understand why Grace (Lili Reinhart) has joined the staff
of the student newspaper; she refuses to write or participate in story-pitching sessions,
preferring to solely edit the work of others.

The premise is universal, and everybody responds to it: a painfully familiar scenario that stretches back centuries.

 

Amazing, then, that today’s writers continue to find (reasonably) fresh ways to explore the same well-trod territory.

 

Australian author Krystal Sutherland made a significant splash with her debut novel, 2016’s Our Chemical Hearts; a big-screen adaptation was inevitable, and it debuts today on Amazon Prime. Director/scripter Richard Tanne’s approach gets most of its emotional juice from the quietly sensitive performances by his two stars; alas, his 93-minute film can’t match the philosophical complexity of the 320-page book.

 

Tanne’s screenplay focuses almost exclusively on the two protagonists; many sidebar characters seem little more than afterthoughts. The result feels somewhat claustrophobic, although — again, to credit the stars — it’s easy to succumb to their predicament.

 

Seventeen-year-old Henry Page (Austin Abrams) has long coveted the editorship of his high school newspaper: a job he secures as his senior year begins. He’s surprised to discover, however, that he’ll be sharing the position with transfer student Grace Town (Lili Reinhart, recognized from TV’s Riverdale).

 

She’s an odd duck. She wears guys’ clothing, doesn’t seem interested in making herself look good, speaks only when spoken to … and, even then, with as few words as possible. It isn’t shyness; it feels more like an active disengagement from everything around her. She also has a pronounced, painful limp, and walks with a cane.

 

(Her being assigned the co-editorship seems a peculiar move on the part of the paper’s faculty advisor, since she expresses no interest in the job. We have to just roll with it.)

 

Henry fancies himself a romantic, despite never having had a girlfriend; he desperately wants to fall in love. His sudden proximity to Grace suggests possibilities, given that she enjoys love sonnets by Pablo Neruda. She graciously tolerates Henry’s presence, albeit in unusual ways. When he misses the bus, she offers him a lift in her car … which she asks him to drive (likely due to her injury, he assumes). But then she walks back to her place, and — a bit later — somebody comes along and drives her car home.

 

Greyhound: A suspenseful sprint

Greyhound (2020) • View trailer 

Four stars. Rated PG-13, for war-related action, dramatic intensity and fleeting profanity

By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 8.14.20

It’s a shame grim, real-world events kept this film from traditional theatrical release, because it would’ve been a breath-held, edge-of-the-seat nail-biter.

Krause (Tom Hanks) constantly worries that his inexperience as a wartime
 commander may not be up to the challenge of safeguarding the 37 convoy ships
 under his care.

Although certainly just as suspenseful when viewed at home — via its sole release on Apple TV — director Aaron Schneider’s Greyhound definitely isn’t as intense. Agitated viewers might even hit “pause” on occasion, to quell racing hearts, and you certainly can’t get such relief in a movie theater (which is as it should be).

 

Schneider’s approach is a clever blend of old-school “dire odds” war drama — in the mold of 1961’s The Guns of Navarone and 1968’s Where Eagles Dare — augmented by up-to-the-minute CGI effects. The pacing is taut; Schneider and editors Mark Czyzewski and Sidney Wolinsky don’t waste a second of this crisp 91-minute thriller, which gets the job done and then gets off the stage.

 

Schneider, a veteran cinematographer-turned-director, also has an unerring sense of camera placement, and the careful use of tight close-ups to heighten the drama. Star Tom Hanks has long been adept at taking advantage of such moments; he’s far better than most, at the nuance of wordless concern, flashes of doubt, and grim resolve.

 

Hanks also chooses his projects with care; he’s even more prudent with the ones he elects to script. This is only his third feature writing credit — after 1996’s That Thing You Do and 2011’s Larry Crowne — and his first adaptation. Greyhound is based on popular nautical author C.S. Forester’s 1955 naval thriller, The Good Shepherd, and Hanks’ approach is quite faithful (if unable to match, in such condensed form, the character depth found within the 322-page novel).

 

At the risk of stating the obvious, Forester’s title is far superior — and symbolically apt — than Greyhound. I cannot imagine what Hanks and Sony were thinking.

 

The year is early 1942, a few months after the United States has officially entered World War II. Allied UK forces and the Soviet Union are in constant need of supplies, which must be delivered by sea convoys via the Atlantic Ocean. But the route is patrolled constantly by German U-boats; the most dangerous region is the mid-Atlantic gap dubbed the “black pit,” where ships are out of range of protective air cover.

 

Under the Riccione Sun: Pleasures abound

Under the Riccione Sun (2020) • View trailer 
3.5 stars. Rated TV-MA, for profanity, drug use and fleeting nudity
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 8.7.20

Since it’s not possible to enjoy anything approaching an actual summer vacation, we can experience one vicariously, via Under the Riccione Sun.

Marco (Saul Nanni) has been sweet on Guenda (Fotini Peluso) for years, but she couldn't
care less; she views him solely as a pal who gives great advice on how to reunite with
her former boyfriend.

This Italian charmer — debuting on Netflix — is a standard-issue romance, with budding relationships and unrequited love percolating among attractive, sun-drenched young twentysomethings enjoying a week of leisure at Riccione, a beach community on Italy’s Adriatic coast. So yes: Cinematographer Davide Manca spends considerable time surveying hunky guys and gorgeous gals in tight trunks and the briefest of bikinis. (An impressively wide range of the latter is provided by costume designer Valentina Mezzani.)

I actually approached this film with curiosity, wondering if Italian filmmakers would handle this genre with more grace than we Americans. Answer: Absolutely. Where most domestic examples succumb to coarse vulgarity and exaggerated characters, directors Niccolò Celaia and Antonio Usbergo — operating under the nom de film of “YouNuts” — take a gentler approach.

The result actually is rather sweet, allowing for the liberal application of F-bombs, which these young folks employ as default adjectives, adverbs and (yes) verbs.

Manca’s opening tableau is a stunner: an overhead traveling shot of Riccione’s amazingly huge beach expanse, replete with thousands (!) of geometrically precise umbrellas, cabanas and folding chairs. This is the awesome setting into which the writers — Caterina Salvadori, Enrico Vanzina and Ciro Zecca — pour their characters, and it’d be hard to imagine anything more sparkling and seductive.

Would-be musician Ciro (Cristiano Caccamo) arrives first, hoping to get noticed in some sort of performance competition. When that fails to pan out, he stumbles into employment as a lifeguard, much to the delight of countless cuties. (It should be mentioned that, at 31, Caccamo looks a bit too old for his role.)

Ciro has a girlfriend back home — Violante (Rosanna Sapia) — who routinely checks on him via texts and phone calls. She has good reason; he attracts all manner of female attention, none more aggressive than the flirty Mara (Giulia Schiavo), captain of a beach volleyball team.