The Good House: Reasonably well constructed

The Good House (2022) • View trailer

3.5 stars (out of five). Rated R, for profanity and brief sexuality

Available via: Movie theaters

By Derrick Bang

Because we spend so much time inside her protagonist’s head, there was only one way to successfully bring Ann Leary’s 2013 novel to the big screen.

 

Happily, writer/directors Maya Forbes and Wallace Wolodarsky — with a scripting assist from Thomas Bezucha — took the bold approach.

 

Although much of her life is sliding down the drain, Hildy (Sigourney Weaver) always
finds joy while walking her dogs with longtime friend Frank (Kevin Kline).

Sigourney Weaver’s Hildy Good constantly breaks the fourth wall to address us viewers directly, while sharing her thoughts, opinions, vexations and disappointments regarding the friends, neighbors and fellow citizens in the Massachusetts town of Wendover. Born and bred in this adorable coastal community, Hildy regards herself as its unofficial matriarch.

Outwardly, she’s the embodiment of the Puritan work ethic: industrious, practical and self-reliant, having raised herself up from working-class “townie” to become the most successful Realtor on Boston’s tony North Shore.

 

But as a longtime alcoholic who refuses to acknowledge that she has a problem, Hildy also is a wholly unreliable narrator.

 

Weaver makes her tart, witty, well-read and acutely perceptive; her snarky line deliveries and authoritative body language brook no dissent. Hildy is descended from witches, and may be a “Gammy” herself, given an uncanny ability to “read” people while holding their hands.

 

She also has two adorably cute dogs, who follow her every move.

 

As this story begins, though, Hildy has just returned from an enforced rehab intervention staged by her daughters, Tess (Rebecca Henderson) and Emily (Molly Brown). Tess is married, with a family; as we initially meet her, Henderson makes the woman seem severe, strict and judgmental … borderline unlikable. (Savvy viewers will understand that this often is inevitable, in children raised by alcoholics.)

 

As time passes, though, Henderson’s subtle performance reveals the unfairness of that initial reading.

 

Brown’s Emily, still in college, is rather obtuse: wrapped up in herself, and definitely exuding an aura of entitlement.

 

Hildy is snappish and humiliated by the embarrassment of having been “outed” so visibly, by her family and close friends. She also doesn’t understand what the fuss is all about; she never met a problem that couldn’t be solved over two glasses of Pinor Noir, and besides … she’s more fun when she’s drinking.

 

Until she isn’t.

Bros: Love ain't pretty

Bros (2022) • View trailer

3.5 stars (out of five). Rated R, and quite generously, for relentless nudity, profanity and explicit sexual content

Available via: Movie theaters

By Derrick Bang • Published in The Davis Enterprise, 9.30.22

This is not your grandmother’s rom-com.

 

Billy Eichner and Nicholas Stoller’s boldly audacious dramedy is ground-breaking: not merely for its gender-appropriate casting, but also for the story’s unflinchingly candid depiction of modern-day love among (primarily) gay men.

 

Bobby (Billy Eichner, standing) floats an idea to his fellow museum board members:
from left, Angela (Ts Madison), Wanda (Miss Lawrence), Tamara (Eve Lindley),
Robert (Jim Rash) and Cherry (Dot-Marie Jones). Alas, they aren't buying it...

Eichner and Stoller’s caustic, sharp-edged script also is wickedly funny, with the former — also starring as our key protagonist — demonstrating perfect comic timing with a relentless series of arch one-liners, aggrieved declamations and impassioned laments.

But conservative viewers be advised: The R rating is generous, given this film’s frequent and quite explicit sexual content. Although … ah … dangling bits remain off-camera, virtually nothing else is left to the viewer’s imagination.

 

The story actually is an amplification of the material Eichner has long delivered via stand-up and sketch comedy, notably on the long-running TV series Billy on the Street.

 

The setting is trendy New York, where Bobby Leiber (Eichner) has carved out a laudable, media-centric career as an observer and ferocious activist in the LGBTQ+ scene. He has a successful podcast, writes books, gives speeches, and frequently is recognized for his advocacy.

 

His newest project is massive, as a member of the board of a revolutionary, as-yet unfinished LGBTQIA+ Museum.

 

Bobby ideally would cast himself as a “personality,” despite the fact that his actual personality keeps getting in the way. He’s caustic, domineering, condescending and totally dismissive of outdated concepts such as “dating” and “love.” He’s 40 years old and defiantly proud of being a singleton.

 

He’s also — as quickly becomes obvious — his own worst enemy: wound tighter than a crystal radio coil, while suppressing a boatload of emotional baggage.

 

Trouble is, the personal lives of his friends are evolving, whether via marriage, families or polyamorous relationships such as throuples. Bobby feels increasingly left out … although he’d die before admitting as much.

 

Blind Ambition: An excellent vintage

Blind Ambition (2021) • View trailer

Four stars (out of five). Not rated, and suitable for all ages

Available via: Amazon Prime and other streaming services

By Derrick Bang

Inspiring underdog sagas are can’t-miss entertainment.

 

Inspiring underdog documentaries are even better.

 

This one’s a jaw-dropper.

 

Matching team pullovers are a nice touch, but Team Zimbabwe — from left, Marlvin Gwese,
Pardon Taguzu, Joseph Dhafana and Tinashe Nyamudoka — must train hard, if
they're to enter the annual World Blind Wine Tasting Championships.

Filmmakers Robert Coe and Warwick Ross have a winner with this profile of Joseph Dhafana, Marlvin Gwese, Tinashe Nyamudoka and Pardon Taguzu: refugees who risked life and limb to flee Zimbabwe during the violent 2008 presidential election and subsequent hyperinflation crisis, exacerbated by the ill-advised policies of Robert Mugabe.

They wound up in South Africa, which was ill-equipped to handle what eventually grew to roughly 1.5 million refugees from its northern neighbor.

 

Joseph, Marlvin, Tinashe and Pardon — who didn’t know each other — initially accepted whatever menial jobs they could find. Over the course of time, in each case entirely by accident, all four discovered they had an amazing talent for winetasting. 

 

This, despite the fact that none had even tasted wine before.

 

Marlvin, raised Pentecostal, technically isn’t even allowed to drink alcohol, although he cheekily points out — on camera — that since Jesus turned water into wine, drinking it surely must be allowed.

 

Eventually, each man became a well-respect sommelier in a top-notch South African restaurant … where, it must be mentioned, they often were the only Black presence among the staff and patrons.

 

They came to the attention of expat French sommelier Jean Vincent Ridon, who had the audacious notion to bring them together as exiled “Team Zimbabwe” for the 2017 World Blind Wine Tasting Championships, held each year in (where else?) Burgundy, France.

 

The film begins as Ridon gifts the four men with numbered, matching Team Zimbabwe pullovers (probably also the moment when Coe and Ross decided to make a film).

 

The quartet is irresistible. All four men have great camera presence; they’re modest, cheerful, passionate, a little bit shy, and obviously overwhelmed by how their lives have changed … and how they’re about to change a lot more.

 

Coe, Ross and editor Paul Murphy divide this saga between the intense training that takes place, during the weeks leading up to the competition, and each man’s back-story. They’re uniformly grim: even more sobering, given the matter-of-fact manner in which each recalls his personal experience.

I Used to Be Famous: Hits the right notes

I Used to Be Famous (2022) • View trailer

3.5 stars (out of five). Rated TV-14, for occasional profanity

Available via: Netflix

By Derrick Bang

Peaking early can be a terrible curse.

 

Back in the early uh-ohs, Vince lived large as the front man of an über-famous teenage boy band, Stereo Dream.

 

Vince (Ed Skrein, left) handles the melody on his portable keyboard, while Stevie
(Leo Long) joyfully maintains a steady beat on a "drum set" made of found objects.

Alas, he lacked the talent to survive the transition to adulthood.

Flash-forward to today, which finds Vince (Ed Skrein) scrambling for a living in the streets of Peckham, dragging his music kit behind him on a modified ironing board (a suitably pathetic visual touch). And to rub salt in the wound, former band mate Austin (Eoin Macken) did have the artistic chops for a wildly successful solo career: a constant reminder of the life Vince desperately wishes he could have.

 

Then, one day, Vince’s busking efforts are interrupted — nay, complemented — by a shy young man beating his drumsticks in time to the music. Vince soon learns that this is Stevie (Leo Long), a mildly autistic lad carefully monitored by his protective mother, Amber (Eleanor Matsuura).

 

Vince immediately (rashly?) believes that Stevie might be the “secret sauce” that could turn them into a successful two-man act. Amber, mindful of her son’s inability to handle being the center of attention, has her doubts.

 

Matters aren’t helped by the fact that the disheveled Vince has the diplomatic subtlety of a bull in a china shop.

 

Director/co-writer Eddie Sternberg’s sweet little film, expanded from his 17-minute 2015 short subject of the same title, offers no surprises; the story, co-written with Zak Klein, is fairly predictable (albeit with a poignant third-act twist).

 

That said, the tone and approach are as earnest as all three lead actors; it’s also nice to see a story that depicts autism with respect and compassion. Credit for this, in great part, goes to Long: neurodivergent in real life, and both an accomplished drummer and quietly persuasive actor.

 

The drama emerges from the credibly endearing manner in which both Vince and Stevie struggle to become better versions of themselves.

See How They Run: A whimsical delight

See How They Run (2022) • View trailer

Four stars (out of five). Rated PG-13, and too harshly, for mild violence and fleeting sexual candor

Available via: Movie theaters

By Derrick Bang

This is way too much fun.

 

Director Tom George’s mischievous period “whodunit within a whodunit” is a valentine to Agatha Christie — and her fans — and a cheeky send-up of theatrical storytelling conventions.

 

Inspector Stoppard (Sam Rockwell) and his fresh-faced associate, Constable Stalker
(Saoirse Ronan), are surprised by the care with which a murder victim has been
placed on a theater stage couch.

Mark Chappell’s tongue-firmly-in-cheek script misses no targets. This is the sort of romp where, if a character laments the “awkwardness” of flashbacks as a plot contrivance, you can bet that the next scene will be a flashback.

Most of the humor is slow-burn: witty, not farcical, in the manner that is uniquely British.

 

Chappell also did his homework. A surprising amount of his narrative’s core details are based on historical fact (and I’ve no doubt viewers will rush to the Internet to determine fact from fiction, after watching this retro charmer).

 

The setting is early 1953, at West End London’s Theatre Royal, as the cast and crew of Christie’s new murder mystery play, The Mousetrap, celebrates its 100th performance. Essential details are supplied by an unseen narrator who, in a nod to 1950’s Sunset Blvd., speaks from beyond the grave.

 

The festivities are cut short both by the drunken antics of boorish, blacklisted American screenwriter Leo Köpernick (Adrien Brody), and — a bit later — the distressing discovery that one of these folks has been murdered. For real.

 

Cue the arrival of world-weary Scotland Yard Inspector Stoppard (Sam Rockwell) and his eager-beaver rookie, Constable Stalker (Saoirse Ronan). They find the body propped on the couch of the play’s single-room theater setting.

 

“Staged, so to speak,” Stalker impishly observes.

 

Chappell’s script is full of similarly playful one-liners.

 

The corpus delicti is none other than Köpernick, who — as flashbacks reveal — managed to irritate, annoy, belittle or blackmail just about everybody else. In true Agatha Christie fashion, there’s no shortage of suspects.

LunaFest 2022: Emotionally uplifting

LunaFest 2022 • View trailer

Four stars (out of five). Not rated, appropriate for ages 13 and older

By Derrick Bang • Published in The Davis Enterprise, 9.16.22

This year’s LunaFest features a strong showing of short subjects by and about women.

 

Akanksha (Akanksha Cruczynski), who takes her dog-sitting job quite seriously,
ensures that the adorable — if overly pampered — Timothée never is out of her sight.

From its inception in 2001, LunaFest — the world’s first all-women traveling film festival — has given a national platform to a diverse and talented set of women filmmakers. From one small California screening that first year, the program has grown into an annual event that has showcased more than 170 filmmakers, and raised more than $6.5 million for local women’s causes.

Although this year’s offerings once again feature a wide variety of subjects and filmmaking styles, several are linked by an artistic response to the norm-shattering arrival of the Covid virus.

 

This topic is at the heart of Canadian filmmaker Andrea Dorfman’s How to Be at Home, a very cleverly animated “how-to” primer on coping with isolation during the first year’s soul-wrenching withdrawal from public contact. This 5-minute short — adapted from a poignant poem by Tanya Davis, which is narrated throughout — blends two- and three-dimensional animation to remind the viewer that we are united in our misery.

 

“If you’re really anxious, don’t worry,” the poem begins, “it’ll get worse.”

 

The subsequent suggestions range from wise to amusing, from “Hug a tree” to (my favorite): “Watch a movie, and watch all the credits … because you have time.”

 

Covid also influenced the “social experiment” at the heart of Emily McAllister’s Wearable Tracy, which profiles an adorably eccentric Bronx woman named Lee, who indulges in “design thinking.” She decided to wear a goofy “crown” made of pipe cleaners one day, as a means of celebrating her friend Tracy’s birthday.

 

Intrigued by the response this drew, Lee turned this gesture into a daily event with three firm rules: each day had to feature a new (and increasingly elaborate) “wearable Tracy” pipe cleaner crown; she had to wear it all day, at work and during her subway commute; and she had to ask the name of anybody who spoke to her about her unusual headwear.

 

As Lee explains, this got her past a life-long fear of judgment; it also broke down barriers, as it provoked — in a positive way — communication with strangers.

 

She did this every day, for more than a year … and then Covid hit. As for what Lee did next … well, that would be telling.

 

Pinocchio: Could use a few more strings

Pinocchio (2022) • View trailer

Three stars (out of five). Rated PG, for dramatic intensity and mild rude humor

Available via: Disney+

By Derrick Bang • Published in The Davis Enterprise, 9.9.22

Filmmakers are reading each other’s mail again.

 

The memory of Italian director Matteo Garrone’s live-action 2019 version of Pinocchio remains fresh — in part because it didn’t reach our shores until spring 2021 — and now we have Disney’s sorta-kinda live-action reboot of its 1940 animated classic.

 

Geppetto (Tom Hanks) has no idea that the wooden puppet, which he so lovingly
crafted, is about to be brought to life by a magical blue fairy.

And, come December 9, it’ll be joined by director Guillermo del Toro’s handling of the same story, which is guaranteed to be much darker and scarier (and, therefore, much closer to the spirit of Carlo Collodi’s 1883 novel).

But back to the present…

 

Of late, the current Disney regime has been hell-bent on putting a live-action spin on all of Uncle Walt’s animated classics, along with many of the studio’s more recent hits. The results have been mixed, to say the least; for every successful Alice in Wonderland (2010) and Jungle Book (2016), we’ve suffered through misfires such as the bloated Beauty and the Beast (2017), the excessively distressing Dumbo (2019) and the blink-and-you-missed it — trust me, not a bad thing — Lady and the Tramp, a streaming debut that same year.

 

The obvious question arises: Why bother?

 

Inclusion and political correctness can be a factor, and — in theory — there’s nothing wrong with reviving a beloved chestnut. After all, how many local theater productions of (as just a couple of examples) The Music Man and My Fair Lady get mounted every year, to the delight of packed audiences?

 

Uncle Walt’s Pinocchio is eight decades old, which certainly seems far enough back to justify a fresh take. And, in fairness, director Robert Zemeckis’ new film has much to offer: Doug Chiang and Stefan Dechant’s sumptuously colorful production design is amazing — gotta love all the cuckoo clocks in Geppetto’s workshop — and Don Burgess’ equally lush cinematography gives the saga a lovely fairy tale glow.

 

But the film fails on the most crucial level. Despite the CGI trickery with which this version’s title character is brought to life, and even despite young Benjamin Evan Ainsworth’s earnest voice performance, this Pinocchio doesn’t have anywhere near the warmth, vulnerability, poignant curiosity, chastened regret or beingness of his hand-drawn predecessor.

 

In short, 1940’s Pinocchio felt like a real boy, even while still a marionette. This CGI Pinocchio is a cartoon character.

 

And everything crumbles from that misstep.

 

Tom Hanks’ Geppetto is an exercise in mumbled absent-mindedness, as if he’s constantly on the verge of forgetting his lines, or where to stand. He’s also much too calm when initially confronted with the miracle of his wooden puppet come to life, as if this is somehow a routine occurrence. 

 

Indeed, Pinocchio’s very existence similarly is taken for granted by all the villagers and schoolchildren; the schoolmaster banishes Pinocchio from the classroom because he’s “just a puppet,” but seems unfazed by the fact that he is a puppet brought to life.

I Came By: Enjoyably sinister

I Came By (2022) • View trailer

3.5 stars (out of five). Rated TV-MA, for violence, dramatic intensity and profanity

Available via: Netflix

By Derrick Bang 

Writer/director Babak Anvari definitely studied at the altar of Alfred Hitchcock.

 

This twisty little thriller, co-scripted with Namsi Khan, messes with audience expectations much the way Psycho did, back in 1960.

 

After realizing that their latest "victim" isn't what he seems, Toby (George MacKay, right)
intends to investigate further ... but his best friend Jay (Percelle Ascott) wants
no part of that.

London-based graffiti artists Toby (George MacKay) and Jay (Percelle Ascott) have established a notorious reputation as late-night, never-identified home invaders who target the rich and powerful by painting their “I came by” tag on one wall: an act that’s less about vandalism or theft, and more a means of tweaking the establishment. 

(One suspects, however, that they’re not above nicking an item or two that catches their fancy.)

 

They’re quite adept, having learned how to pick locks and bypass home alarm systems; the adrenaline rush also is a major part of the thrill.

 

“Fighting the system” is all that Toby cares about, much to the dismay of his mother, Lizzie (Kelly Macdonald), a professional counselor who (irony intended) hasn’t the faintest idea how to connect with her own son. Toby, in turn, is rude and disrespectful, but also inclined to random acts of kindness; he isn’t beyond recognizing right from wrong.

 

Jay is brought up short when his girlfriend Naz (Varada Sethu) announces that she’s pregnant. This reality check prompts him to renounce his clandestine partnership with Toby, even though they’ve already cased their next victim: Sir Hector Blake (Hugh Bonneville), a former high court judge who lives alone in a large home in Dulwich.

 

Frustrated and feeling betrayed, Toby invades Sir Hector’s home on his own, prepares to tag a wall … and then is distracted by a noise from the basement. He heads downstairs, pokes around, and …

 

… but that would be telling.

 

Suffice to say, there may have been a reason Sir Hector suddenly resigned from the judiciary, after a sterling career spent helping immigrants.

 

The final key player in what soon becomes a sinister mystery is Det. Sgt. Ella Lloyd (Franc Ashman), who doesn’t need much convincing to decide that Sir Hector is a Rather Suspicious Character. But since his friends include her boss (Anthony Calf), her efforts to investigate are discouraged.

 

No question: The set-up is enticing, and the execution moves in crafty, edge-of-the-seat directions.