Living: A magnificent character study

Living (2022) • View trailer

Five stars (out of five). Rated PG-13, and too harshly, for suggestive material and fleeting nudity

Available via: Movie theaters

By Derrick Bang • Published in The Davis Enterprise, 1.27.23 

If Bill Nighy were able to shift a single eyebrow, I’ve no doubt the resulting expression would convey a wealth of emotion.

 

He’s that good.

 

Williams (Bill Nighy) is surprised to find Margaret (Aimee Lou Wood) working as a
waitress at her new posting, knowing that she took the job under the belief that she'd
be an assistant manager.

His performance here, as a morose, quietly contemplative civil servant, is a masterpiece of nuance. Nighy’s dialogue is spare; when speaking, he brings a wealth of depth and significance to every word, every syllable. And even when silent, his posture and gaze convey everything we need to know about this man, at each moment.

 

Some actors are born to play a particular role, and I can’t imagine anybody but Nighy playing this one. It will, I’m sure, remain his crown jewel.

 

Director Oliver Hermanus and scripter Kazuo Ishiguro deliver a meticulously faithful adaptation of Akira Kurosawa’s 1952 classic, Ikiru, which in turn borrowed heavily from Leo Tolstoy’s 1886 novella, The Death of Ivan Ilyich. (All concerned also owe a significant debt to Charles Dickens’ Bleak House.)

 

The year is 1953, the setting London: still struggling to recover from the bombing raids of World War II. Mr. Williams (Nighy), a lonely widower known by colleagues as “The Old Man,” is head of one department in a multi-story government building laden with similar subdivisions, all of which work hard at having nothing to do with each other.

 

Which is to say, most of these nattily attired men are hardly working.

 

It’s a bureaucratic maze of “D-19s,” “K Stacks” and countless other forms and protocols, where suggestions, proposals, petitions and heartfelt entreaties go to die, after being shuttled between — as just a few examples — Parks, Planning, Cleansing & Sewage, and Public Works (the latter a deliciously ironic oxymoron).

 

Public Works is Williams’ department, and whenever a folder shuttles back into his hands, he places in amid countless others on his desk. “We can keep it here,” Nighy sighs, in a disinterested tone. “There’s no harm.”

 

Rest assured, it’ll never be viewed again.

 

All of this is a shock to idealistic newbie Peter Wakeling (Alex Sharp), who is dismayed to find a similar mountain of paper at his desk. Secretary Margaret Harris (Aimee Lou Wood), sympathetic to his first-day confusion, quietly advises Peter to maintain the height of his “skyscraper” of unfinished work, lest colleagues suspect him of “not having anything very important to do.”

The Son: Growing pains

The Son (2022) • View trailer

Three stars (out of five). Rated PG-13, for dramatic intensity, suicidal content and occasional profanity

Available via: Movie theaters

By Derrick Bang • Published in The Davis Enterprise, 1.20.23 

Director/playwright Florian Zeller’s The Father (2020) is an emotionally harrowing experience, thanks both to Anthony Hopkins’ superbly nuanced, Oscar-winning performance, and a clever non-liner narrative that mirrors the title character’s tragic slide into dementia.

 

They look happy, but that's misleading; Peter (Hugh Jackman, right) and Kate (Laura
Dern) are beginning to realize that their teenage son Nicholas (Zen McGrath) has
some serious problems.

Zeller’s new film, alas, isn’t nearly as powerful.

For the most part, the actors can’t be faulted; Hugh Jackman, Laura Dern and Vanessa Kirby do solid work, and Hopkins is mesmerizing in a fleeting cameo.

 

Zen McGrath’s handling of this film’s title character is one weak link; he simply isn’t credible as a teenager struggling with mental illness.

 

But McGrath isn’t entirely to blame, because he hasn’t been granted sufficiently persuasive material. Scripter Christopher Hampton’s adaptation of Zeller’s stage play frequently feels contrived; the scenario and sequence of events lack credibility.

 

Peter Miller (Jackman), a high-profile Manhattan attorney with his eyes on a prize career shift to Washington, D.C., has been settling comfortably into life with new partner Beth (Kirby) and their infant son. The story begins with the unexpected arrival of his agitated ex-wife, Kate (Dern), and her revelation that their 17-year-old son, Nicholas (McGrath), hasn’t been to school for a month.

 

He has pretended to go, leaving her home each weekday morning with what she’d expect to see, in terms of books and other materials; and he has returned at the appropriate time each afternoon. But school officials finally exposed the charade, and Kate has no idea what Nicholas actually has been doing.

 

Nor does Nicholas offer any sort of defense. He simply insists that he “can’t stay” with his mother any longer, and would prefer to live with his father, Beth and his baby brother.

 

Beth isn’t thrilled; her expression makes this obvious. But she doesn’t object; she recognizes the importance of a father/son bond, and she clearly wants her relationship with Peter to succeed. Beth never states any of this in so many words, but it’s clear from Kirby’s delicate, quietly shaded performance.

 

(Although Kirby has been quite busy since, she remains well remembered as Princess Margaret, in television’s The Crown.)

Wildcat: Deeply moving

Wildcat (2022) • View trailer

4.5 stars (out of five). Rated R, for frequent profanity and suicidal behavior

Available via: Amazon Prime

By Derrick Bang • Published in The Davis Enterprise, 1.13.23

I marvel at the foresight and intuition of documentary filmmakers who begin a project without having any idea if they’ll ultimately emerge with a story worth telling.

 

Co-directors Trevor Frost and Melissa Lesh definitely found such a story.

 

Although attempting to teach his feline companion how to survive in the wild is
exhaustive work that requires plenty of patience — and love — Harry also enjoys
their more playful moments.

Wildcat is a remarkably powerful film: not merely for its fascinating and thoroughly engaging subject, but also for its constant tug on our senses, and the often painful intimacy with which this saga unfolds. Impossible as it would seem, the two people at the heart of this incredible journey often behave as if they’re wholly unaware of being filmed, except when they address the camera directly.

The setting is so beautiful, so hypnotic, that it’s almost surreal. At first blush, it feels romantic: tugging at that little piece of ourselves that sometimes wishes to really, truly get away from it all.

 

But that’s deceptive.

 

Frost and Lesh begin their film with a brief prologue, as a man navigates a jungle setting with — amazingly — an attentive young ocelot that apparently regards him as a parent.

 

We then back up to earlier days, and the events that led to that moment.

 

Young British soldier Harry Turner returns home from a tour in Afghanistan, emotionally damaged by what he has seen — and done — and crippled by PTSD. Suicidal, believing himself a burden to his parents and younger brother, Harry flees civilization and heads to the most remote part of the world that he can reach: the Las Piedras region of the Peruvian Amazon rainforest.

 

He chances upon American biologist/conservationist Samantha “Sam” Zwicker, founder of a non-profit dubbed Hoja Nueva (“New Leaf”), which is dedicated to the rescue, rehabilitation and reintroduction of keystone Peruvian Amazon wildlife species.

 

It’s a necessary response to the heartbreaking reality of young animals orphaned and abandoned, after their parents have been slaughtered by hunters and logging operations.

 

This film begins with Zwicker’s earliest efforts, when it’s not even clear whether an infant ocelot can be re-wilded; nobody has tried before. Frost and Lesh understood the time frame, going in: reintroduction, if successful, would take roughly 17 months … the length of time a kitten would spend with its mother, until setting out on its own.

 

Which makes their film, at minimum, a 17-month investment of time and effort.

 

Harry’s arrival is cathartic; the challenge gives him a sense of purpose. He throws himself 24/7 into the care, guidance and protection of this adorably wild kitten. 

 

Plane: A suspenseful flight

Plane (2023) • View trailer

3.5 stars (out of five). Rated R, for profanity and considerable violence

Available via: Movie theaters

By Derrick Bang

The new year’s first action-oriented release is one helluva ride.

 

Gerard Butler has been ill-served by some of his recent thrillers, the low point being 2016’s London Has Fallen. Happily, director Jean-François Richet’s high-octane roller coaster is a lean and mean cut above, thanks in great part to Charles Cumming and J.P. Davis’ sharply crafted script.

 

Having just realized that they've crash-landed on a remote island ruled by murderous
extremists, commercial pilot Brodie Torrance (Gerard Butler, left) and mysterious
companion Louis Gaspare (Mike Colter) check out the opposition ... which is
overwhelming.

Their edge-of-the-seat storyline beings with a nail-biting first act, detours into an unexpectedly scary second act, and then pulls out all the stops for an exciting, crowd-pleasing finale. The package also gets plenty of pizzazz from Butler’s charismatic presence and hard-charging grit.

Sacramento’s sold-out Tuesday evening preview audience — full houses being a rare sight, these days — applauded as the end credits began to roll. 

 

No surprise.

 

Events begin during final pre-flight check at the Singapore terminal of Trailblazer Airlines, a low-budget carrier taking off for Tokyo, and then Hawaii, under the command of Captain Brodie Torrance (Butler, his Scottish accent in full glory) and co-pilot Samuel Dele (Yoson An). It’s a quiet New Year’s Eve flight, with only 14 passengers … until the last minute arrival of a shackled Louis Gaspare (Mike Colter, well remembered as TV’s Luke Cage), being shepherded to the States by an FBI handler.

 

They sit in the far rear.

 

Torrance is dismayed when a Trailblazer bean-counter insists that he pilot through a storm en route to Tokyo, rather than take a slightly longer route around it, in order to save a modest amount of fuel. But he’s a company man, and does as instructed.

 

But all hell breaks loose when they hit the storm.

 

The subsequent 15 minutes are apt to put you off flying for good: a terrifying, persuasive depiction of helpless passengers buffeted and tossed about after the plane is crippled by a lightning strike. (Well … persuasive during all interior shots, anyway; the exterior model and/or CGI shots leave something to be desired.)

 

The white-knuckle anxiety is enhanced by the deftly sketched relationships that have developed between the veteran Torrance and younger Dele, and head flight attendant Bonnie (Daniella Pineda). A few passengers also stand out: boorish, entitled businessman Sinclair (Oliver Trevena, immediately loathsome); the mildly confrontational Carver (Oliver Trevena); and giggly, under-dressed social media influencers Katie (Kelly Gale) and Brie (Lilly Krug).

 

Thanks to skill and dollops of luck, Torrance manages a miraculous landing on a stretch of road somewhere within one of the Philippines' many island clusters. The crew and passengers don’t actually know this yet, since the plane’s avionics were fried, and there’s no cell service. (Constant Companion sagely wondered why commercial flight crews wouldn’t be equipped with satellite phones, but that would have ruined this story’s suspense.)

Women Talking: A grim yet crucial conversation

Women Talking (2022) • View trailer

Four stars (out of five). Rated PG-13, and too generously, despite considerable dramatic intensity, sexual assault, bloody images and profanity

Available via: Movie theaters

By Derrick Bang

A dozen women, of all ages, gather in the upper loft of a massive barn.

 

This feels like a small farming community, and they’re dressed plainly; there’s no sign of modern conveniences. It could be one, two, even three centuries ago.

 

Forced into an impossible decision, the women from two families — from left, Mejal
(Michelle McLeod), Greta (Sheila McCarthy), Neitje (Liv McNeil), Mariche (Jessie Buckley),
Salome (Claire Foy), Autje (Kate Hallett), Ona (Rooney Mara) and Agata (Judith Ivy) —
contemplate a pair of equally life-changing options.

The meeting is prompted by some sort of crisis. But that’s only a catalyst; unhappiness, frustration and even fury have been brewing for a long time. The men in this community have been intolerable for too long, and the women have convened to consider their options: do nothing, leave … or stay and fight back.

A vote is taken, with every female community member weighing in. Because they’re all illiterate, they merely mark an X beneath one of three pencil drawings depicting each option. Their “schooling” has been solely Biblical and heavily evangelical, their compliance dictated by verses burned into their brains.

 

The vote proves a tie, between leaving or fighting back.

 

This small subset of women — from three families — has been tasked with weighing the options, considering consequences, and breaking the tie.

 

Director/scripter Sarah Polley’s moody, expressionistic adaptation of Miriam Toews’ critically hailed 2018 novel is a quietly somber affair that leans toward fable or allegory, but in fact is an explosive shot across the bow of all predatory male behavior.

 

As soon becomes clear, as the ensuing discussion unfolds, this community’s men have — for generations — been cruelly abusing these women physically, emotionally and spiritually. They’ve been raped in the dead of night, regardless of age, after being rendered unconscious by a livestock anesthetic spray.

 

Confronted, the following morning, by the bruised and often bloody results of these late-night assaults, their subsequent anguish has been dismissed — by the men — as the work of Satan, ghosts or “wild female imagination.”

 

This has continued for generations, the women often giving birth to boys who grow up to become men groomed to subsequently rape their own younger sisters.

 

The immediate emergency has been prompted by a failed assault attempt; the attacker was witnessed by potential adolescent victims Autje (Kate Hallett) and Neitje (Liv McNeil). They’re mostly silent during these proceedings, braiding each other’s hair into an intertwined bond, and — unexpectedly — occasionally supplying remarkably perceptive observations.

 

The perpetrator was caught and arrested; all of the community’s men have left to post bail in the nearby town. When they return with the accused, it has been made clear that the women will be expected to forgive him, according to “God’s way.”

 

Hence, the dilemma.

Matilda the Musical: Slightly off-key

Matilda the Musical (2022) • View trailer

3.5 stars (out of five). Rated PG, for exaggerated bullying and mild profanity

Available via: Netflix

By Derrick Bang • Published in The Davis Enterprise, 1.6.23

Harold Gray’s popular newspaper comic strip, Little Orphan Annie, became a joyous stage musical back in 1977, with a subsequently enjoyable transition to the big screen in 1982: fueled both by engaging performances and a bevy of delightful musical numbers, including the never-to-be-forgotten power anthem, “Tomorrow.”

 

While her school mates cower in silent terror, Matilda (Alisa Weir, right) defiantly
stands up to imperious headmistress Miss Trunchbull (Emma Thompson).

Annie and Matilda feel like thematic cousins, with similar plot and character elements, although the latter also boasts author Roald Dahl’s darker, snarkier sense of humor. I’d love to say that his 1988 children’s book enjoys the same musical success … but no. 

Despite Alisha Weir’s terrific performance in the lead role, David Hindle and Christian Huband’s wildly imaginative production design, and choreographer Ellen Kane’s effervescent work with a bevy of talented young singers and dancers, this film version of the Royal Shakespeare Company’s 2010 musical adaptation is an occasionally awkward beast. You’ll find very few hummable tunes here, most of which fall into the narrative “patter song” category; several are shoved rather clumsily into the storyline.

 

Even so, Dennis Kelly’s screenplay is rigorously faithful to the book, and its many fans will delight in all of the essential plot elements. (Kelly and Tim Minchin wrote the 2010 stage version.)

 

Matilda Wormwood (Weir) is born to parents who never, ever wanted a daughter. Her mother (Andrea Riseborough) and father (Stephen Graham) are outrageously self-centered burlesques, who banish the little girl to an attic bedroom, and miss no opportunity for emotional abuse.

 

Graham and Riseborough are hilariously grotesque in these way-over-the-top roles: vulgar, uncouth and forever garbed in costume designer Rob Howell’s opulently awful outfits. Mr. and Mrs. Wormwood believe themselves superior to the rest of the world, when in fact they’re the worst sort of ignorant buffoons.

 

Ah, but Matilda is amazingly, preternaturally smart, devouring books such as Great Expectations and Jane Eyre from a very young age, and displaying a facility for STEM topics that would make university teachers swoon. None of this means a thing to her parents, who refuse to acknowledge their daughter’s talents. 

 

Matilda’s kinder, gentler nature notwithstanding, she’s not above exacting revenge: her blustering father the most frequent target. Weir’s impishly crafty expression, at such moments, is delicious.

 

Relief comes during Matilda’s frequent visits with mobile library lady Mrs. Phelps (Sindhu Vee), whom the girl entrances with the slowly developing fantasy saga of two circus performers, swooningly in love, and forced to perform The World’s Most Dangerous Act. This enchanting bit of kid-level imagination — Matilda’s colorful re-invention of her own life — becomes an ongoing story within the story, with Mrs. Phelps hanging onto each dire setback.