Are You There God? It's Me, Margaret — Absolutely marvelous

Are You There God? It's Me, Margaret (2023) • View trailer

Five stars (out of five). Rated PG-13, for thematically suggestive material, and mild sexual candor

Available via: Movie theaters

By Derrick Bang • Published in The Davis Enterprise, 4.28.23

Film adaptations of popular novels are rarely this faithful.

 

It’s not merely a matter of director/scripter Kelly Fremon Craig retaining all the crucial plot points of Judy Blume’s 1970 coming-of-age classic; it’s easy enough to check such boxes. But Fremon Craig also captures the book’s essential tone and atmosphere, along with the blend of eagerness, humiliation, humor, excitement and stubborn determination that fuels the young protagonist’s journey into nascent womanhood.

 

Margaret (Abby Ryder Fortson, right) — determined to purchase her first bra, but
horrified by the process (check her expression!) — gamely navigates a
fraught-with-peril visit to a department store, in the company of her sympathetic
and knowing mother (Rachel McAdams).

Kudos, as well, to Fremon Craig and the casting agents who found such talented young actors for all the key tween roles: most notably Abby Ryder Fortson’s totally endearing handling of the title character.

Everything — every performance, dramatic hiccup, youthfully exaggerated tragedy and excruciating embarrassment — feels authentic.

 

(The degree to which this is true became obvious quite quickly, during last Saturday’s preview screening, when Constant Companion, in a blend of amazement and horror, kept mumbling things such as “Oh, gawd,” “Just like it happened” and “That was me.”)

 

Although remembered primarily for 12-year-old Margaret’s desperate desire to experience her first period — the frequent subject of her chats with God, and the major reason Blume’s novel has long been the target of blue-nosed book-banners — the parallel plot line, touching on Margaret’s exploration of religion, is equally crucial.

 

The film retains the book’s 1970 setting, and events take place during Margaret Simon’s sixth-grade school year. As the story begins, in a sweetly fleeting montage, Margaret is shown having a blast at summer camp. She then returns to her New York City home, and the tightly knit family unit that includes her parents (Rachel McAdams and Benny Safdie, as Barbara and Herb) and grandmother Sylvia (scene-stealing Kathy Bates, blessed with impeccable line delivery).

 

Unfortunately, this happy reunion is tarnished by the news that her parents are moving them to a New Jersey suburb, leaving Sylvia — Herb’s mother — behind. Distressed by that, and the thought of never seeing her friends again, Margaret is crushed.

 

But she rebounds quickly, thanks to an immediate visit from new neighbor Nancy Wheeler (Elle Graham), a boldly confident girl who’s proud of her developing breasts, and somewhat astonished by Margaret’s, ah, lack of same. Upon learning that they’ll be in the same sixth-grade class, Nancy invites Margaret to become the fourth and final member of a “secret club” that includes Janie Loomis (Amari Alexis Price) and Gretchen Potter (Katherine Mallen Kupferer).

 

Although the latter two girls seem kind and pleasant enough, Nancy — as self-appointed club leader — frequently enhances her own ego, at the not-always-subtle expense of the others. It’s perhaps unfair to call Nancy a “mean girl,” since she never seems deliberately spiteful, but her audacious behavior often pushes the others — and particularly Margaret — beyond their comfort zone. 

 

Ghosted: Rather insubstantial

Ghosted (2023) • View trailer

2.5 stars (out of five). Rated PG-13, for strong action violence, mild sexuality and brief profanity

Available via: Apple TV+

By Derrick Bang

This certainly is the epitome of “guilty pleasure.”

 

Were it not for the charismatic screen presence of stars Chris Evans and Ana de Armas, director Dexter Fletcher’s action/adventure rom-com would be nothing but a case study in formulaic excess.

 

Pinned down by gunfire in the mountainous region of Pakistan's Khyber Pass, Cole
(Chris Evans) and Sadie (Ana de Armas) are about to endure a fate worse than death.
But fear not: A dilapidated and hilariously colorful bus is about to provide escape (of sorts).

Goodness knows, the dialogue — blame Rhett Reese, Paul Wernick, Chris McKenna and Erik Sommers — is beyond eye-rollingly lame. And while the premise has promise, the required suspension of disbelief too frequently hits 11, on a 10-point scale.

 

That said…

 

Evans and de Armas are entertaining together, and the dog-nuts plot builds to an inventive — if highly improbable — climax that deserves points for originality. (It does, however, remind me of the final merry-go-round sequence in Alfred Hitchcock’s Strangers on a Train, although I’d be very surprised to learn that Reese et al channeled that.)

 

Events begin in Washington, D.C., where Cole Turner (Evans) manages a booth at a lively farmers’ market, selling produce grown at his family ranch just outside the city. He and traveling art curator Sadie Rhodes (de Armas) meet cute over her intended purchase of a house plant from a neighboring stall.

 

This is the film’s worst exchange of so-called flirty banter, and — coming so soon — it bodes ill for whatever follows. But hang in there; things do improve. A bit.

 

Lamentable first impressions lead to a whirlwind day together, after which Sadie departs on her next assignment. Cole, assuming that “magic” has entered his life, texts her during the next several days: at first romantically, then curiously, and finally much too aggressively. All to no avail; Sadie ignores — “ghosts” — him completely.

 

Cole’s subsequent agitation proves quite amusing to his father (Tate Donovan), mother (Amy Sedaris) and particularly younger sister Mattie (Lizze Broadway), who warns him against such “stalkerish” behavior. But Cole doesn’t see it that way, and circumstances give him the means to find Sadie. 

 

He forever misplaces things, and long ago put little trackers on crucial personal items, all of which can be located via his Smart phone. Sadie accidentally departed with his allergy inhaler, which places her — Cole is surprised to learn — in London. 

 

“Go after her!” Mom and Dad insist. “Are you kidding?” Mattie, the voice of reason, objects.

 

Cole nonetheless decides that this would be the Ultimate Grand Romantic Gesture. And so he flies to London.

 

But when he traces his tracker to somewhere on or beneath the Tower Bridge, he’s unexpectedly attacked by three goons, chloroformed, and wakens in the sinister lair of a giggling torturer — Tim Blake Nelson, deliberately overplaying the role — who believes that Cole is a legendary CIA operative code-named “The Taxman,” and has information about a mysterious whatzit known as “Aztec.” Because, well, Cole was in the wrong place at the right time.

 

The Covenant: Promises to keep

The Covenant (2023) • View trailer

3.5 stars (out of five). Rated R, for strong violence, frequent profanity and brief drug content

Available via: Movie theaters

By Derrick Bang • Published in The Davis Enterprise, 4.21.23

Although director Guy Ritchie’s harrowing war drama is a fictionalized extrapolation of actual events, it’ll resonate strongly with anybody horrified by what has become of Afghanistan.

 

Americans who served there likely will find this particularly grim viewing.

 

Although Sgt. John Kinley (Jake Gyllenhaal, right) has been told that the road ahead is
safe, he eventually yields to the insistence of his interpreter, Ahmed (Dar Salim), who
is convinced that something is amiss.

Ritchie and his co-writers — Ivan Atkinson and Marn Davies — have concocted a nail-biter that shines a spotlight on the many thousands of Afghan translators and military personnel who were shamefully abandoned when American forces withdrew in May 2021 … despite having been promised visas and safe passage to the States, for themselves and all family members.

Nor was this merely a case of being “left behind.” It was — and remains — common knowledge that the Taliban would hunt down, torture and execute Afghans who previously worked alongside U.S. and NATO forces. 

 

One of a well-crafted story’s strongest assets is its ability to transform an abstract — “thousands” — into a tightly focused saga of symbolic individuals. That’s definitely the case here.

 

It’s March 2018, the setting Bagram Air Base, Parwan Province, in Taliban-occupied Afghanistan. Army Sgt. John Kinley (Jake Gyllenhaal) — on his final tour of duty, looking forward to returning home to his wife and children — leads an elite unit tasked with finding Taliban munitions. A routine search at a vehicle checkpoint goes awry when two of Kinley’s men — one of them the group’s Afghan interpreter — are killed by a lorry bomb.

 

Back at base, in need of a new interpreter, John selects Ahmed (Dar Salim) from half a dozen willing candidates. John is impressed by Ahmed’s ability to speak “four languages worth speaking,” but is cautioned about the newcomer’s reputation for independent thinking.

 

As it soon turns out, Ahmed knows stuff … lots of who, what and where. Even so, the initial dynamic is prickly; John, not accustomed to being questioned by a “mere translator,” views such behavior as borderline insubordination. (“Actually,” Ahmed retorts at one point, “I’m here to interpret.”) Gyllenhaal’s gaze and attitude stop just shy of being condescending or racist; John simply is more accustomed to strict protocol and the military chain of command.

 

Salim, in turn, grants Ahmed a multitude of depth via his expression and body language: intelligence, wariness, quiet nobility and — most of all — mild amusement, at the arrogance of Americans who claim to “know better.”

 

When the unit is deployed once again on the house-by-house search of a nearby village, Ahmed’s initial efforts to help — outside his interpreter duties — are rebuffed by John, who nonetheless notes the accuracy of the new man’s input. A few sorties later, armed with information on two potential Taliban IED manufacturing sites, Ahmed’s instincts prove very helpful during a drive to the first.

Judy Blume Forever: And that's the way it should be!

Judy Blume Forever (2023) • View trailer

Four stars (out of five). Not rated, with PG-level sexual candor

Available via: Amazon Prime

By Derrick Bang

Although this charming documentary undoubtedly was timed to debut in tandem with next week’s big-screen release of Are You There, God? It’s Me, Margaret, it ironically coincides with an alarming — and shameful — tsunami of ultra-conservative book banning and library de-funding.

 

Judy Blume donated her entire archives — including some unpublished early works — to
the Yale Library in October 2017. One of this film's most charming sequences finds her
in the library, reading excerpts from some of the many thousands of letters she received
from devoted young fans.

Ironic, because five of Blume’s books have appeared on the American Library Association’s list of the 100 most frequently “challenged” books in the United States.

(Needless to say, she’s in very good company, alongside Maya Angelou, John Steinbeck, J.D. Salinger, John Green, Toni Morrison, Harper Lee and — you’ll love this — The Holy Bible, among many others.)

 

Blume, a spry and feisty 83 years young, narrates much of her own story in Davina Pardo and Leah Wolchok’s thoroughly engaging film. In addition to Blume’s astonishing ability to vividly recall events going back to her childhood, such memories are supplemented by excerpts from the thousands upon thousands of personal letters she has received.

 

Some of those fans became lifetime correspondents; two of them — Lorrie Kim and Karen Chilstrom — are interviewed here, with portions of their letters read aloud and displayed on-camera.

 

It quickly becomes clear that few authors have so deeply touched young readers, many of whom came to regard Blume as a surrogate parent: the only person in their lives who not only “gets it,” but gets them.

 

Additional on-camera high praise comes from celebrities and influencers such as Lena Dunham, Samantha Bee and Molly Ringwald, also among many others. Further details are revealed during archival media interviews with Gene Shalit, Joan Rivers and David Letterman.

 

Blume, born in 1938 as Judith Sussman, was a self-described “anxious Jewish child,” who — after seeing movie theater newsreel footage of liberated Nazi death camps — didn’t entirely believe it when her mother insisted “That won’t happen here.” Growing up in New Jersey, young Judy spent much of her time in the library; as a teenager, she was profoundly affected by three (!) airplane crashes in her hometown of Elizabeth, in 1951 and ’52, which claimed the lives of 118 people (an emotionally shattering period she ultimately dealt with in her 2015 novel, In the Unlikely Event).

 

Perhaps more telling, Blume admits that she never was able to ask her mother personal questions, particularly anything having to do with one’s body.

Somewhere in Queens: Family strife writ noisily

Somewhere in Queens (2023) • View trailer

Four stars (out of five). Rated R, for frequent profanity

Available via: Movie theaters

By Derrick Bang 

Parents sometimes lose their way, when it comes to an honest assessment of what’s best for their children.

 

As oft has been said, The road to hell is paved with good intentions.

 

Leo and Angela (Ray Romano and Laurie Metcalf) are astonished — shocked, even — to
discover that their painfully shy son has a girlfriend: a detail that he has failed to
share with them.

There’s a tendency, at first blush, to assume that Ray Romano’s new film — which he directed, co-wrote (with Mark Stegemann) and stars in — occupies the territory he mined so well during the decade-long run of television’s Everybody Loves Raymond. Comparisons are easy, given that the focus here also is on messy, complicated family dynamics.

But while there’s plenty to chuckle at, this film’s overall atmosphere is more subtly tense, some of the relationships genuinely toxic. 

 

Leo and Angela Russo (Romano and Laurie Metcalf) enjoy a simple but mostly happy life in an Italian-American enclave of boisterous family and neighborhood friends. Sunday dinners are a raucous ritual — laden with profanity-laced shouting and frequent breaking of balls — that includes matriarch Rose Marie (Karen Lynn Gorney); Leo’s father, Dominic, aka “Pops” (Tony Lo Bianco); Leo’s younger brother Frank (Sebastian Maniscalco) and his two adult sons, Luigi and Marco (Franco Maicas and Adam Kaplan); their younger sister Rosa (Deirdre Friel); Leo and Angela’s son, nicknamed “Sticks” (Jacob Ward); and Uncle Pete (Jon Manfrellotti).

 

Occasional larger-scale events — weddings, christenings and so forth — are even noisier affairs that take place amid the cheesy atmosphere of the laughably named Versailles Palace, where scores of families mingle, drink and dance to the enthusiastic chatter and platters spun by DJ Joey Bones (Erik Griffin, a total hoot).

 

Leo’s working life, however, is somewhat fraught. Although amiably content to be part of the family construction business alongside Pops and Frank, this involves tolerating an endless stream of emotional abuse from both. Frank has long been the “chosen one” in Pops’ eyes, and — as such — misses no opportunity to belittle his older brother; worse yet, Frank has raised his two sons to echo such sentiments whenever possible. 

 

Maicas and Kaplan play them as obnoxious, under-educated thugs who probably grew up pulling the wings off flies.

 

Leo goes along to get along; he has long shrugged this off, in great part because he lives for Sticks’ weekly high school basketball games. Although emotionally withdrawn and painfully shy, the young man truly comes alive on a basketball court, where he has blossomed into a star athlete. Indeed, the first act features a superbly choreographed and edited — and tremendously exciting — season-ending match against the area’s top-seeded school.

 

Renfield: It'll take a bite outta you!

Renfield (2023) • View trailer

3.5 stars (out of five). Rated R, for appallingly bloody violence, gore, relentless profanity and brief drug use

Available via: Movie theaters

By Derrick Bang • Published in The Davis Enterprise, 4.14.23

“Tasteless” isn’t nearly strong enough to describe this deranged little flick.

 

Deplorably, gratuitously tasteless comes closer. 

 

But — forgive me — it’s also hilarious. And quite entertaining.

 

Every time Renfield (Nicholas Hoult, right) tries to show a bit of independence, his
master, Dracula (Nicolas Cage), reminds him — quite painfully — that his fate has
been sealed for a long, long time.

Nicolas Cage has again revived his moribund career, this time by making the extremely risky decision to lampoon himself: a choice that merely accelerated the decline of lesser film stars. But Cage actually has a talent for self-ridicule, as demonstrated by last year’s unexpectedly droll The Unbearable Weight of Massive Talent.

And, let’s face it: Who better to sink his baroquely overacting teeth into a modern-day incarnation of Count Dracula?

 

Director Chris McKay, teamed here with writers Ryan Ridley and Robert Kirkman — the latter primarily responsible for the Walking Dead franchise — have orchestrated a cheeky, relentlessly profane and gory take on everybody’s favorite vampire.

 

That said, the infamous Count isn’t really the focus of this tale. That honor belongs to the title character: Dracula’s loyal lackey and aide-de-camp, better known as a “Familiar,” and played to British stiff-upper-lip perfection by Nicholas Hoult.

 

And ya gotta love the premise: Robert Montague Renfield is introduced as a member of a support group for victims of abusive partners, friends and work associates.

 

His presence is twofold. Ostensibly, but without going into detail, he admits to being hyper-controlled by an impressively “toxic boss” (as glaring an understatement as one could imagine). But he’s also on the prowl for fresh victims for ol’ Drac, reasoning that the best way to prevent human monsters from abusing their prey, is to, ah, “introduce” them to his own monster.

 

Since such two-legged blood bags rarely come to Dracula’s lair of their own accord, Renfield is able to, ah, “persuade” them via his own impressively agile and hyper-strong talents, courtesy of just a “touch” of Drac’s powers, which the count bestowed eons ago.

 

These talents kick into gear whenever Renfield eats a bug. (Bram Stolker’s Renfield notoriously ate flies and death’s-head moths. But wasn’t granted super-powers.)

 

Unfortunately, this particularly section of New Orleans — where Dracula and Renfield have set up headquarters in the basement of a long-abandoned hospital — is in thrall to a drug-running crime family run by the ruthless Bellafrancesca Lobo (Shohreh Aghdashloo) and her feckless son, Teddy (Ben Schwartz). When Renfield’s newest, um, “acquisitions” happen to be in the Lobo syndicate’s cross-hairs, all hell breaks loose.

Air: A perfect swish

Air (2023) • View trailer

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

Available via: Movie theaters

By Derrick Bang • Published in The Davis Enterprise, 4.7.23

Nothing beats a story well told.

 

Nike’s early effort to partner with basketball’s Michael Jordan seems an unlikely topic for a fact-based mainstream drama, but in director Ben Affleck’s hands, the result is mesmerizing.

 

The magic moment: Nike creative guru Peter Moore (Matthew Mayer, left) outlines his
innovative shoe design plan for sports scout Sonny Vaccaro (Matt Damon, center) and
marketing VP Rob Strasser (Jason Bateman).

And that remains true, every minute, even though we all know this saga’s outcome.

 

Credit Affleck’s sublime handling of a cast that dazzles in every scene, along with William Goldenberg’s staccato editing and scripter Alex Convery’s sharp, shrewd and thoroughly absorbing script; it positively roars with captivating, Aaron Sorkin-style dialogue that sizzles when delivered by this roster of accomplished scene-stealers.

 

Who knew sports endorsements could be so fascinating?

 

Affleck opens with a lightning-quick montage of iconic early 1980s moments, movies, products, TV commercials and cultural touchstones: the perfect way to establish the struggling effort of distant-third Nike to establish itself as a basketball-branded shoe, running dead last behind Converse and Adidas.

 

The former had Magic Johnson and Larry Bird; the latter had the “cool” factor that made it the shoe kids wanted to wear. Adidas also had its eyes on draft pick Michael Jordan, a hot-prospect guard from the University of North Carolina.

 

The problem, as former NBA draft pick-turned-Nike exec Howard White (Chris Tucker) explains to colleague and basketball scout Sonny Vaccaro (Matt Damon), is one of image. In a ferociously funny, rat-a-tat lecture delivered in Tucker’s inimitable style, Howard points out that Nike is “known” for making jogging shoes … and no Black kid would be caught dead jogging.

 

Up to this point — as the story begins — Sonny hasn’t had much success recruiting top players to the Oregon-based company’s basketball division. The situation has become so dire, the board of directors is threatening to shutter the basketball division. 

 

“I told you not to take the company public,” Sonny laments, to friend and Nike founder/CEO Phil Knight (Affleck).

 

Sonny — who lives and breathes basketball, and has an instinct for talent — can’t get enthusiastic about any of the other draft pick candidates; he’s interested solely in Jordan. But the rising young star has eyes solely for Adidas, and doesn’t even want to hear from Nike. Nor will Jordan’s shark-in-the-waters agent, David Falk (Chris Messina) — despite a respectful professional kinship with Sonny — do anything to facilitate such a meeting.

 

Sonny shares his frustration with longtime friend and Nike marketing VP Rob Strasser (Jason Bateman), who is sympathetic but similarly stymied. And it must be noted that the dynamic between these four men — Sonny, Phil, Howard and Rob — is strained, as is the atmosphere within Nike’s headquarters. 

 

Even so — even when tempers are so frequently frayed — Affleck and Convery never lose track of the camaraderie, friendship and loyalty that bond these guys.

 

Pinball: The Man Who Saved the Game — Terrific bumper action!

Pinbal: The Man Who Saved the Game (2023) • View trailer

Four stars (out of five). Not rated, with PG-level sexual banter and mild profanity

Available via: Amazon Prime and other streaming platforms

By Derrick Bang

Who could have guessed that two fact-based films about gaming — Tetris and this one — would be released simultaneously?

 

Even less likely: Both are quite entertaining, in entirely different ways.

 

While Ellen (Crystal Reed) watches with delight, Roger (Mike Faist) gives her son,
Seth (Christopher Convery), some handy pinball tips.

Brothers Austin and Meredith Bragg — in an impressive writing/directing feature debut — have delivered a charming little film that’s practically its own category: equal parts docudrama, rom-com and (at times) mockumentary. 

However their film ultimately gets pigeon-holed, there’s no denying the gently whimsical touch that deftly balances established history, a charming romantic core, and droll meta touches that impishly poke fun at the making of this film, (supposedly) while it’s being made.

 

No less than New Yorker critic Richard Brody insists that “it’s better than all ten of the [2022] Best Picture nominees.”

 

I can’t go quite that far, but his enthusiasm is understandable.

 

The Brothers Bragg open their film as Roger C. Sharpe (Dennis Boutsikaris), circa today, is prepped in a studio chair, awaiting interview questions from unseen filmmakers. The topic: how he — Sharpe — literally “saved” pinball in New York City.

 

Sharpe demurs, insisting that he’s no more than a “footnote.” Yet he remains willing to tell the story, but only — sharp insistence, accompanied by Boutsikaris’ steely gaze — on his terms.

 

At which point we roll back to 1971, when a much younger Roger (now endearingly played by Mike Faist), while a student at the University of Wisconsin, has his first encounter with a true “pinball wizard.” Immediately intrigued by the possibility of prolonging a game for more than a quick couple of minutes, Roger becomes obsessed.

 

At which point the older Sharpe suddenly reappears, essentially looking over his younger self’s shoulder, in order to supply essential back-story. Boutsikaris continues to serve as on-camera narrator while the film continues: an initially disorienting device that quickly becomes an essential part of the story (thanks in no small part to Boutsikaris’ quiet sincerity).

 

Sharpe also occasionally interrupts on-screen events, insisting that the filmmakers are taking too much dramatic license in an effort to insert a “Hollywood touch.” Such objections noted, a given scene is re-staged to be more historically accurate.

 

(Wisely, the Brothers Bragg employ this gimmick sparingly.)

 

A few years pass. Roger graduates, moves to New York City, gets married, lands a job as an advertising copywriter, gets divorced — a lucky escape, given available evidence — loses his job, and loses most of his furnishings (such accoutrements having been supplied by his former wife’s family’s furniture store). Sleeping on a mattress on the floor, forced to improvise rough-and-ready plank bookshelves, Roger impulsively decides to become a journalist.