Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny: A (mostly) fond farewell

Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny (2023) • View trailer

Four stars (out of five). Rated PG-13, for intense action violence and fleeting profanity

Available via: Movie theaters

By Derrick Bang • Published in The Davis Enterprise, 6.30.23

This slam-bang adventure opens with a prologue that finds Harrison Ford’s surprisingly youthful Indy battling Nazis as they loot Berlin, prior to the city’s fall in the spring of 1945.

 

We briefly wonder: Has director James Mangold resurrected unused footage left over from a previous film?

 

Trying to keep an eye on his, larcenous, long-estranged goddaughter, Helena (Phoebe
Waller-Bridge) proves increasingly difficult for Indy (Harrison Ford), particularly with
a bevy of bad guys hot on their heels.

But no, this is CGI “youthifying” to a truly astonishing degree. (The illusion cracks a few times, fleetingly, but only if you watch very closely.)

This fracas establishes what will become the story’s ongoing clashes between Indy and the nefarious Dr. Jürgen Voller (Mads Mikkelsen), over possession of the Antikythera, an artifact also known as the Archimedes Dial. For reasons unknown when the story begins, the famed Greek mathematician broke the mechanism into two halves, one of which is stashed on a train bearing the Nazis’ stolen plunder.

 

Cue an action-packed melee within and atop the aforementioned moving train, between Indy — accompanied by his overwhelmed Oxford colleague, Basil Shaw (Toby Jones) — and scores of Nazis led by the hissably unpleasant Col. Weber (Thomas Kretschmann). Voller, on the sidelines, has his own agenda.

 

(It’s a shame that what ultimately becomes a mano a mano skirmish between Indy and Weber, atop the train, features many of the same stunts, moves and details employed by Tom Cruise in Mission Impossible: Dead Reckoning, Part One, due in two weeks. Did these two production teams spy on each other?)

 

Cut to Aug. 3, 1969, the day the Apollo 11 astronauts are feted with a New York City ticker tape parade; and also the final day of teaching at Hunter College for an older, wearier and somewhat disillusioned Professor Jones. Not that any of his students will notice, since they have absolutely no interest in archaeology.

 

But one surprise visitor does: Basil’s daughter — and Indy’s goddaughter — Helena (Phoebe Waller-Bridge), whom he hasn’t seen for years. She’s full of praise and questions, the latter quickly turning to the long-unseen partial Archimedes Dial. Believing her interest to be sincere, Indy reveals that it is indeed in his possession.

 

Elsewhere, in a posh hotel room, Voller and his neo-Nazi associate, Klaber (Boyd Holbrook) — along with their hulking man-mountain, Hauke (Olivier Richter), and a few other lackeys — have a chilling encounter with the Black porter (Alton Fitzgerald White) who delivers breakfast. Voller is contemptuous; White’s expression, body language and reply are sublime.

 

Alas, Voller’s men crash Indy and Helena’s reunion, demanding the Archimedes dial. Worse yet, during the ensuing fracas, Helena reveals her true stripes: She’s a career con artist, liar and thief. She snatches the dial, manages to elude everybody, and — to Indy’s disappointment and horror — swiftly departs the country in order to sell the artifact to the highest black market bidder in Tangier.

Asteroid City: A heaping helping of peculiar

Asteroid City (2023) • View trailer

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

Available via: Movie theaters

By Derrick Bang • Published in The Davis Enterprise, 7.7.23

Calling filmmaker Wes Anderson “eccentric” is like saying the Pope is slightly Catholic. The word doesn’t begin to convey the vast scope of Anderson’s outré sensibilities.

 

The motel manager (Steve Carell, left) is distracted by another atomic bomb test,
when J.J. Kellogg (Liev Schreiber, right) and his son Clifford (Aristou Meehan) arrive
in Asteroid City.

As one would expect, the results have been mixed. ranging from dazzling hits (The Grand Budapest Hotel, Fantastic Mr. Fox) to, shall we say, lesser efforts (The Darjeeling Limited, The French Dispatch).

But Anderson — a true artiste — remains undaunted, which is just fine; even his bizarre films are interesting … and everything he does is visually fascinating.

 

That’s certainly the case with Asteroid City, which is a dazzling display of architectural whimsy by Anderson, production designer Adam Stockhausen, and the art direction team headed by Stéphane Cressend. I mean, like wow; you’ve never seen so many pastels. They’ve gotta be Oscar-nominated.

 

Whether this colorful setting is supported by an equally compelling story … is another matter. Anderson and co-writer Roman Coppola’s script is, ah, really Out There.

 

The film begins in standard-ratio black and white, as a host (Bryan Cranston) presents the back-story to the newest production by celebrated playwright Conrad Earp (Edward Norton). We subsequently become the “audience,” as a huge cast of actors present the play in three acts (plus an epilogue). These dominant portions of the film are in stylized wide-screen pastels, sumptuously staged by cinematographer Robert D. Yeoman.

 

The actors occasionally break character in between scenes, which adds yet another (often confusing) layer to the story-within-a-story.

 

The year is 1955, the setting Asteroid City, a dot-on-the-map desert community — population 87 — in the American Southwest. The enclave includes a luncheonette, a gas station, a phone booth, an unfinished highway ramp, and a motel comprising a dozen or so cute little bungalows.

 

The city is named for its regional monument: a massive crater created by the grapefruit-size Arid Plains Meteorite, also on display. Small radio telescopes and an observatory can be seen not far away.

 

The occasion is Asteroid Day, a celebration which has gathered five junior scientists and their families; master of ceremonies Gen. Grif Gibson (Jeffrey Wright) acknowledges each teen’s fabulous invention with an award, followed by the presentation of the annual Hickenlooper Scholarship to one of the quintet.

 

Maggie Moore(s): Dire doings writ dark

Maggie Moore(s) (2023) • View trailer

3.5 stars (out of five). Rated R, for violence, drug use, fleeting nudity, sexual candor and relentless profanity

Available via: Amazon Prime and other streaming services

By Derrick Bang

Director John Slattery and writer Paul Bernbaum are in Coen Brothers territory — most particularly 1996’s Fargo — with this macabre little crime thriller.

 

Rita (Tina Fey) and Sanders (Jon Hamm) would have a hard time connecting under
the best of circumstances; it's even more difficult in the middle of a murder investigation.

The tone veers wildly between larkish and horrifying, the occasional dollops of humor in a dark-dark-dark vein. The story is anchored by star Jon Hamm, note-perfect as an amiable local sheriff trying to focus on his job, but still emotionally reeling from his wife’s untimely death a year ago.

The setting is contemporary, in a small New Mexico desert community. (Filming took place in and around Albuquerque.) A prologue finds Sanders and his deputy, Reddy (Nick Mohammed, immediately recognized from TV’s Ted Lasso), examining the body of a woman killed in a motel parking lot. When ID reveals her name — Maggie Moore — Sanders and Reddy exchange a perplexed look.

 

We then flash back 10 days, and meet Jay Moore (Micah Stock) a hapless schnook who runs a Subway-style chain eatery called Castle Subs, and is unlucky enough to have a wife (Maggie) whose expensive tastes are bleeding him white. As a means of staving off creditors, he has been getting rancid, long-expired meats and cheeses from Liberty Bell Foods, a dodgy outfit run by local slimeball Tommy T (Derek Basco, appropriately smarmy), in exchange for child pornography (!).

 

Jay and Maggie’s frequent screaming matches have been overheard by their next-door neighbor, Rita Grace (Tina Fey).

 

When Jay decides that killing his wife would be the best solution to his financial woes, Tommy T sends him to Kosco (Happy Anderson), a hulking mute whose portion of all conversations are written on yellow legal paper, which he immediately shreds before moving on to his next reply.

 

We don’t see what happens next, but — a day or two later — Reddy discovers a burned-out car with a body inside: charred to little more than a skeleton. When she’s identified as Maggie Moore, Sanders and Reddy naturally have a pointed chat with Jay, whose dismay seems genuine enough.

 

Sanders subsequently learns of the marital strife from Rita, and their mildly flirty banter suggests possibilities. Hamm and Fey are terrific together; her lively sense of smart-assed mischief is well balanced by his world-weary amusement. This role is solidly in Hamm’s wheelhouse, and just as entertaining as his handling of the sardonic title role in last year’s Confess, Fletch. He excels at the deadpan I-don’t-believe-a-word-you’re-saying expression.

No Hard Feelings: Not so sure about that

No Hard Feelings (2023) • View trailer

Three stars (out of five). Rated R, for sexual content, graphic nudity, brief drug use and relentless profanity

Available via: Movie theaters

By Derrick Bang • Published in The Davis Enterprise, 6.23.23

Director Gene Stupnitsky’s bawdy entry can’t decide what it wants to be.

 

At times, it displays the energetic, no-holds-barred raunch typical of classics such as The 40-Year-Old Virgin, Bridesmaids and There’s Something About Mary. A scrappy beach fight scene here is the stuff of cinema legend.

 

After an enjoyable day at the local boardwalk, Maddie (Jennifer Lawrence) is
delighted by the prize that Percy (Andrew Barth Feldman) has won for her.

But at other times we’re expected to empathize with the two primary characters as authentic people, with credible feelings and angst.

It’s almost impossible to achieve both goals; the former too frequently undercuts the latter … particularly given the mean-spiritedness of Stupnitsky and John Phillips’ script. The line between funny and cruel is very thin, and this film too frequently slides onto the wrong side.

 

Maddie Barker (Jennifer Lawrence), a longtime resident of the Long Island village of Montauk, is appalled by how incoming rich jerks have transformed her community. Rising property taxes are threatening the house in which she grew up, and which holds the memory of her late mother. Maddie’s jobs as bar maid and Uber driver no longer keep up with the bills, and — as this story begins — her car is repossessed by former short-term lover Gary (Ebon Moss-Bachrach).

 

Now reduced to getting around on roller skates, and lacking the additional Uber income, the situation rapidly becomes even more dire. Then Maddie is alerted to an unusual Craigslist job listing from wealthy helicopter parents seeking somebody to “date” their introverted 19-year-old son, and bring him out of his shell before he leaves for Princeton in the fall. The payment: a free Buick Regal.

 

The quotation marks around the word “date” are telling.

 

Although the set-up smells uncomfortably like pimping, Maddie is desperate … and pragmatic; her love life has been limited to a long string a short-timers and one-night stands. How different could this be?

 

She therefore arranges to meet Laird and Allison Becker (Matthew Broderick and Laura Benanti, both deadpan hilarious), who live in a cluelessly privileged world. Their son, Percy (Andrew Barth Feldman), has no friends, rarely leaves his room, and hasn’t learned to drive; his parents worry that Princeton will eat him alive.

 

Although their ad specified a woman in her “young 20s,” Maddie argues that her 32-year-old self is guaranteed to be “more sensitive” to the situation. (Lawrence is indeed 32.) Laird and Allison accept this rationale, and caution that Percy must never know about the arrangement. (Well, no kidding.) They explain that he volunteers at a local animal shelter, and suggest that Maddie visit as a potential dog adopter.

 

At which point, this film goes off the rails for the first time (and certainly not the last).

Stan Lee: Biased and banal

Stan Lee (2023) • View trailer

Two stars (out of five). Rated TV-14, for no particular reason

Available via: Disney+

By Derrick Bang

The best part of director David Gelb’s affectionate documentary is that Stan Lee narrates his own story throughout, thanks to audio clips culled from numerous media appearances, and extensive interviews conducted shortly before he died in 2018.

 

But that’s also a liability, because — as can be confirmed by anybody who has paid attention, for the past half-century — the only thing larger than Lee’s creative talent was his ego. He was incapable of acknowledging the importance of equally gifted colleagues.

(Walt Disney had the same failing, claiming proprietary credit — and 22 Academy Awards — while conveniently overlooking the people who did the actual work.)

 

Following a promising first act, Gelb’s film devolves into one-sided hagiography: the film equivalent of Lee’s insufferably narcissistic books, 2002’s Excelsior! The Amazing Life of Stan Lee and 2015’s Amazing, Fantastic, Incredible: A Marvelous Memoir. 

 

(Sean Howe’s Marvel Comics: The Untold Story gives a far more balanced view of what actually occurred.)

 

Gelb’s failure to adopt an impartial approach is unfortunate, because Lee’s early career would be no less impressive.

 

He was born Stanley Martin Lieber in New York City on Dec. 28, 1922. From a young age, he wanted to make something of himself — to gain steady employment — in great part because his father was so frequently out of work. Young Stanley’s first job was as an office boy “for the city’s second-largest trouser manufacturer,” but that stint proved brief; he was fired the week before Christmas.

 

In 1939, he became the “third assistant office boy” for Martin Goodman’s fledgling Timely Publications, which immediately unleashed a wealth of pulp magazines, digest-sized magazines and comic books. The latter debuted with Marvel Comics No. 1, released in October that year; the cover story featured the Human Torch.

 

Numerous other titles quickly followed, featuring superheroes such as the Sub-Mariner, the Patriot, the Angel, the Destroyer and — most significantly — Captain America. Jack Kirby did much of the artwork, alongside writer Joe Simon; both are heard briefly, as they recall those early days.

Elemental: Burns brightly

Elemental (2023) • View trailer

Four stars (out of five). Rated PG, for no particular reason

Available via: Movie theaters

By Derrick Bang • Published in The Davis Enterprise, 6.16.23

Pixar’s new fantasy is just as sneakily subversive as 2015’s Inside Out.

 

I continue to be impressed by the way the animation studio’s writers — in this case, Peter Sohn, John Hoberg, Kat Likkel and Brenda Hsueh — work so much real-world relevance into their wildly imaginative stories. On top of which, the strong note of “working hard to get along” is sorely needed these days.

 

While watery Wade looks on happily, fiery Ember does her best to handle his mother
Brook's effusive greeting.

Ember Lumen (voiced by Leah Lewis) is a second-generation transplant to the metropolis of Element City, a realm of Fire-, Water-, Air- and Earth-residents. Her parents — Bernie (Ronnie Del Carmen) and Cinder (Shila Ommi) — left their native Fireland decades ago, in order to grant their daughter a better life. They arrived with little more than a blue flame representing their heritage, and worked hard to turn their new shop, Fireplace, into a popular success.

Bernie is nearing retirement age, and has long promised that Ember will inherit the family business. Unfortunately, the impatient and (ahem) hot-headed young woman has an explosive temper that isn’t conducive to customer interactions.

 

Some structural mishaps bring their shop to the attention of city inspector Wade Ripple (Mamoudou Athie), a Water guy who takes his job seriously. That said, such responsibilities frequently conflict with his compassionate nature; issuing tickets often makes him burst into tears.

 

(“He’s the type of character that’ll cry at a diaper commercial,” notes director Peter Sohn.)

 

Circumstances — and a citywide mystery — force Ember and Wade together, despite the danger that they pose to each other. And while their slowly developing relationship mirrors countless romantic comedies that begin with an oil-and-vinegar couple, the writers here have far more on their minds.

 

Wade is as laid back and gentle as Ember is uptight and passionate. But Wade also is a perceptive listener: a “mirror character” who allows Ember to see herself better. This is crucial, because she has long suppressed a talented artistic side. Truth be told, she doesn’t really want to take over the family business … but she also doesn’t want to disrespect her old-school parents.

 

What’s a loving daughter to do?

 

Yep, we once again have the push/pull that finds a young adult caught between personal ambition — a desire to blaze one’s own trail — and parental expectations. This is handled poignantly, and with gentle good humor; the same is true of the parallel narrative that finds Ember and Wade struggling to look beyond their (blatantly obvious) surface differences, to forge a bond.

 

The Blackening: Not such a much

The Blackening (2023) • View trailer

2.5 stars (out of five). Rated R, for violence, drug use and relentless profanity

Available via: Movie theater

By Derrick Bang

Given the clichés and predictable plot pitfalls into which most modern horror films fall, director Tim Story and his writers — Tracy Oliver and Dewayne Perkins — deserve credit for some cogent social commentary, and for trying to shake things up a bit.

 

With no clue where their attacker might be hiding, Lisa (Antoinette Robertson) arms
herself with a heavy wooden candle holder ... and lots of prayers.

Alas, “trying” is as far as they get. At the end of the day, this becomes just another tiresome example of the “idiot plot” … which lurches forward, from one moment to the next, solely because each and every character behaves like an idiot at all times.

On top of which, these are insufferable chatty idiots.

 

Not even halfway through this increasingly tiresome flick, one wishes everybody would shut up for 5 minutes, so that Story and editor Peter S. Elliot could generate some actual tension.

 

The setting is ye old cabin in the woods (although, as one character points out, it’s more a good-sized house than a cramped cabin). Lisa (Antoinette Robertson, a plucky heroine) and her long-unseen college friends — King (Melvin Gregg), Allison (Grace Byers), Nnamdi (Sinqua Walls), Clifton (Jermaine Fowler, badly overplaying his role), Dewayne (Perkins) and Shanika (X Mayo) — have gathered for a Juneteenth reunion. The sole items on the agenda: recreational drugs, too much alcohol, a bit of sex and a weekend-long Spades marathon. 

 

(The card game, of course.) 

 

(But yes, that choice is a bit on the nose.)

 

Pretty much before anybody can blink, they all wind up trapped in the “Game Room,” which features a game called The Blackening. The game board’s centerpiece is an offensively retro, three-dimensional, minstrel-style face … which talks. 

 

It instructs them to play the game, which consists of Trivial Pursuit-style cards designed to test their knowledge of Black culture: “Name five Black actors who guest-starred on Friends,” “Recite the second verse of the Black National Anthem,” and so forth.

 

Within 60 seconds, for each question. 

 

Failure to play along … will result in death.

 

What this septet doesn’t know — what we’ve already seen, during the story’s prologue — is that the first two guests, Shawn (Jay Pharoah) and Morgan (Yvonne Orji), arrived earlier, and immediately ran afoul of a hulking thug in a blackface mask, wielding a wicked crossbow.

The Flash: Merely trots

The Flash (2023) • View trailer

3.5 stars (out of five). Rated PG-13, for action violence, profanity and partial nudity

Available via: Movie theater

By Derrick Bang

We’ve understood the dangers of messing with the past, ever since the 1952 publication of Ray Bradbury’s classic short story, “A Sound of Thunder.”

 

With Batman (Michael Keaton) piloting his Batplane, Barry Allen and his younger self
(both Ezra Miller) ponder how to save the alternate universe that The Flash
unintentionally screwed up.

We even have a name for it: the “Butterfly Effect” (actually coined in 1972 by meteorologist Edward Lorenz, to explain how small changes in one place can produce large differences elsewhere, via chaos theory … but sci-fi fans subsequently made the phrase their own).

Apparently Barry Allen never read Bradbury’s story, nor does he heed the sage advice of Bruce Wayne. With the rashness of those who believe they somehow can circumvent established universal order, Barry…

 

…but wait. That’s getting ahead of things.

 

Director Andy Muschietti’s new entry in the big-screen DC Superhero Universe opens with a bang, as The Flash (Ezra Miller) and Batman (Ben Affleck) scramble to avert a man-made catastrophe, while being aided remotely by the latter’s capable butler, Alfred (Jeremy Irons). This action-packed prologue almost concludes in heartbreak and tears, until a last-minute save by another familiar DCU warrior.

 

Then, once Flash resumes his civilian identity of police forensic scientist Barry Allen, he’s heartbroken to watch as his incarcerated father (Ron Livingston) loses his final chance to prove that he didn’t kill his wife (Maribel Verdú), back when Barry was just a young boy … a crime for which the adult Barry knows his father has been unjustly accused.

 

But can’t prove it.

 

When he suddenly realizes that he can run fast enough to enter a “time bubble” that reveals all past events, Barry recklessly changes what he believes is the trivial event which will alter that long-ago outcome for both his parents.

 

Sigh. So foolish…

 

At first blush, Christina Hodson and Joby Harold’s script adds a welcome dollop of Marvel Universe-style humor to what has been a string of dour, grimly violent DCU entries. Barry, Bruce and Alfred exchange dry asides during the aforementioned prologue, and there’s a strong sense of fun in The Flash’s quick-witted rescue of the many infants in a hospital Newborn Nursery unit.

 

It’s clever, as well — and a great ongoing gag — that the all-too-human Barry must eat voraciously, and constantly, in order to replenish the body fuel expended by his pell-mell dashes. (This guy definitely needs to rely on his wrist watch calorie counter.)

 

But I’m dismayed by the scripters’ decision to make Barry an insecure, stammering, tongue-tied dweeb with zero social skills. He’s embarrassing, particularly because Miller plays those characteristics so persuasively. I can’t imagine why his fellow Justice League members put up with him.

Flamin' Hot: Style and sizzle

Flamin' Hot (2023) • View trailer

3.5 stars (out of five). Rated PG-13, for brief profanity and fleeting drug use

Available via: Disney+ and Hulu

By Derrick Bang • Published in The Davis Enterprise, 6.9.23

I know what you’re thinking:

 

An entire feature film, focused solely on the creation of a snack food? Could this be anything but a 99-minute valentine to PepsiCo/Frito-Lay?

 

Judy (Annie Gonzalez), Richard (Jesse Garcia) and their elder son Lucky (Hunter Jones)
watch suspensefully, as younger son Steven (Brice Gonzalez) carefully tastes the
family's newest effort at an acceptably spicy Cheeto.

Actually … yes.

Thanks to director Eva Longoria’s enthusiastic approach, Lewis Colick and Linda Yvette Chávez’s cheeky script, and an always endearing performance by star Jesse Garcia, this fast-paced, rags-to-riches saga is quite entertaining: an inspirational, modern-day Horatio Alger story come to life.

 

On the other hand, the film’s claim to be a “true story” — as the press notes insist —should be taken with a raised eyebrow.

 

To quote the oft-repeated phrase from John Ford’s The Man Who Shot Liberty Valence, “When the legend becomes fact, print the legend.” Longoria and her writers clearly embraced that notion (about which, we’ll chat more in a bit).

 

Richard Montañez (Garcia) narrates his life-story, in amiable conversational voice-over, from a current-day vantage point. One of a multitude of children born into a Mexican American enclave in Southern California’s unincorporated community of Guasti, he grows up surrounded by the East Los Angeles vineyards where his family and their friends toil in those fields.

 

He also confronts institutional racism at an early age (played here by Carlos S. Sanchez), both in grade school and elsewhere. He meets Judy (Jayde Martinez), who shares his heritage; they become “two against the world.”

 

Flash-forward several years. Richard (now Garcia) has joined local gang-bangers led by longtime best friend Tony (Bobby Soto). Although a life in and out of prison seems inevitable, Richard’s devotion to Judy (now played by Annie Gonzalez) — they soon have two young sons — and a compassionate judge grant one last chance.

 

Better still, Tony — who also has “gone straight,” with a menial job at Frito-Lay — puts in a good word. During Richard’s subsequent interview, floor manager Lonny Mason (Matt Walsh) — despite quickly spotting the young man’s fabricated résumé — reluctantly hires him as a general utility machine operator (i.e. janitor). Richard promises to show grit, determination and a never-quit, can-do spirit.

 

On top of which, he comes armed with the magical powers of authentic Mexican food.

 

The latter comes in handy when Richard seeks guidance from longtime production engineer Clarence C. Baker (Dennis Haysbert). This disgruntled company veteran initially is suspicious of the young man’s enthusiasm, having spent years training people who then were promoted over him … likely for similarly racist reasons.

Reality: A tantalizing mystery

Reality (2023) • View trailer

Four stars (out of five). Rated TV-MA, for dramatic intensity

Available via: HBO and MAX

By Derrick Bang • Published in The Davis Enterprise, 6.2.23

Following a brief prologue, as a young woman drives to her home with a load of groceries, a text block informs us that “The FBI documented the following events with an audio recorder. The dialogue in this movie is taken entirely from the transcript of that recording.”

 

It begins innocuously, as FBI agents Garrick (Josh Hamilton) and Taylor (Marchánt Davis)
discuss little more than superficial topics with Reality Leigh Winner (Sydney Sweeney).
But the tone soon becomes much more serious...

Director Tina Satter’s fascinating little film isn’t a documentary; it’s a drama built from an unconventional “script” … and also is adapted from her 2019 play, This Is a Room. (That must’ve been riveting, given the intensity of a live stage performance.)

This version is fueled by a powerful performance from Sydney Sweeney, who recently competed against herself with Emmy Award nominations for The White Lotus and Euphoria (losing both, alas).

 

It’s impossible to take your eyes off her, whether in group shots or cinematographer Paul Yee’s probing close-ups. Sweeney’s expressions and posture range from blithely unconcerned to cheerfully animated, defiant to guilt-ridden. What’s most mesmerizing — and horrifying — is the degree to which her very “being” is incrementally taken apart, as these events proceed: like a jigsaw puzzle being disassembled, piece by piece.

 

The date is June 3, 2017, the setting Augusta, Georgia. The improbably named Reality Leigh Winner (Sweeney), 26 years old, has just returned from the aforementioned shopping trip. She’s greeted by two men who identify themselves as FBI agents Garrick (Josh Hamilton) and Taylor (Marchánt Davis).

 

They have questions.

 

Garrick, establishing himself as the congenial point guy, hastens to ensure that Reality understands her cooperation is voluntary (but never suggests that she contact a lawyer). He and Taylor further explain that they have a search warrant for her home (which they don’t bother to show her).

 

Reality is agreeable and cooperative; her gaze suggests confusion, bewilderment and just the right amount of concern. She seems an honest citizen, who wants to do the right thing … and yet she also doesn’t quite mask the undercurrent of terror that folks often experience, in the presence of unexpected authority.

 

Besides, the dynamic is just a little off. Garrick and Taylor appear to be going from some invisible, carefully rehearsed script. Despite the former’s jovial smile, they radiate censure and mild hostility. What are they after? What did she do… if anything?

 

(This incident flew beneath my radar, in the summer of 2017; ergo, Satter’s film remained an intriguing mystery until its third act, which won’t be the case with anybody who remembers how things went down back then. But if you’re similarly unaware, don’t spoil the suspense by researching Winner ahead of time.)

 

Garrick is friendly and sympathetic, particularly when Reality expresses concern about her pets: a frisky dog that “doesn’t like men” — Taylor snaps to wary attention — and a cat that won’t come out from under her bed. The two agents soon are joined by several carloads more, most notably a hulking guy (Benny Elledge) whose bored expression suggests impatience regarding the “dance” being choreographed by Garrick and Taylor.

 

Reality nonetheless is allowed to secure her pets (for which we are profoundly grateful).