Immediate Family: A thoroughly entertaining look at music legends

Immediate Family (2022) • View trailer

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

Available via: Hulu

By Derrick Bang • Published in The Davis Enterprise, 5.10.24

Everybody reading these words has heard these four guys perform.

 

You simply didn’t know it at the time.

 

Members of The Immediate Family — from left, Daniel "Danny Kootch" Kortchmar, Leland
Sklar, Waddy Wachtel, guitarist Steve Postel (new to the group) and Russ Kunkel —
stroll city streets like they own them. And, indeed, they do.

The quartet collectively known these days as The Immediate Family — guitarists Daniel “Danny Kootch” Kortchmar and Waddy Wachtel, bassist Leland Sklar, and drummer Russ Kunkel — entered the music scene in the late 1960s and early ’70s, when pop hits crooned by camera-ready headliners (but written by others) gave way to folk/rock singer/songwriters who composed and performed their own material.

Kootch, Wachtel, Sklar and Kunkel quickly became in-demand session musicians: the backing “shading artists” who brought memorable highlights to chart-topping tunes by this new crop of talent.

 

But as filmmaker Denny Tedesco makes clear in this thoroughly absorbing documentary — and you can’t watch it without constantly smiling — these guys weren’t overnight sensations. They’d all been honing their musical chops since early childhood.

 

Their histories unfold via a series of individual on-camera interviews, vintage clips, brief bits of cute animation, and playful banter between all four of them, seated together and inspiring each others’ memories.

 

Kootch, a native New Yorker, met then-unknown James Taylor when both were teenagers spending summers at Martha’s Vineyard. They subsequently formed a band dubbed The Flying Machine, which survived long enough to produce one album’s worth of songs (finally released, rather hypocritically, only after Taylor hit big with the album Sweet Baby James, on which Kootch also played backing guitar).

 

Taylor’s hit song, “Fire and Rain,” references this band with the phrase “sweet dreams and flying machines, in pieces on the ground.”

 

Kootch eventually gravitated to Los Angeles, where he became part of a trio dubbed The City, alongside Carole King. Following Sweet Baby James, Kootch backed King on her 1971 breakthrough album, Tapestry.

Ernest & Celestine: A Trip to Gibberitia — An adorable charmer

Ernest & Celestine: A Trip to Gibberitia (2022) • View trailer

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

Available via: Amazon Prime and other VOD options

By Derrick Bang • Published in The Davis Enterprise, 3.29.24

Back in early 2014, I was totally enchanted by the Belgian/French/Luxembourgian co-production of Ernest & Celestine, a darling little film that had debuted in its native countries two years earlier, but saw no exposure in the States — aside from a few film festivals — until home video release in June 2014.

 

The mysterious, jasked Mifasol refuses to abide by Gibberitia's repressive law against
music, much to the annoyance of the bear police patrol.

Thankfully, a decade later, film distribution options have changed dramatically. As a result, the equally captivating Ernest & Celestine: A Trip to Gibberitia is readily available via numerous video-on-demand services.

This sequel once again boasts the lush, hand-drawn watercolor beauty of early Disney animated films and the more recent efforts of Hayao Miyazaki, albeit in a gentler manner. Animation director Davy Durand and his team focus more on character; settings — building interiors, cityscapes — are simpler, often fading into the background.

 

As before, this saga is faithful to the look and atmosphere of the two dozen-plus children’s books published by Belgian author/illustrator Monique Martin, employing the nom de plume Gabrielle Vincent, derived from the first names of her grandparents. She concocted gentle adventures for best friends Celestine, a scrappy little mouse, and Ernest, a grumpy bear musician.

 

The franchise this time has been taken over by directors Julien Chheng and Jean-Christopher Roger, working with an original script by Guillaume Mautalent, Sébastien Oursel and Jean Regnaud, from an idea by Agnès Bidaud and Didier Brunner. (If this sounds like too many cooks in the kitchen, we’ll get back to that.)

 

The story begins on an exciting day, as Ernest (voiced by Andrew Kishino) wakens from his long winter hibernation. Celestine (Ashley Boettcher), thrilled to have her boon companion back, gets too excited and accidentally damages his beloved Stradibearius violin. He’s dismayed; she’s absolutely crushed (and nothing is more heartbreaking than Celestine looking and sounding forlorn).

 

The only person capable of repairing the violin is its maker, Octavious, who resides in Ernest’s homeland of Gibberitia. When Ernest inexplicably refuses to make that trip, Celestine — battered violin in its case — impulsively begins the journey without him.

 

That rouses Ernest, because he knows the route can be dangerous. Once reunited, the pair board a skyway that takes them into the heart of Gibberitia, which he has described as a magical place full of music and art. But their arrival in the town square is oddly quiet ... too quiet. Ernest’s attempt to play an accordion attracts a squad of angry bear police, who tell them that — according to Ernestov’s Law — all forms of music have been banned for many years.

 

(In a droll touch, pretty much every statement in Gibberitia ends in “-ov.”)

The 2023 Oscar Shorts: An engaging program

The Oscar Shorts (2022) • View trailer

Four stars (out of five). Not rated, with parental guidance strongly advised

Available via: Movie theaters

By Derrick Bang • Published in The Davis Enterprise, 2.24.23

Many of the past several years’ worth of Academy Award-nominated live-action shorts have been grim and unbearably depressing.

 

Happily, this year’s voters have regained their senses of balance and humor, while still focusing on relatable real-world issues. Rest assured: Two of them still pack a gut-punch.

 

Unhappily, the Academy members who selected the animated entries remain too willing to reward weird style over narrative substance: a shortcoming that definitely compromises two of those entries.

But let’s start on a happier animated note. Australian director Lachlan Pendragon’s An Ostrich Told Me the World Is Fake, and I Think I Believe It is a droll claymation riff on 1998’s The Truman Show (and further inspired, Pendragon explains, by the 1953 Chuck Jones Warner Bros. cartoon, “Duck Amuck”).

 

A young telemarketer has long focused on toaster sales in an office crowded with numerous phone-bank workers … until, quite unexpectedly, the large avian of this film’s title informs him of a much larger world beyond his office walls.

 

Suddenly made aware that he has no knowledge of his childhood or upbringing — as also is the case with all his co-workers — our hero’s disorientation shoots into hyperdrive after realizing that his actions are controlled by Something Out There.

 

Pendragon’s 11-minute film doesn’t really have a point, but it’s fun to watch.

 

That isn’t the case with Amanda Forbis and Wendy Tilby’s The Flying Sailor, a bizarre and clumsily animated depiction of an urban legend that emerged in the wake of the horrific 1917 Halifax Harbour explosion: the largest human-made explosion at the time, equivalent to 2.9 kilotons of TNT.

 

As the legend developed over time, an English sailor was sent skyward, blown out of his clothes, and landed — unharmed — two kilometers uphill. Canadians Forbis and Tilby intend their 7-minute short to be a parable on making peace with the moment, as one’s life flashes before panicked eyes … but the execution is too sloppy to be effective.

Armageddon Time: Heartbreaking growing pains

ArmageddonTime (2022) • View trailer

4.5 stars (out of five). Rated R, for profanity and drug use

Available via: Amazon Prime and other streaming options

By Derrick Bang

If Armageddon is viewed as the end of life as we know it, that’s also an apt description of the rude awakening experienced by an adolescent, the first time s/he is confronted by the world’s harsh realities.

 

When the emotional complexities of adolescence prove overwhelming, Paul
(Banks Repeta, left) knows that he can count on understanding and benevolent
wisdom from his Grampa Aaron (Anthony Hopkins).

Because that moment truly is the end of blissful childhood innocence.

Writer/director James Gray’s delicately nuanced, semi-autobiographical drama is both familiar and painfully intimate. It’s an excellent companion piece to Steven Spielberg’s The Fabelmans, with a similar focus on interpersonal dynamics and emotionally shattering revelations. Both families are Jewish, and this heritage plays a strong role in their lives. Both sets of parents have worked hard to be upwardly mobile, determined to create better opportunities for their children.

 

But whereas Spielberg’s protagonist ultimately finds release in artistic expression, it’s not entirely clear that Gray’s young alter-ego will be similarly successful.

 

His achingly poignant narrative gets additional punch from the well-crafted work by young Banks Repeta, starring here as Paul Graff. Film dramas often take place at a remove, with viewers aware of the distance between themselves and the characters on screen. Thanks to Gray’s sensitive direction, Repeta’s complex performance — and similarly excellent work from the supporting cast — that sense of distance vanishes. 

 

We frequently feel like interlopers, somehow eavesdropping on real-world events taking place in a home just a few doors down from our own.

 

The time is autumn 1979, the setting New York City at its worst. Paul lives with his parents Irving (Jeremy Strong) and Esther (Anne Hathaway), and older brother Ted (Ryan Sell), in a semi-detached two-family row house in Flushing, Queens. The story begins as Paul begins his first day of sixth grade at the local public school, where he immediately stakes out a reputation as a disruptor.

 

He’s intelligent and funny, but not particularly attentive.

 

Paul’s tendency toward disrespect continues at home, where he’s an insufferably picky eater, battles constantly with his brother, and frequently talks back to his mother. The Graff home — and dinner table — often are boisterous affairs laden with grandparents and other aging relatives. Paul’s behavior skates, in part, because his beloved Grandpa Aaron (Anthony Hopkins) understands that the boy still is finding himself.

 

Even so, while Paul remains a sympathetic character — for the most part — he often isn’t likable. (Not unusual for a kid that age.)

 

Marlowe: Rich, retro gumshoe ambiance

Marlowe (2022) • View trailer

Four stars (out of five). Rated R, for profanity, violence, sexual content and drug use

Available via: Movie theaters

By Derrick Bang

Noir fans will love this one.

 

Director Neil Jordan, always up for a challenge, has faithfully embraced the hard-bitten realm of Raymond Chandler’s laconic, world weary private detective, Philip Marlowe.

 

Marlowe (Liam Neeson) is seasoned enough to know it's unwise to fall for a client, but
Clare Cavendish (Diane Kruger) is rather hard to resist...

William Monahan’s screenplay draws from 2014’s The Black-Eyed Blonde, a Marlowe continuation novel authorized by the Chandler estate, and written by celebrated Irish author John Banville under the pseudonym Benjamin Black, which he has adopted as a pen name for his crime novels. 

Banville’s book is set during the 1950s, as befits a case taking place after Chandler’s final novel, 1958’s Playback, wherein Marlowe acknowledges his advanced age. Jordan and Monahan’s key change bounces these events back to October 1939, the year Chandler’s first Marlowe novel — The Big Sleep — was published.

 

It could be argued that star Liam Neeson, now in his early 70s, would have been a better fit for the seasoned 1950s Marlowe … but the actor slides so smoothly into the character’s shrewdly observant, quietly sardonic PI manner, that it scarcely matters.

 

Production designer John Beard has done a remarkable job of re-creating the Southern California metropolis of Bay City, Chandler’s fictitious depiction of Santa Monica (particularly since exterior filming took place in Barcelona, Spain). As befits the smoky noir atmosphere, cinematographer Xavi Giménez makes excellent use of light, dark, shadows and reflections, particularly during the story’s many nighttime settings.

 

Events kick off when chiffon blond heiress Clare Cavendish (Diane Kruger) hires Marlowe to find her lover, Nico Peterson, who has been missing for a fortnight. Marlowe and his new client spar verbally, amid mildly flirtatious overtones; she likes it when he uses her last name as her first name. Neeson and Kruger handle this exchange smoothly, further enhancing the tone we expect from a Chandler novel.

 

Marlowe senses that Clare isn’t being entirely candid; additional information requires patience. She eventually acknowledges that her husband Richard (Patrick Muldoon) loves only “polo, alcohol, waitresses … and my money.” Even so, it would appear that Nico was more than a passing fancy.

 

With help from cop friend Joe Green (Ian Hart), Marlowe soon learns that Nico is dead, having been run over by a car while exiting the posh, gated and heavily guarded Corbata Club: playground of the rich and dissolute. Club manager Floyd Hanson (Danny Huston), when Marlowe finally wheedles an interview, is brusque and unconcerned; the accident took place on the street outside the club gates, and — therefore — isn’t his concern.

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. 

 

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.

Glass Onion: Layers of delight

Glass Onion (2022) • View trailer

Four stars (out of five). Rated PG-13, for strong language, violence, sexual candor and drug content

Available via: Netflix

By Derrick Bang • Published in The Davis Enterprise, 12.30.22

Rian Johnson reminded me how much I miss well-crafted murder mysteries.

 

Consider a few classics: Sleuth, The Last of Sheila, Deathtrap, Gosford Park and The Usual Suspects. Each is a blend of twisty plotting and mildly snarky attitude.

 

Tech billionaire Miles Bron (Edward Norton, center) and several of his guests — from
left, Claire (Kathryn Hahn), Whiskey (Madelyn Cline), Lionel (Leslie Odom Jr.) and
Birdie (Kate Hudson) — are quite surprised by the identity of their gathering's
newest arrival.

The writer/director garnered well-deserved admiration for 2019’s Knives Out, which — among its many other delights — gave star Daniel Craig an opportunity to craft a memorable character far removed from a certain shaken-not-stirred secret agent.

We all wondered, when Craig’s second outing as sharp-eyed sleuth Benoit Blanc neared arrival, if Johnson could pull it off a second time. So many filmmakers have run afoul of the sophomore curse.

 

Well, not this one.

 

Glass Onion is just as clever — and engaging — as its predecessor. Although driven by a tantalizing whodunit and whydunit, those features almost take second place to the fact that this film is pure fun. At a time when numerous recent releases have run far too long in the hands of self-indulgent directors, this one earns its 139 minutes. Goodness, I wanted it to keep going.

 

Johnson’s fondness for the genre is obvious, and his new film is a loving — and cheekily updated — riff on Agatha Christie’s And Then There Were None.

 

The story begins as identical, elaborately carved wooden boxes are delivered to scientist Lionel Toussaint (Leslie Odom Jr.), Connecticut Gov. Claire Debella (Kathryn Hahn), fashion designer Birdie Jay (Kate Hudson) and macho streaming celebrity Duke Cody (Dave Bautista). Editor Bob Ducsay’s sleek split-screen montage reflects the fact that these are (of course!) large puzzle boxes, which the quartet ultimately solves via phone collaboration.

 

Inside: an invitation to a murder mystery weekend hosted by longtime friend and tech billionaire Miles Bron (Edward Norton), at his private island in Greece. His estate’s stand-out feature: a massive, glass-enclosed conservatory shaped like an onion.

 

Elsewhere, the recipient of a fifth box extracts her invitation via hilarious old-school methodology. (Whatever works, right?) She turns out to be Cassandra “Andi” Brand (Janelle Monáe), co-founder and former CEO of Bron’s tech company Alpha, unfairly ousted — not long ago — via some acrimonious legal maneuvering.

 

Everybody — most particularly Bron — is astonished when Blanc turns up, identical invitation in hand. The detective, unswervingly polite to the core, is embarrassed by having unwittingly crashed the party; Bron sets him at ease. After all, the cunningly conceived weekend will be far more successful if he’s able to outfox the world-famous Benoit Blanc.