Ella McCay: Savvy dramedy showcases a star on the rise

Ella McCay(2025) • View trailer

Four stars (out of five). Rated PG-13, for occasional profanity and fleeing drug content

Available via: Movie theaters

By Derrick Bang 

We don’t often get to witness such an extraordinary, star-making performance, but that’s certainly the case here.

 

(I vividly recall watching Emma Stone, in 2010’s rather modest Easy A, and knowing — with certainty — that she’d go far.)

 

When her father, Eddie (Woody Harrelson), once again lives down to lowest expectations,
Ella (Emma Mackey, center) has no time to react before her Aunt Helen (Jamie Lee
Curtis) — Eddie's sister — threatens to throttle him.

Actually, it’s not entirely fair to call Ella McCay a breakout role for star Emma Mackey — or Emma Margaret Marie Tachard-Mackey, to use her mellifluous full name — since she already made significant waves in the British 2019-23 TV series Sex Education. Even so, seeing her wholly inhabit this big-screen character — with every word, gesture, expression, flip of her hair and sideways glance so perfectly delivered — is enchanting.

Credit where due, Mackey is matched — scene for scene, moment for moment — by an equally riveting (and hilarious) performance by co-star Jamie Lee Curtis.

 

Writer/director James L. Brooks’ political-hued dramedy is an intentional throwback to classic, socially conscious screwball comedies such as His Girl Friday, Mr. Deeds Goes to Town and Sullivan’s Travels … but with a modern spin that reflects contemporary bureaucratic intransience. On top of which, Brooks also paints a deeply intimate portrait of estranged family dynamics and the difficulty of navigating — let alone moving beyond — festering old wounds.

 

The story is narrated by Julie Kavner — her gravelly voice immortalized forever as Marge Simpson — who cheekily breaks the fourth wall, during her introduction, to inform us of her role. Ella McCay (Mackey) debuts in mid-flurry, as a poised, caring, idealistic, ambitious and highly intelligent 34-year-old who happens to be Lt. Governor of an unidentified state. (Filming took place throughout Rhode Island.)

 

We’re scarcely given time to digest this, when her friend and mentor, affectionately known as Governor Bill (Albert Brooks), reveals that he has just accepted a cabinet position in the forthcoming presidential administration. He immediately resigns, leaving a breathless Ella to serve as governor for the remaining 14 months of his term.

 

However … with a little help from our narrator …

 

… we’re also whisked back in time, to Ella’s 16-year-old self, confronted by yet another extramarital scandal involving her father, Eddie (Woody Harrelson). It’s a crucial moment, and everybody is dressed to perfection; Eddie expects his family to stand united, at his side, as he confronts the reporters waiting outside the front door of their home.

The Secret Life of Pets: Too much bite, not enough bark

The Secret Life of Pets (2016) • View trailer 
3.5 stars. Rated PG, for no particularly reason
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 7.8.16

There’s such a thing as trying too hard.

This film’s concept, as suggested by the hilarious preview we’ve been watching for the past several months, is irresistible. Everybody who owns a dog, cat, hamster — or whatever — wonders what our beloved critters get up to, while we’re away from home. Do they chew our shoes? Invade the pantry? Climb the drapes? Kick back and watch Animal Planet on the flat-screen TV?

Gidget, far right, expects great things from the "local expert" who knows the ins and outs of
Manhattan, and will help them find the missing Max and Duke. On the other hand, Gidget's
companions — from left, Chloe, Sweetpea, Norman, Mel, Tiberius and Buddy — have
their doubts.

If scripters Ken Daurio, Brian Lynch and Cinco Paul had delivered on that theme, The Secret Life of Pets would have been more emotionally satisfying. Alas, the aforementioned trailer — and film title — are a bit misleading. This story isn’t all that concerned with the secret lives of pets; it’s actually a scuffle between Max (voiced by Louis C.K.), a quick-witted terrier who has long been the sole companion of his owner, Katie (Ellie Kemper); and newcomer Duke (Eric Stonestreet), a massive, fluffy, unruly mongrel she rescues one day from the local animal shelter.

Long accustomed to being the alpha dog, both at home and in his multi-story Manhattan apartment building, Max doesn’t take kindly to this intruder ... particularly when Duke shows little interest in sharing their territory. This struggle for dominance spills out onto New York’s mean streets, and soon involves a deranged bunny named Snowball (Kevin Hart), who heads a massive, motley pack of abandoned animals calling themselves the Flushed Pets.

Snowball and his gang hate people, and they also hate pampered pets; the increasingly chaotic result turns into a slapstick collection of sight gags, some of which jump the shark (well, crocodile) to a disastrous degree. An interlude in a sausage factory defies description, particularly when it morphs into a musical sequence set to “We Go Together,” from Grease.

Along the way, the film loses what little heart it struggles to display, while also burying the all-important message: that people shouldn’t adopt pets, if they’ve no intention of keeping them. Instead, it’s a race to a manic finish line, with co-directors Chris Renaud and Yarrow Cheney apparently engaged in several rounds of Can You Top This?

Which is a shame. The lengthy prologue introduces us to a delightful set of pampered pets, each of whom could have been explored further. Too often, though, they become sidebar distractions to the outrageous antics of Snowball & Co.

Finding Dory: Another aquatic hit from Pixar

Finding Dory (2016) • View trailer 
Four stars. Rated PG, and needlessly, for mild fantasy peril
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 6.17.16

Best...

...sidekick...

...ever.

Dory, in search of her parents, eventually finds her way to California's Marine Life
Institute. While searching the various aquatic zones, she encounters Hank, a
foul-tempered octopus with a flair for escapes and camouflage.

The hilariously confused, memory-challenged Dory stole the show in 2003’s Finding Nemo: no small feat, considering the engaging story and wealth of equally colorful aquatic and avian characters. And yet, with this long-gestating sequel, the folks at Pixar have done the impossible, by concocting a new co-star who gives even Dory a run for her money.

We really shouldn’t be surprised, since Pixar makes a habit of doing the impossible.

Finding Dory continues the saga of everybody’s favorite blue tang fish, voiced with such delightful, off-kilter haze by Ellen DeGeneres. As director/co-scripter Andrew Stanton explains, in his film’s press notes, Finding Nemo — despite its clearly happy conclusion — left perceptive viewers with an open question: What would become of Dory?

Her attention deficit disorder and short-term memory issues clearly weren’t going away, so ... what if she got lost again? Remember, Nemo wasn’t the only fish “lost” in the first film; we knew nothing of Dory’s origin, or what sequence of events put her in the path of the fretting clownfish Marlin (voiced by Albert Brooks), as he attempted to find his “kidnapped” young son.

Obviously, this was the perfect excuse for a sequel.

Stanton and his colleagues — co-director Angus MacLane, and co-scripters Victoria Strouse and Bob Peterson — have delivered the goods. Finding Dory has the essential Pixar magic: appealing characters, well-cast voice actors, zany sight gags, gentle environmental messages and, most importantly, a finely tuned story that builds to a mirthfully exciting climax.

Rarely has defeat been snatched so frequently, and cleverly, from the jaws of victory. Every time we think things have worked out ... the rug gets pulled out from under us. Time and again.

And we love it.

Concussion: Grim reality check

Concussion (2015) • View trailer 
3.5 stars. Rated PG-13, for dramatic intensity and occasional profanity
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 12.24.15

Great movie entrances are pure magic.

Consider George C. Scott’s eyebrow-raising pep talk, at the opening of Patton. John Travolta, strutting down the street, in Saturday Night  Fever. Or, more recently, Christian Bale’s meticulous “suiting up” and comb-over, in American Hustle. Everything you need to know about each of these characters, in one quick scene.

When renowned neurosurgeon Dr. Julian Bailes (Alec Baldwin, center) finally gains an
audience with veteran NFL doctor Joseph Maroon (Arliss Howard, right), Dr. Bennet
Omalu (Will Smith) is enraged to hear that his meticulous research into brain injuries
is being dismissed. With prejudice.

Writer/director Peter Landesman grants Will Smith’s Dr. Bennet Omalu a similarly illuminating entrance, as Concussion begins. It’s a courtroom confrontation; Omalu has taken the stand to testify; his credentials have been challenged. In a bravura display of gentle chiding, unassuming pride and a droll insistence on full disclosure — leavened with an oh-so-slightly-mocking sense of humor — Omalu takes complete control of the room.

It’s a brilliant display of acting chops by Smith, who — from this moment onward — firmly has our hearts and minds. We’ve learned everything essential about this doctor, mostly crucially that he is a good and honorable man. That he respects the dignity of others, and insists — in turn — that they respect him.

The scene is marvelous: destined to become a much-viewed YouTube hit.

And, of course, the perfect way for Landesman to start his film.

Concussion, based on journalist Jeanne Marie Laskas’ exhaustive September 2009 exposé in GQ Magazine, charts Omalu’s initially lonely and Sisyphean struggle to get the National Football League to acknowledge that grown men bashing their heads together, even when wearing the (minimal) protection afforded by a helmet, likely isn’t good for their grey matter.

Indeed, far from “not good.” Potentially life-altering, even deadly.

Sensible people, confronted with such a suggestion, would nod and say, “Well, of course; what else would you expect?”

But the NFL circled the wagons, sent out the lawyers, and — possibly — pulled strings in Washington, D.C., to thoroughly discredit anybody daft enough to suggest such a thing. We’re talking football, folks: the one thing in Amuuurica capable of generating more foolish passion than the right for each citizen to own 437 guns.

But that’s getting ahead of things.

A Most Violent Year: Does corruption inevitably devour idealism?

A Most Violent Year (2014) • View trailer 
Four stars. Rated R, for profanity and violence
By Derrick Bang

Writer/director J.C. Chandor burst on the scene with 2011’s riveting Margin Call, a fictionalized depiction of how one Wall Street investment firm — Lehman Brothers, in all but name — likely kick-started the 2008 U.S. financial crisis. Although primarily a talking-heads discussion among analysts looking to save their own careers, the dialogue and character interaction unfolded with the crisp intensity of a David Mamet play: in other words, not the slightest bit boring.

As things begin, Abel (Oscar Isaac) and his wife, Anna (Jessica Chastain), are full of
optimism about a waterfront property deal that will help expand their heating-oil business.
But life — and organized crime — are about to throw several nasty barriers in their way,
testing Abel's integrity to the limit.

Chandor obviously enjoys the challenge of creating and then dissecting characters under pressure, and in A Most Violent Year he has found another grim “historical moment” in which to build and populate a drama undoubtedly typical of the time and place. And if his new film lacks the razor’s-edge focus and intensity of Margin Call, it nonetheless belongs in the worthy company of thoughtful organized crime dramas such as the Godfather trilogy and Once Upon a Time in America.

Indeed, watching Chandor’s new film, I frequently was reminded of Al Pacino’s iconic line from Godfather 3: “Just when I thought I was out ... they pull me back in.”

Except that Violent Year’s Abel Morales is trying desperately to remain out in the first place, as events conspire to make that impossible.

The story takes place during a single winter month in 1981 New York: a time when Big Apple mayhem had hit ghastly levels, between gang killings, mob family violence, record-breaking robberies, vandalized subway cars and all manner of street crime. Chandor’s characters never stray too far from a radio during the course of his film, and the constant litany of reported murders and vicious misconduct becomes something of a sidebar soundtrack to Alex Ebert’s somber orchestral score.

Against this grim backdrop, we meet Abel (Oscar Isaac) en route to the most important financial transaction of his career: a negotiation to buy some waterfront property that would significant boost the long-term growth of his fledgling heating-oil business. He gets the deal, but it comes with a daunting kicker: This down payment must be followed by the full balance within 30 days, no extensions, or the arrangement is off ... and the initial deposit forfeited.

Sadly, Abel already is in trouble; his trucks have been getting hijacked brazenly, in broad daylight and on busy city streets, by gun-toting thugs who beat up the defenseless drivers. The union boss wants the drivers armed, even if illegally; Abel, angrily defending the “kinder, gentler, better” image that he has worked hard to create, refuses.

This Is 40: Fractured family frolic

This Is 40 (2012) • View trailer
Three stars. Rating: R, for relentless crude humor, sexual candor, pervasive language and drug use
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 12.21.12

Some perceptive truths about marriage, mid-life crises and parental angst linger around the edges of This Is 40, but they tend to be overshadowed by Judd Apatow’s reflexive insistence on vulgar humor, crude slapstick and bewildering plot detours. Obviously, he just can’t help himself.

Pete (Paul Rudd), having failed to realize that Debbie (Leslie Mann) could use some
help while getting their daughters ready for school, attempts to recover from this tactical
error while Sadie (Maude Apatow, far left) and Charlotte (Iris Apatow) watch with
wary amusement.

Nor should he, I suppose, since many of his films — either as producer, director or writer — tend to be crowd-pleasers. But we must remember that his lengthy 21st century résumé reads very much like the gag quotient in any one of his projects: Every Bridesmaids or Superbad follows on the heels of a bomb such as Drillbit Taylor, Funny People or Get Him to the Greek ... just as the truly funny bits in This Is 40 are bookended by stuff so forced and ill-advised that we can’t help wondering what Apatow was smoking that day.

Maybe that’s why This Is 40 runs a ridiculously self-indulgent 134 minutes. With that much time on his side, and that many comedic shots in the barrel, some of the humor is bound to stick.

Although Apatow oversees a busy comedy empire, This Is 40 is only his fourth feature as director, following The 40-Year-Old Virgin, Knocked Up and the tediously morose Funny People. This new film, something of a peripheral sequel to Knocked Up, focuses on the five-years-later lives of Pete and Debbie (Paul Rudd and Leslie Mann), that film’s sidebar characters.

Except that Katherine Heigl, who played Debbie’s sister Alison in Knocked Up, is nowhere to be seen here. Apparently she got lost in translation.

As this new film’s title suggests, events center around the ramp-up to Pete’s impending 40th birthday. He’d normally share this milestone with Debbie, but a refusal to face the onset of middle age has prompted her to deny her own birthday; indeed, she even rolls back the clock and claims a younger age, a running gag that becomes truly hilarious during a routine doctor’s office visit, when various nurses and receptionists try to nail down her birth year.

That scene works, by the way, because Apatow goes for subtle underplaying, rather than his usual, last-row-of-the-upper-balcony broad strokes.

Drive: Stalls after the first lap

Drive (2011) • View trailer for Drive
2.5 stars. Rating: R, for brutal violence, gore, profanity and nudity
By Derrick Bang

Attitude and fuzzy storytelling will go only so far; eventually, one must deliver the goods or risk being exposed as a fraud.

Movie stunt driver by day, criminal getaway driver by night. Ryan Gosling's
unnamed protagonist has a workable life carved out, but his iron-hard exterior
cracks after meeting an attractive neighbor who arouses his sympanthy. And,
just like that, we know this guy is doomed ... along with lots of other folks.

And even when the minimalist acting comes from Ryan Gosling — far more interesting than most, particularly when he channels the “king of cool” as some sort of latter-day Steve McQueen — the pregnant pauses and long, motionless camera takes wear thin after awhile.

Danish director Nicolas Winding Refn, making his American film debut, errs badly — his first mistake of many — with a slick, crisply executed prologue that the rest of his film fails to match. Nothing could top the smooth tension and cleverly choreographed maneuvers within this early heist/chase sequence, and that's a shame; Drive demonstrates considerable promise on the basis of this introduction, and then turns vague, moody and needlessly contrived.

Gosling is introduced as an impeccable getaway driver: a consummate pro who knows the greater Los Angeles area's mean streets like the back of his hand. He comes complete with a well-practiced speech that defines his area of involvement — no guns, no waiting, just driving — and is delivered by Gosling with an iconic élan that matches Clint Eastwood's “I know what you’re thinking” warning, way back in the first Dirty Harry film.

By day, our deliberately unnamed protagonist works as a film stunt driver; off hours, he repairs cars at an auto shop run by longtime friend Shannon (Bryan Cranston, at his scruffy best). Every so often, local goombah Bernie (Albert Brooks) routes an extracurricular assignment through Shannon, which our Driver-With-No-Name accepts with scarcely a change of expression.

The driver lives alone in an apartment that betrays no personality; he has grown quite comfortable with a nomadic, no-strings-attached existence. Then capricious fate interrupts the flow with an attractive neighbor — Carey Mulligan, as Irene — who catches his eye once, then twice, then a crucial third time.

Gosling conveys the wheels turning in his character's brain: weighing options, calculating consequences. He knows he should ignore her; even something as innocuous as a lift home comes freighted with significance. It's a spark: a connection.

He succumbs. And, just like that, we know he's doomed. The only questions are how, when and the likely number of collateral casualties.