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.

Amsterdam: A great place to visit

Amsterdam (2022) • View trailer

Four stars (out of five). Rated R, for violence and bloody images

Available via: Movie theaters

By Derrick Bang • Published in The Davis Enterprise, 10.7.22

“Some of what follows actually happened,” the initial title card promises.

 

And how.

 

Our heroes — from left, Burt (Christian Bale), Valerie (Margot Robbie) and Harold
(John David Woodman) — finally realize that Henry (Michael Shannon, far right) and
Paul (Mike Myers) haven't been entirely candid with them.

Writer/director David O. Russell’s audacious new film is a cheeky banquet of historical fact and fiction, served up as a comedic thriller about loyalty, love and the dogged determination to do the right thing, even in the face of overwhelming odds.

The impressive ensemble cast is highlighted by fascinating performances from leads Christian Bale (once again, almost unrecognizable), Margot Robbie and John David Washington.

 

Russell’s story hits the ground running and never lets up, its twisty plot unfolding against a slightly stylized tone that begins as mild burlesque, but soon turns increasingly, believably sinister.

 

And — let it be stated — there’s no question Russell also intends this as a strong cautionary parallel to our current times. 

 

As philosopher George Santayana famously observed, Those who do not learn history are doomed to repeat it.

 

The setting is 1933 in uptown New York, where WWI comrades Dr. Burt Berendsen (Bale) and attorney Harold Woodman (Washington) have become “fixers of last resort” for those down on their luck or low on money, and particularly for the many physically and emotionally shattered veterans who’ve been ignored by the U.S. government.

 

(Although granted so-called “bonus certificates” with a face value equal to each soldier’s promised payment with compounded interest, these scripts could not be redeemed until 1945 … which hardly helped unemployed individuals during the height of the U.S. Depression. In July 1932, President Hoover ordered the U.S. Army to clear the campsites of 43,000 desperate demonstrators who had gathered in Washington, D.C. The soldiers, along with their wives and children, were driven out, after which their shelters and belongings were burned.

 

(Sound familiar?)

 

Burt is quite the flamboyant kook, forever “inventing” restorative and pain-relieving medicines that won’t be available for decades — if ever — and cheerfully testing them on himself. His dilapidated office is filled with suffering veterans hoping to feel better — and in some severe cases look better — while Burt does everything to help cheer them up.

 

Bale’s performance is sublime, starting with the unreliable — and persuasively realistic — glass eye that constantly pops out of its socket: the result of a war injury. Burt is unkempt, unshaven, seemingly flustered and reckless … and yet possessed of acute intelligence and sharp perception.

 

Bale appears to be channeling Peter Falk’s Detective Columbo, with a superficially harmless and disarming manner that conceals razor-sharp awareness.

The Electrical Life of Louis Wain: Heartbreaking study of a tormented artist

The Electrical Life of Louis Wain (2021) • View trailer

Four stars (out of five). Rated PG-13, for dramatic intensity and brief profanity

Available via: Movie theaters and (beginning November 5) Amazon Prime

By Derrick Bang

One rarely encounters such a Dickensian life, outside of a Charles Dickens novel.

 

Artist Louis Wain’s personal and professional life was just as tragic, as the majority of his vast output was playfully joyous. He remains, to this day, one of the most beloved commercial illustrators in English history; during the Edwardian era, it was the rare home that lacked one of his posters, or many of his children’s books.

 

Louis (Benedict Cumberbatch) and Emily (Claire Foy) are
surprised to find a scruffy, rain-soaked kitten in their
garden. They'll soon be even more surprised by the
degree to which this little feline affects the arc of
Louis' artistic career.

He also deserves credit for helping elevate the humble pussycat into a companion worthy of being a pet, rather than a pesky creature best relegated to the streets.

Author H.G. Wells famously noted — during a radio broadcast reproduced in this biographical drama — that “He has made the cat his own. He invented a cat style, a cat society, a whole cat world. English cats that do not look and live like Louis Wain cats are ashamed of themselves.”

 

Wain also was quite popular on this side of the pond, at the beginning of the 20th century, and then much later, in the 1970s, when his more outré cat paintings were ubiquitous among the, ah, college-age psychedelic set.

 

Director Will Sharpe’s poignant, deeply sensitive film is highlighted by sublime performances from Benedict Cumberbatch and Claire Foy. The script, by Sharpe and Simon Stephenson, is remarkably faithful to Wain’s life and career … the all-too-brief highs and numerous shattering lows of which, are almost too much to bear.

 

Indeed, this saga’s midpoint, highlighted by an intensely intimate scene between Cumberbatch and Foy, surely ranks as one of the saddest, most heartbreaking moments ever captured on film.

 

The story begins in the early 1880s, when — following their father’s unexpected death — 20-year-old Louis (Cumberbatch), as the family’s lone male, is forced to support his mother and five younger sisters. 

 

Fortunately, he has a remarkable — and rapid — facility for drawing and painting, which he’s able to do with both hands simultaneously (which Cumberbatch depicts persuasively). Louis specializes in animals and country scenes, and within a few years is selling work to journals such as the Illustrated Sporting and Dramatic News and, a bit later, the Illustrated London News.

 

Unfortunately, Louis also suffers from a mental illness — possibly schizophrenia — which would remain undiagnosed throughout his lifetime. Symptoms include an irrational fear of drowning, which strikes unexpectedly. For the most part, he keeps such demons at bay via the manic intensity with which he fills every minute of every hour: sketching, tinkering with useless inventions, “composing” unmelodic musical works, and even sparring uselessly in an amateur boxing ring.

 

Along with a frenzied fascination with the wonders of electricity, which he comes to believe is a defining force in life and the universe.

 

So, yes: Cumberbatch once again is portraying an eccentric and deeply unstable genius, who’s all tics and twitches. But it must be acknowledged that his Louis Wain is completely distinct from his Sherlock Holmes, or his Alan Turing, or his Hamlet.

Battle of the Sexes: A match made in heaven

Battle of the Sexes (2017) • View trailer 
Four stars. Rated PG-13, for sexual content and brief nudity
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 9.29.17

An estimated 90 million people around the world parked in front of TV sets on Sept. 20, 1973, in order to watch what became a defining moment in sports, American culture and — most particularly — the rising momentum for women’s equality.

When she agrees to the challenge issued by Bobby Riggs (Steve Carell), Billy Jean King
(Emma Stone) also gamely endures the media circus that precedes the historic event.

At the same time, the so-called “Battle of the Sexes” was pure circus.

On top of which, one of the participants was struggling with sexual identity, at a time when such matters scarcely were tolerated in this country, let alone allowed to go public.

That’s a lot of baggage for a single two-hour film to handle, and its success is a tribute to pedigree: Co-directors Jonathan Dayton and Valerie Faris (Little Miss Sunshine, Ruby Sparks), along with Academy Award-winning scripter Simon Beaufoy (Slumdog Millionaire), have concocted a thoughtful, perceptive and thoroughly entertaining dramedy that blends tender romance, historical context and an undercurrent of sly outrage over the degree of unapologetic chauvinism that was fashionable a mere four decades ago.

Add two stars who skillfully adopt the identities of their real-world counterparts — to a frequently spooky degree — and the result is quite engaging.

The story begins in 1971, as Billie Jean King (Emma Stone) and good friend Gladys Heldman (Sarah Silverman) — a hard-nosed PR and tennis maven — confront longtime tennis promoter Jack Kramer (Bill Pullman) over the insulting disparity between the financial prizes earned by male and female champions. Kramer holds firm with the prevailing view that women aren’t “worth” parity.

In response, King and Heldman — with considerable assistance from King’s husband, Larry (Austin Stowell) — form their own nascent women’s league (which, within a few years, would become the Women’s Tennis Association). It’s a gutsy move, since Kramer immediately expels them from the U.S. Lawn Tennis Association. The players — which include King, Margaret Court (Jessica McNamee), Rosie Casals (Natalie Morales) and half a dozen others — nonetheless adopt a spunky guerrilla spirit, booking their own venues, posting promotional banners, and selling their own tickets.

Matters improve when the group receives full sponsorship from Philip Morris, for what becomes known as the Virginia Slims Tour.

Meanwhile, Bobby Riggs (Steve Carell), decades removed from his professional championships in the 1940s, frets over his own obsolescence. He chafes behind a useless desk job, supported by a wealthy wife, Priscilla (Elisabeth Shue), who is losing her tolerance for his chronic gambling habit. But as a longtime hustler and media-savvy opportunist, Riggs smells publicity after learning what King and her cohorts are up to.

And so comes the challenge, from the man who proudly promises to keep the “show” in chauvinism.

Birdman: A dark comedy that soars

Birdman (2014) • View trailer 
4.5 stars. Rated R, for relentless profanity, sexual candor and brief violence
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 10.31.14

This isn’t merely a movie; it’s a bravura display of cinematic pizzazz as mesmerizing as its three starring performances.

This one demands repeat viewing. First time out, you’ll be overwhelmed by the stylistic approach — dazzlingly so, to the point of wanting to applaud — and then you’ll need a second round to better appreciate everything else going on.

When Riggan Thomson (Michael Keaton, left) learns that co-star Mike Shiner (Edward
Norton) has hijacked some of his best personal material for a lavish newspaper interview,
raw fury propels the two men into the sort of laughably flimsy fist-fight that one would
expect from two guys who haven't the faintest idea how to throw a punch.

We’ve never seen anything quite like this.

Granted, director/co-scripter Alejandro González Iñárritu borrows respectfully from predecessors going all the way back to Robert Wiene (1920’s silent The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari), with strong nods toward Alfred Hitchcock (1948’s Rope), Roman Polanski (1965’s Repulsion) and Paddy Chayefsky (1976’s Network).

Much more recently, Joe Wright attempted similar cinematographic trickery with 2012’s Anna Karenina, but with far less success; the stage-bound stylization called too much attention to itself, at the expense of the story.

But that, too, is the genius of Iñárritu’s Birdman: The audacious approach is part of the story, indeed the throbbing heartbeat of an exhilarating descent into artistic madness, whose pulse is amplified by a score devoted solely to Grammy Award-winner Antonio Sanchez’s percussive drumming.

That latter affectation is jarring at first, particularly as Sanchez’s efforts become pervasive, his shifting tempos altering the story’s rhythm and pace in a manner normally handled by cutting wizardry. But editors Douglas Crise and Stephen Mirrione seemingly have very little to do in this film, because cinematographer Emmanuel Lubezki’s brilliantly composed scenes are — like our central character’s relentless fever dream — one long tracking shot.

Yep. For 119 minutes. Over the course of this narrative’s roughly three days and nights.

Not entirely true, of course, which is why that word — seemingly — is so crucial. Despite having the appearance of a single extended take, Iñárritu, Lubezki, Crise and Mirrione collaborate quite cleverly to convey this illusion ... just as everything that happens on a Broadway stage is pure artifice.

Except when it isn’t, which is the whole point here. Even before we dive into his rapidly unraveling psyche, Riggan Thomson (Michael Keaton) has lost the ability to separate his actual life from what takes place on stage; his performer’s artifice may be the only thing helping him cling to whatever remains of his sanity. Indeed, how many actors, stretching back centuries, have insisted that they only come alive each night, when they hit their marks ... their vivid, full-color nighttime dreams far more real to them than the washed-out black-and-white of their actual lives?

Oblivion: A sleek, provocative ride

Oblivion (2013) • View trailer 
Four stars. Rating: PG-13, for action violence, sensuality and fleeting profanity
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 4.19.13

Director/co-scripter Joseph Kosinski’s Oblivion hearkens back to 1970s sci-fi thrillers that involved lone heroes struggling against horrific situations that weren’t quite what they seemed, at first blush.

Having discovered that somebody — or something — has set up a homing beacon that
is blasting a signal into space, Jack (Tom Cruise) carefully picks his way through the
remnants of the Empire State Building, seeking the source of this unexpected
pocket of technology.

Kosinski and his fellow writers — Karl Gajdusek and Michael Arndt — definitely caught that vibe. Their film carries strong thematic echoes of Planet of the Apes (the original 1968 version) and The Omega Man, with an added dollop of the psychological tension and heightened paranoia present in The Matrix.

Factor in some rip-snortin’ action sequences — which are freakin’ awesome on a giant IMAX screen — and the result is 126 minutes of clever, well-paced, post-apocalyptic suspense.

Which is not to say that Oblivion is destined to become a classic. Kosinski has a tendency toward overwrought bombast even when unnecessary: such as, for example, a love scene that rises to a frankly silly soundtrack crescendo from composers Anthony Gonzalez, Joseph Trapanese and M.8.3. I’m reminded of Giorgio Moroder’s similarly gaudy scores for 1980s rock-video movies such as Flashdance, Scarface and Top Gun: a suitable musical environment for those popcorn flicks, but not quite the right tone for an otherwise thoughtful sci-fi drama.

Kosinski comes by this style-over-substance tendency honestly, having helmed 2010’s laughably bloated TRON: Legacy. Fortunately, he’s working with a much better premise and narrative here, which can withstand his occasional visual and aural assaults.

The year is 2077, decades after an invading alien armada blew up Earth’s moon as the ultimate first-strike assault; the resulting environmental havoc destroyed civilizations around the globe. But mankind rose to the challenge and beat back the so-called Scavengers, although the cure may have been worse than the disease; thanks to the widespread use of nuclear weapons, most of what remained of Earth became uninhabitable.

Humanity’s remnants constructed a massive orbiting space station dubbed the Tet, from which the survivors hope to mount a massive exodus to Titan, Saturn’s largest moon. In pursuit of that grand scheme, Earth’s remaining resources — particularly water — are being extracted by huge, computer-driven factories, and sent to the Tet.

Two-person “monitoring teams” are stationed near each factory, ostensibly to handle any necessary repairs. Unfortunately, pockets of the Scavengers — Scavs — still remain on Earth, and are doing their best to sabotage these operations. In order to help safeguard the repair crews, globe-shaped weaponized “drones” scour the devastated landscape, seeking and eliminating any remaining alien resistance.