She Came to Me: A beguiling rom-com

She Came to Me (2023) • View trailer

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

Available via: Movie theaters

By Derrick Bang

Folks who enjoy quirky dramedies populated by whimsically eccentric characters will love this one.

 

Against his better judgment, Steven (Peter Dinklage) — accompanied by his dog, Levi —
accepts an invitation to tour the tugboat owned by Katrina (Marisa Tomei). Her casual
handling of an axe,  however, gives him pause...

Writer/director Rebecca Miller’s delightful mélange of dysfunctional marriages, romantic angst, artistic frustration and — most importantly — true love, is powered by captivating performances from her three stars, along with solid work by four equally appealing supporting characters. 

The Brooklyn setting, framed so lovingly by cinematographer Sam Levy, also counts as an additional character. Goodness, but New York has personality.

 

Celebrated opera composer Steven Lauddem (Peter Dinklage) has been suffering a years-long writer’s block: not a good thing, with a commission due in mere weeks. He doesn’t want to be seen in public, fearing inevitable questions about how his newest work is going; he doesn’t even want to get out of bed in the morning.

 

His wife — and former therapist — Patricia (Anne Hathaway), hoping to break the cycle, tosses him out of their tony brownstone one day, ordering him to “get lost,” in a metaphorical sense. Take a long walk. Go somewhere different. Seesomething different. Accompanied by their adorable French bulldog, Levi, Steven obligingly lets the pooch determine their path.

 

Patricia, it turns out, badly needs help herself. What initially seems a reasonable preference for cleanliness is revealed as a mania far beyond obsessive/compulsive, with a heaping helping of lapsed Catholic guilt thrown in. Surfaces must be scrubbed thoroughly, before and after use. Sexual intimacy is rigorously limited to a scheduled once per week. (One pales at the thought of how Steven accommodates this.)

 

Although it seems inconceivable that Patricia would tolerate a dog in their home — she handles Levi’s leash with paper towels — losing him would be a shame; he has just as much presence and individuality as his two-legged co-stars. Indeed, at times Miller draws unexpectedly thoughtful gazes from him.

 

Meanwhile…

 

We also meet teenagers Julian (Evan Ellison) and Tereza (Harlow Jane), swooningly in love, and newly consummating their relationship; Polaroid snapshots are taken, to commemorate the moment. (Do today’s teens and twentysomethings still do this? If so, it’s rather sweet.)

 

Julian is Patricia’s son by a previous marriage; Stephen has done his best to be a good stepfather. Tereza was an “accident” that derailed the life of her then teenaged mother, Magdalena Joanna Kulig); she subsequently married Trey (Brian d’Arcy James), who obligingly adopted the girl.

 

The nerdy Trey is excitably passionate about everything he does, from his job as a court stenographer to his avocation as a Civil War reenactor. James makes him bossy and authoritarian: an attitude tolerated by Magdalena, but which frequently prompts rolled eyes from Tereza.

West Side Story: Totally captivating

West Side Story (2021) • View trailer

Five stars (out of five). Rated PG-13, and rather generously, for strong violence, strong profanity, attempted rape and dramatic intensity

Available via: Movie theaters

By Derrick Bang • Published in The Davis Enterprise, 12.10.21

The initial few seconds are crucial.

 

Any faithful presentation of West Side Story must begin with a dark stage or screen, as we hear the call-and-response pair of whistled triplets … followed by a brief pause, and then the vibrant opening bars of Leonard Bernstein’s overture, as the Jets assemble for the first electrifying dance number.

 

This can't end well: Although the school gym is supposed to be neutral territory, the white
kids (left) and Puerto Ricans clearly aren't sizing up each other's dance moves ... even
though this sequence quickly explodes into one of the film's many amazing
production numbers.

Director Steven Spielberg nails it, with this pulsating, big-screen adaptation: honorably faithful to the 1961 film, while also demonstrating its own, equally dynamic personality.

Actually, everybody nails it.

 

Screenwriter Tony Kushner — who earned Oscar nominations for his two previous collaborations with Spielberg, 2005’s Munich and 2012’s Lincoln — retains the essential late 1950s/early ’60s setting, while adding focus to the “urban renewal” (i.e. slum clearance) that puts additional pressure on the Jets and their rivals, the Puerto Rican Sharks. No wonder they jockey ever more furiously for control of their rapidly shrinking turf.

 

Indeed, cinematographer Janusz Kaminski opens the film with slow, sweeping pans past huge wrecking balls that hover over the demolished remnants of several city blocks that now look like a war zone: a deliberately grim reminder that neighborhoods of color invariably are targeted for such development.

 

(In a rather droll touch, Kaminski’s camera also slides past a large sign that heralds the impending creation of the Lincoln Center for the Performing Arts.)

 

The opening “call to arms” is led by Riff (Mike Faist), who propels the expanding cadre of Jets toward an equally large gathering of the Sharks, led by Bernardo (David Alvarez). The unison dance moves are feral, taunting and gracefully balletic; choreographer Justin Peck, of New York City Ballet, clearly quotes Jerome Robbins’ original dances, albeit with even more intensity.

 

Peck’s staging of subsequent numbers, as the story proceeds, is audaciously clever. The show-stopping “America,” always a highlight, has been moved from a nighttime rooftop to the San Juan Hill’s daytime streets, where it explodes into a massive neighborhood block party of store merchants and passersby, in addition to our main characters. It’s a breathtaking sequence that gets progressively bold and colorful, the moves ranging from Robbins-esque ballet to Caribbean pachanga.

 

“I Feel Pretty” is given an ironic twist, as Maria (Rachel Zegler) and the many female members of her late-night cleaning crew cavort amid the mannequins on the ground floor of Gimbels … where all the clothing and accessories are aimed at white patrons. “Cool,” a straight dance piece in the 1961 film, has been transformed into an increasingly angry confrontation between Riff and Tony (Ansel Elgort), as they wrestle for control of a gun while trying to evade the gaping holes on a rotting pier at the edge of the city.

 

It’s a ferociously tense sequence, Spielberg deliberately playing on our fear that the damn thing’s gonna go off at any moment.

The Kitchen: Not much cooking

The Kitchen (2019) • View trailer 
Three stars. Rated R, for considerable profanity and bloody violence
By Derrick Bang

Strong performances can’t compensate for a weak script, no matter how much this film hopes you’ll think otherwise.

Are you talkin' to us? Claire (Elisabeth Moss, left), Ruby (Tiffany Haddish, center) and
Kathy (Melissa McCarth) find little to admire in the so-called men left to run the
Irish Mob in Hell's Kitchen.

Melissa McCarthy, Tiffany Haddish and Elisabeth Moss act up a storm, and their characters are solid; they easily hold our attention (although it’s probably a stretch to suggest that we ever sympathize with them). But too many key supporting characters are woefully underdeveloped, even when it’s crucial to understand them better.

Others have ethics that float like leaves on a stiff breeze. The sudden shifts can induce viewer whiplash.

Blame easily is assigned to first-time director Andrea Berloff, who also supplied a clumsy screenplay based on the eight-part 2015 comic book series by Ollie Masters and Ming Doyle. In her haste to mount a female-oriented crime thriller appropriately timed to the #MeToo movement, Berloff has forgotten the first rule of cinema: It’s always the story, stupid.

The setting is 1978 New York City, in the 20 blocks of pawn shops, porn palaces and dive bars squatting between Eighth Avenue and the Hudson River: aptly known as Hell’s Kitchen, and ruled by the Irish Mafia. The story hits the ground running, as gangsters Jimmy (Brian d’Arcy James), Kevin (James Badge Dale) and Rob (Jeremy Bobb) stage a hold-up, only to be interrupted by police and the FBI.

The result: three years in prison.

They leave families behind. Jimmy’s wife, Kathy (McCarthy), wonders how she’ll feed their two adolescent children. Kevin’s wife, Ruby (Haddish), is left in the company of her hateful mother-in-law, Helen (Margo Martindale), a spiteful-tongued shrew and neighborhood matriarch, who calls the shots behind the scenes. Rob’s battered wife, Claire (Moss), is grateful for his absence.

The Mob falls under the half-assed rule of Little Jackie (Myk Watford), whose promise to take care of the three women — because “we’re family” — proves woefully insufficient. Taking note of the general neighborhood dissatisfaction with Little Jackie, who demands protection money without offering protecting, Kathy and her friends decide to take matters into their own hands.

They’re initially nervous and unschooled in the ways of violence, but they learn quickly.