The Kid Who Would Be King: Not much future

The Kid Who Would Be King (2019) • View trailer 
Three stars. Rated PG, for dramatic intensity, fantasy action and scary images
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 1.25.19

Although handsomely mounted and well intentioned, this (mostly) gentle British fantasy won’t make much of a ripple in the cinematic pond.

At least, not on our shores.

The Wizard Merlin's younger self (Angus Imrie, center) prepares to enchant the sword
Excalibur, as his young allies — from left, Kaye (Rhianna Dorris), Alex (Louis Ashbourne
Serkis), Bedders (Dean Chaumoo) and Lance (Tom Taylor) — watch expectantly.

British writer/director Joe Cornish’s contemporary, kid-oriented spin on the King Arthur mythos lacks the spunk, snark and momentum that made his big-screen debut — 2011’s Attack the Block — far more satisfying. The dialog here is too relentlessly earnest, the pacing too relaxed; at just north of two hours, this film is at least one faux climax too long.

Cornish definitely didn’t let editors Jonathan Amos and Paul Machliss do their job.

Doctor Who fans will understand when I compare this film to a double-length episode of British TV’s family-friendly companion series, The Sarah Jane Adventures. Same tone, same frequently breathless speeches, same setting in a quaint, vaguely retro British suburbia that likely hasn’t existed for decades (if indeed it ever did).

Young American viewers are apt to find The Kid Who Would Be King too corny, too silly and much too placid: more akin to Hollywood’s feeble Percy Jackson adaptations, than the superior Harry Potter series. Which is a shame, because there’s certainly nothing wrong with Cornish’s approach here; like its central character Merlin, it simply inhabits a time stream of its own.

Alex (Louis Ashbourne Serkis) and best friend Bedders (Dean Chaumoo) are the newest, youngest and smallest students at Dungate Academy middle school, where they’re irresistible targets for older and taller bullies Lance (Tom Taylor) and Kaye (Rhianna Dorris). Alex has grown up with no real memory of his father, who gave the boy a lovingly inscribed book about King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table; Alex’s mildly overwhelmed mother (Denise Gough) does her best as the single parent of a precocious, fairly geeky son.

The other three kids apparently have no home lives; we never meet any other parents.

A routine encounter with the thuggish Lance and Kaye leaves Alex dazed — but otherwise unharmed — at the bottom of a civic enhancement construction site. Upon checking his surroundings, lo and behold, he spots a sword thrust into what appears to be a chunk of concrete. Surprise, surprise: He has no trouble pulling it out.

Colette: A not entirely satisfying quest for identity

Colette (2018) • View trailer 
3.5 stars. Rated R, for nudity and sexuality
By Derrick Bang

Dick Francis’ fans were astonished to discover, in late 1999, that all the novels by the former champion jockey-turned-thriller author had received “substantial input” from his wife, Mary.

When Sidonie-Gabrielle Colette (Keira Knightley) balks at her husband's demand that
she "ghost" another novel that he can publish under his own name, he locks her in the
study until she begins to produce.

Depending on opinion, said input ranged from research and editing to full-on ghost-writing. I favor the latter theory: Francis’ lone solo effort following Mary’s death on September 9, 2000 — 2006’s Under Orders — was substantially weaker than all that had come before. No surprise, then, that his final four books were collaborations with his son, Felix.

I’ve often thought about Mary Francis, working in absolute secrecy on 38 novels and a baker’s dozen of short stories, over a period of almost four decades. Did she regret being absent from the spotlight that so illuminated her famous husband? Was she amused to know the truth?

Such thoughts resonated anew while watching director/co-scripter Wash Westmoreland’s biographical depiction of Sidonie-Gabrielle Colette, the French novelist known solely by her last name. Her most popular novel, 1944’s Gigi, was made into a French film five years later, and transformed into a 1951 stage production starring newcomer Audrey Hepburn — chosen by Colette herself — and then, of course, the Academy Award-winning 1958 Hollywood musical with Leslie Caron.

But all that came much, much later. Westmoreland’s film — co-scripted by Richard Glatzer and Rebecca Lenkiewicz — focuses on the roughly two decades Colette was married to Henry Gauthier-Villars, during which time she produced her first four novels … all of which were published under her husband’s name.

And therein lies the tale.

Colette depicts the creation of the young author as her own entity and (more or less) emancipated woman, although it could be argued that Westmoreland is equally obsessed with her budding bisexuality. The film’s second half spends considerable time with enthusiastic bedroom coupling and Colette’s blossoming relationship with the scandalously “butch” Mathilde de Morny, Marquise de Belbeuf, affectionately known as “Missy.”

(In the press notes, Westmoreland waxes enthusiastically about his “progressive casting philosophy” of hiring trans actors for cisgender roles. Methinks his focus is a bit skewed.)

Even so, we never lose sight of the growing degree to which Colette wishes to control her own literary destiny, and free herself from the invisibility of uncredited authorship.

In this regard — actually, in all respects — the film’s strongest asset is the gifted starring performance by Keira Knightley. She smoothly navigates the transition from naïve country girl to an accomplished sophisticate wholly at ease among the snooty, avant-garde intellectuals with whom her husband socialized.