Wake Up Dead Man: A Knives Out Mystery — Delightfully devious

Wake Up Dead Man: A Knives Out Mystery (2025) • View trailer

Four stars (out of five). Rated PG-13, for violent content, bloody images, profanity and crude sexual content

Available via: Netflix

By Derrick Bang

Writer/director Rian Johnson certainly hasn’t lost his fiendishly macabre touch.

 

Although it runs a bit too long, this third entry in the Knives Out series is another gleeful descent into depraved behavior, with a stellar cast dropped into the middle of a twisty whodunit. Orchestrating its slow unraveling, as before, is Daniel Craig’s idiosyncratic private detective, Benoit Blanc.

 

Under the watchful gaze of Police Chief Scott (Mila Kunis) and Father Jud Duplenticy
(Josh O'Connor, right), Benoit Blanc (Daniel Craig) examines an unexpected clue.

Blanc’s hair has grown longer, and he has left his droll Southern witticisms behind (and they’re missed), but he still cuts a commanding figure in costume designer Jenny Eagan’s debonair outfits.

But we don’t meet Blanc until the second act. Employing his usual penchant for non-linear storytelling, Johnson first introduces us to ex-boxer turned devout young priest Jud Duplenticy (John O’Connor), who regards himself as “young, dumb and full of Christ.” He narrates earlier events while writing … what? A witness statement? A confession? A memoir?

 

Duplenticy lives with the burden of having killed a fellow fighter during his boxing days, the shame of which drove him into the priesthood. But his temper still gets away from him at times, most recently resulting in a “reprimand” that finds him sent to Our Lady of Perpetual Fortitude, in upstate New York’s Chimney Rock (shades of Stephen King!).

 

He’s assigned to assist firebrand Monsignor Jefferson Wicks (Josh Brolin), who rules this tiny parish with a blend of charismatic smarm and thundering, shock-and-awe sermons. In short, he’s a sadistic bully … and proud of it.

 

The primary members of his flock — those who tolerate or cater to Wicks’ whims, or (worse yet) believe in his God-given powers — include:

 

• staunchly faithful church-goer Martha Delacroix (Glenn Close);

 

• tightly wound lawyer Vera Draven (Kerry Washington);

 

• town doctor Nat Sharp (Jeremy Renner);

 

• bestselling author Lee Ross (Andrew Scott);

 

• aspiring politician Cy Draven (Daryl McCormack);

 

• wheelchair-bound concert cellist Simone Vivane (Cailee Spaeney); and

 

• circumspect groundskeeper Samson Holt (Thomas Haden Church).

Hillbilly Elegy: Survival of the fittest

Hillbilly Elegy (2020) • View trailer

Four stars. Rated R, for profanity, violence and drug use

By Derrick Bang 

Family ties, even when the dynamic is volatile, can be intractably strong.

 

It’s biological: We’re conditioned to love our parents, even when doing so is self-destructive.

 

Lindsay (Haley Bennett, left), J.D. (Owen Asztalos) and their grandmother (Glenn Close)
watch helplessly as events spiral out of control, thanks to an increasing police presence.

As a child, James David (“J.D.”) Vance was an unlikely candidate for escaping his working-class origins, while shuttling between small-town Ohio and the grimly struggling Appalachian environment of his grandparents; that challenge alone would have seemed insurmountable to most.

 

Toss a toxic mother into the mix, and the boy should have been doomed.

 

But he didn’t merely survive; he thrived, eventually graduating from Ohio State and obtaining a Yale Law School degree. He depicted this journey in his 2016 memoir Hillbilly Elegy; the book became a best-seller and a finalist for the Dayton Literary Peace Prize, embraced as a revealing glimpse of the white working class.

 

Under the sensitive guidance of director Ron Howard and scripter Vanessa Taylor — Oscar-nominated for co-writing 2017’s The Shape of Water — Vance’s saga has become an absorbing and frequently gut-wrenching Netflix original film. The narrative glides smoothly between two time periods: J.D.’s realization, as a young teen (Owen Asztalos), that his mother has serious problems; and his reluctant decision, while at Yale (now played by Gabriel Basso), to return to the home he has tried to forget, in order to navigate a fresh family crisis.

 

The film is dominated by two powerhouse performances: Amy Adams, as J.D.’s unstable, unkempt and vicious-tempered mother Bev; and Glenn Close as her mother Mamaw, who becomes J.D.’s surrogate parent. Both actresses chew up the scenery in grand style, but never to a degree that feels exaggerated or baroque. 

 

The story’s power comes from the persuasive depictions of both women: Bev, most frequently unpleasant, but with unexpected bursts of motherly kindness; Mamaw, most often caring, in a tough-love manner, but quite capable of unleashing her own demons.

 

At first blush, though — as we meet young J.D., visiting his grandparents with his mother and older sister Lindsay (Haley Bennett)  — the overall dynamic seems protectively loyal. The occasion of an extended family photo gives Howard an opportunity to flash through a series of similar photographic portraits, stretching back generations: a clear message that this Appalachian clan has long been proud, defiant and caring of its own.

 

But this is the final day of a summer vacation under the watchful gaze of Mamaw and Papaw (Bo Hopkins). When Bev drives her two children back home to Middletown, Ohio, the dynamic shifts. Lindsay decamps to the company of her boyfriend — and soon to be husband — Kevin (Jono Mitchell), leaving J.D. in the sole company of his mother.

 

Along with her revolving door of male companions (apparently an ongoing thing, since the boy got his last name — Vance — from husband No. 3).

Guardians of the Galaxy: Droll sci-fi hijinks

Guardians of the Galaxy (2014) • View trailer 
Four stars. Rated PG-13, for intense sci-fi action and violence, and brief profanity
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 8.1.14

Call this one Marvel Lite.

The newest chapter in this comics-to-film universe has the playful atmosphere of Josh Whedon’s Firefly or George Lucas’ Star Wars saga, complete with a group of rag-tag sorta-heroes led by a tousled, good ol’ boy who feels like a blend between Han Solo and Indiana Jones. Although Earth-based to one significant degree, most of the action takes place in a galaxy far, far away, with a looming threat to an entire planet and its sizable population.

When it comes time to bust out of a celestial prison, our misfit heroes — clockwise from top
left, Quill (Chris Pratt), Groot, Drax (Dave Bautista), Gamora (Zoe Saldana) and Rocket
Raccoon — reluctantly set aside interpersonal squabbles in order to work together. Note,
however, that working together successfully is an entirely different matter...

But the danger lies not from a Death Star-like weapon, but instead from a supremely powerful alien entity known only as Thanos, who likely will be watching next summer, when Iron Man, Captain America and the rest of the Avengers battle a Big Bad dubbed Ultron.

Meanwhile, the formidable Thanos serves here as puppet master, sending malevolent minions to do his bidding. Which they do, with cheerfully evil glee.

But that’s getting ahead of things; we first must submit to necessary back-story courtesy of scripters James Gunn (who also directs) and Nicole Perlman, who have a good sense of the scruffy, well-worn universe concocted in the 2008 comic book series by Dan Abnett and Andy Lanning. Gunn and Perlman haven’t used quite all of the characters employed by Abnett and Lanning in their misfit not-quite-a-team, but the quintet on hand here certainly satisfies.

Things begin with Earth-born Peter Quill (Chris Pratt), whose presence in these distant reaches of the universe remains a mystery for another time (and the obligatory sequel). Quill, a smuggler and thief, conducts his heists while hoppin’ and boppin’ to a carefully preserved mix tape of “awesome hits” made by his mother, back before she died, and played on his carefully preserved Walkman. (Cue the first of this soundtrack’s many 1970s and ’80s rockers and power anthems. You’ll want the soundtrack.)

Quill’s current contract takes him to the dead and deserted planet of Morag, where he finds a strange metal orb also coveted by Korath (Djimon Hounsou), an associate of Ronan (Lee Pace), hired by the aforementioned Thanos. The fast-talking Quill manages to escape with his prize, only to irritate both his own boss — the blue-skinned Yondu Udonta (Michael Rooker) — and the green-skinned assassin Gamora (Zoe Saldana), another of Ronan’s emissaries, who tries to snatch the orb herself.

This skirmish takes place on the sumptuous, impeccably civilized world of Xandar, where bounty hunters Rocket and Groot are just as eager to catch Quill and collect the reward on his head. Unfortunately, the escalating fracas results in all four being arrested and sent to a massive space prison known as the Kyln.

Relations between our protagonists are tense at best. The hot-tempered Rocket — a genetically altered, cybernetically enhanced talking raccoon — wants nothing to do with these two-legged beings, unless a reward is involved; Quill just wants to escape with the orb, while Gamora has her own plans for that same device. Worse yet, The Kyln’s many prisoners include Drax (wrestling star Dave Bautista), a quiet but massive brute who blames Ronan for the death of his wife and child, and therefore yearns to rip Gamora to shreds, simply for being in the villain’s employ.

Ah, but is she actually in Ronan’s service? In truth, Gamora may have redemptive plans of her own.

Albert Nobbs: Identity crisis

Albert Nobbs (2011) • View trailer
Three stars. Rating: R, and too harshly, for sexuality, fleeting (and chaste) nudity, and occasional period profanity
By Derrick Bang


You’ve seen them at parties, silently sitting or standing in a corner, hoping not to be noticed, praying not to be engaged in conversation.

The quiet ones. The shy ones. The invisible ones.

Knowing little of intimacy, Albert (Glenn Close, right) believes that merely
stating one's intentions can secure a wife and future happiness. But Helen (Mia
Wasikowska) finds little to recommend this "funny little man," and allows
him to "court" her solely so she can request — and receive — expensive
tokens such as fancy boxes of chocolate.

Albert Nobbs is just such an individual, even more so because he’s a butler employed at Morrison’s, an upscale hotel in 19th century Dublin. Aside from fulfilling their responsibilities, wait-staff during this era were expected to remain unnoticed: never speaking unless spoken to, and then generally replying with nothing more than, “Very good, sir.”

But Albert takes such withdrawn silence and polite reserve to an extreme, even when “relaxing” with his fellow servants in the kitchen; although they respect his devotion to duty and attention to detail, most regard him as a “funny little man.” And nobody has crossed the threshold of his tiny room at the end of a hallway in the attic servant’s quarters.

With good reason, for Albert carries a massive secret, the discovery of which could find him dismissed and on the street, where starvation — at this point during Ireland’s history — was all but guaranteed for those without employment of some sort.

“Albert” actually is a woman, passing as a man in order to “enjoy” the greater status accorded the male gender. What began as an act of desperation, 30 years earlier and at the age of 14, has become such a way of life that Albert has become trapped in a prison of her own design.

That time frame is a bit ironic, since star Glenn Close has been intimately involved with this character since starring in a 1982 theatrical production, adapted from the short story “The Singular Life of Albert Nobbs,” by 19th century Irish author George Moore. Close won an Obie Award for her work in the Off-Broadway production; her film career took off that same year, when she co-starred in The World According to Garp.

But she never forgot Albert Nobbs, and no surprise there: He — she — is a fascinating character. The minimalist stage version of this story employed considerable mime, and Close inhabits the role here with balletic precision. Gestures are few, expressions are sparse; we cherish the moments when Albert’s lips flicker into the ghost of a smile, reflecting a secret delight almost never given voice.

Alas, director Rodrigo García’s big-screen adaptation, Albert Nobbs, isn’t nearly as fascinating as its subject. The film is heartbreaking, at times shatteringly sad; an aura of tense expectation hovers over these characters. We expect something dreadful at nearly every turn, starting from the first few moments, when we learn that Albert has carefully saved more than 500 pounds during her years in service; these tips and wages have been recorded carefully in a ledger that is hidden with the money, each evening before bed, beneath a floorboard in Albert’s room.

Nervous anticipation, over what might happen to this treasure that means everything to Albert? Oh, goodness, yes.