Enola Holmes 3: Elementary, dear reader

Enola Holmes 3 (2026) • View trailer

Four stars (out of five); rated PG-13, for violence and dramatic intensity

Available via: Netflix

By Derrick Bang

This series continues to delight on all levels.

 

Director Philip Barantini, new to the franchise, blends its many diverse elements with stylish élan. He’s rewarded, in this third entry, with fine performances from everybody in the cast: most notably star and co-producer Millie Bobby Brown, the driving force behind these stylish film adaptations of Nancy Springer’s popular books.

 

During a flashback sequence, Enola (Millie Bobby Brown) recalls how surprised and
delighted she was, when Tewkesbury (Louis Partridge) proposed with an
improvised ring.

Over time, Sherlock Holmes’ world has been blessed with both faithful film and television adaptations of Doyle’s famed stories, and all manner of book and film pastiches and alternate universe twists on the original characters. It’s a testament to the adroit flexibility of Doyle’s characters, and the tolerant devotion of his fans, that so many of these what-ifs have been successful.

That’s certainly true of Enola (Brown), the 20 years younger sister of Sherlock Holmes (Henry Cavill, also reprising his ongoing role). In this telling, as faithfully adapted by scripter Jack Thorne, Enola was raised from a young age by their uncharacteristically feisty, free-thinking and mildly eccentric mother, Eudoria (the apparently ageless Helena Bonham Carter, also returning).

 

Eudoria ensured that Enola would be both book-educated and taught to be sharply observant, resourceful and able to take care of herself, thanks to jiu-jitsu self-defensive skills. Enola also became adept at puzzles and word games; indeed, her unusual name is “alone” backwards, a reflection of the fact that most people she encounters refuse to take her seriously.

 

The first film — based on Springer’s first novel, Enola Holmes and the Case of the Missing Marquess —  introduced all of these elements, threw Enola into her first case, and concluded with older brother Sherlock grudgingly acknowledging her detective skills. Thorne and co-scripter Harry Bradbeer veered away from Springer’s books for the second film, focusing instead on an actual historical event perfectly suited to Enola’s endeavors: Britain’s July 1888 matchgirls’ strike, which led to the creation of the Union of Women Matchmakers.

 

Thorne once again dips into established history for this third film, which cheekily removes Enola and Sherlock from their comfortable London setting.

 

“Every good story starts with a wedding,” Enola pertly tells us, as the film begins, once again breaking the fourth wall: one of this series’ many hallmarks. She continues to do so as the story proceeds, frequently pausing to address us directly, or to shoot us a knowing glance. This succeeds because of Brown’s skill with Thorne’s well-scripted dialogue, thus drawing us intimately into these events, as if we’re long-trusted allies.

 

The wedding is her own, to beloved Lord Tewkesbury, Marquis of Basilwether (Louis Partridge, also returning). He has matured from the callow, useless young man of the first film, and now has become a seasoned orator and rabble-rousing member of Parliament, doing his best to move the needle on social and gender equality.

 

Somewhat unexpectedly, their wedding is taking place in Malta, thanks to a suggestion made by Tewkesbury’s mother (Hattie Morahan), who believes this an important acknowledgment of her late husband’s military career.

The Ministry of Ungentlemanly Warfare: Jolly good show!

The Ministry of Ungentlemanly Warfare (2024) • View trailer

Four stars (out of five). Rated R, for relentless violent content and some profanity

Available via: Movie theaters

By Derrick Bang • Published in The Davis Enterprise, 4.19.24

This one has it all:

 

Taut suspense; superb direction and pacing; well-crafted characters played by a terrific cast; dry, mordant humor; and a jaw-dropping, war-era assignment that unfolds like Mission: Impossible without the gadgets, and is based on actual events related within Prime Minister Winston Churchill’s declassified memoirs, as detailed in Damien Lewis’ 2014 nonfiction book, Churchill’s Secret Warriors: The Explosive True Story of the Special Forces Desperadoes of WWII.

 

Gus March-Phillips (Henry Cavill, center) believes that he and his lads — clockwise from
left, Geoffrey Appleyard (Alex Pettyfer), Anders Lassen (Alan Ritchson), Henry Hayes
(Hero Fiennes Tiffin) and Freddy Alvarez (Henry Golding) — can seriously compromise
Nazi U-boat activities.

To be sure, director Guy Ritchie and his co-writers — Paul Tamasy, Eric Johnson and Arash Amel — have, um enhanced these events quite a bit; that’s to be expected from the flamboyant filmmaker who brought us (among many others) Snatch, The Gentlemen and cheeky updates of Sherlock Holmes and The Man from U.N.C.L.E.

But enough truth remains to make this one of the most audacious covert operations ever to emerge from World War II.

 

England is in dire straits as this story begins, with London enduring nightly Nazi bombing raids, and American forces unable to cross the Atlantic due to the persistent threat of German U-boats (that latter detail stretching the truth a bit). Determined to break this impasse, Churchill (Rory Kinnear) authorizes an off-books assault — dubbed Operation Postmaster —  proposed by Special Operations Executive Brigadier Colin Gubbins (Cary Elwes) and his personal assistant, Lt. Commander Ian Fleming (Freddie Fox).

 

(Yes, that Ian Fleming. He had quite the colorful career during the war.)

 

The details are to remain a secret between Churchill, Gubbins and Fleming: withheld, in particular, from War Office senior officers who favor trying to cut a deal with Hitler (!).

 

The plan: a clandestine black-ops mission — in other words, “ungentlemanly,” by the norms at that time — involving a small group of carefully selected mercenaries, tasked with destroying a crucial U-boat supply ship berthed in a neutral Spanish port on the volcanic island of Fernando Po.

 

Gubbins’ choice to head the mission: Major Gus March-Phillips (Henry Cavill), currently a guest of Her Majesty’s prison system.

 

(Well, naturally.)

 

What follows is a thrilling blend of The Dirty Dozen, The Magnificent Seven and, yes, the aforementioned Mission: Impossible. Once released and apprised of the assignment — when he isn’t cadging fine spirits, cigars and Fleming’s lighter (a cute bit) — March-Phillips assembles his team, each of whom would walk through fire on his behalf:

 

• Henry Hayes (Hero Fiennes Tiffin), an Irish navigations expert;

 

• Freddy “The Frogman” Alvarez (Henry Golding), a demolitions pro fully at home underwater; and

 

• Anders Lassen (Alan Ritchson, recognized from Amazon Prime’s “Reacher” TV series), an unstoppable killing machine, equally adept with knives and his beloved long-range bow and arrows, who has a charming habit of collecting the hearts of his Nazi victims.

 

Argylle: Fails to knock our socks off

Argylle (2024) • View trailer

2.5 stars (out of five). Rated PG-13, and much too generously, for relentless strong violence and occasional profanity

Available via: Movie theaters

By Derrick Bang • Published in The Davis Enterprise, 2.2.24

I’m not the slightest bit surprised to recall that scripter Jason Fuchs’ early résumé includes 2012’s Ice Age: Continental Drift.

 

Because, after a promising first act, this new spy comedy devolves into an increasingly insufferable — and boring — live-action cartoon.

 

Having discovered a secret stash in an otherwise abandoned London safe house, Aidan
(Sam Rockwell) is surprised to see that Elly (Bryce Dallas Howard) recognizes some
of the concealed tech.

Director Matthew Vaughn has long favored violent, over-the-top material, from 2010’s Kick-Ass to the Kingsman trilogy (with, so it seems, two more on the way). But even by his outré standards, this film’s third act spirals totally out of control.

And not in a way that can be excused as “dumb fun.”

 

This one’s just dumb.

 

A revved-up prologue opens as stylish spy Argylle (Henry Cavill) meets a femme most fatale, who unexpectedly turns the tables on him. A rambunctious chase sequence follows, the woman finally captured with the assistance of colleagues Wyatt (John Cena) and Keira (Ariana DeBose).

 

But the mission has ended badly, and our good guys now are isolated from their agency handlers.

 

At which point the curtain pulls back, and all this is revealed as the visualized final chapter of book five in the popular Argylle spy series, read aloud at a bookstore event by author Elly Conway (Bryce Dallas Howard). Fans adore her and the series; one questioner wonders aloud how she’s able to so uncannily concoct stories that seem to anticipate real-world events.

 

Plenty of dull research Elly replies, with a modest smile.

 

Back at home with her beloved cat Alfie, Ellie has an intriguing “relationship” with her series character; when stuck for a bit of dialogue, or how to move the action along, she “becomes” him — Cavill obligingly reappears — long enough to find the right words. Indeed, she has just finished the sixth novel, which she cheekily intends to conclude on a cliffhanger.

 

(Oh, those merciless authors; they do love to torture us readers.)

 

But Elly’s No. 1 fan — her mother, Ruth (Catherine O’Hara) — having been sent a copy, can’t believe that her daughter would be so cruel. Let’s get together, Ruth proposes, and we’ll brainstorm a final chapter.

 

Bundling Alfie into the world’s cutest hard-shell bubble capsule pet carrier, Elly boards a train. (Flying terrifies her.) She winds up accosted by Aidan (Sam Rockwell), a scruffy fan who proves quite useful when everybody else in their train car suddenly tries to kill them both. 

 

Cue a lively fracas, which is well-staged by fight choreographer Guillermo Grispo.

 

Enola Holmes 2: The game's still afoot!

Enola Holmes 2 (2022) • View trailer

Four stars (out of five). Rated PG-13, for dramatic intensity, violence and bloody images

Available via: Netflix

By Derrick Bang

I concluded my review of this film’s 2020 predecessor by expressing the hope that it would be popular enough to generate a sequel.

 

My wish has been granted.

 

Enola Holmes (Millie Bobby Brown), justifiably pleased with herself, after deducing one
of the puzzles on her older brother Sherlock's "clue board," favors us viewers with a
smile of satisfaction.

Enola Holmes 2 is every bit as stylish, witty and entertaining as the young heroine’s first on-screen escapade. Almost all the major stars have stepped back into their characters; director Harry Bradbeer and writer Jack Thorne also have returned. The one holdout is Sherlock Holmes’ older brother Mycroft, and he isn’t missed; Sam Claflin made him too much of a boorish crank in the previous entry.

Unlike that first film, this one isn’t based on one of author Nancy Springer’s Enola Holmes books; Bradbeer and Thorne have concocted an original tale that feels right in this young heroine’s wheelhouse. Better yet, this adventure places these fictitious characters within an actual 1888 major event (and, unless you’re a scholar of 19th century British history, you’re not likely to see it coming, until revealed within the end credits).

 

Following the successful resolution of her first case, now a bit older and wiser, Enola (Millie Bobby Brown) has optimistically set up her own private detective agency. Alas, all the adverts in the city cannot stop the look of dismay that crosses the face of would-be clients, when they realize Enola is (horrors!) a young woman.

 

Worse yet, on the few occasions she’s able to retain somebody long enough to explain that she did, after all, solve a high-profile case, the response is invariably something along the lines of “Didn’t Sherlock Holmes actually solve that?”

 

Disappointed beyond words, Enola prepares to close things down. Cue the last-minute arrival of young Bessie (Serrana Su-Ling Bliss, cute as a button), a penniless “matchstick girl” who works atrocious hours in a match-making factory with her sister Sarah (Hannah Dodd) and scores of other orphaned girls. Sarah has gone missing; Bessie hopes Enola will be able to find her.

 

With Bessie’s help, Enola poses as a new matchstick worker. She meets Mae (Abbie Hern), one of the older matchstick girls; and quickly runs afoul of the factory’s foreboding foreman, Mr. Crouch (Lee Boardman, appropriately ill-tempered). Employing quick wits and a handy diversion, Enola sneaks upstairs and sees factory owner Henry Lyon (David Westhead) in a meeting with Treasury Minister Lord Charles McIntyre (Tim McMullan) and his secretary, Mira Troy (Sharon Duncan-Brewster).

 

A high-ranking Cabinet official, discussing something with the owner of a grubby matchstick factory?

 

Odd, that.

Enola Holmes: The game's afoot!

Enola Holmes (2020) • View trailer

Four stars. Rated PG-13, and ludicrously, for occasional peril

By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 10.2.20

I love when it’s obvious, mere minutes into a film, that we’re in for a lot of fun.

 

When her mother vanishes under mysterious circumstances, Enola Holmes (Millie Bobby
Brown) is forced to request help from her older brothers, Sherlock (Henry Cavill, left)
and Mycroft (Sam Claflin) ... who prove to have unacceptable plans for her future.

Enola Holmes — debuting on Netflix — is an absolutely delightful adaptation of The Case of the Missing Marquess, the first book in Nancy Springer’s young adult series about the hitherto unrevealed teenage younger sister of Sherlock and Mycroft Holmes. The setting is London, the year 1884: just as Sherlock is in the process of establishing his credentials, following the successful resolution of “A Study in Scarlet” and “The Adventure of the Speckled Band.”

 

The literary Enola is plucky, intelligent and resourceful; as depicted here by Millie Bobby Brown — who shot to fame via TV’s Stranger Things — she’s also mischievous, endearing and quite captivating. Director Harry Bradbeer and scripter Jack Thorne don’t merely break the fourth wall; they shatter it completely, with Enola frequently pausing to address us viewers directly, or to shoot us a knowing glance.

 

That’s a tricky gimmick to employ, as it risks trivializing the story, and/or becoming too “cute.” But Bradbeer and Brown pull it off with élan, thanks in great part to the young actress’ facility with a well-timed line of dialogue. She essentially draws us into Enola’s unfolding adventure, as if we’re well-trusted confidants.

 

Bradbeer also spices this live-action adventure with occasional Victorian-style “stick figure” graphics, courtesy of animators Luca De Giglio and Lucas Scapim; they’re employed much the way Terry Gilliam’s similarly retro animation bridged the comic sketches in a Monty Python TV episode. They serve here as brief history lessons, character introductions, or depictions of Enola’s deductive reasoning.

 

She’s clever and physically adept, having been schooled in both book knowledge and jiu-jitsu self-defense skills, courtesy of her free-thinking and rather eccentric mother, Eudoria (Helena Bonham Carter). Although forced to endure the late 19th century laws and social traditions that place so many restrictions on women, Eudoria is a steadfast supporter of the suffrage cause, and wants to help create a world where her daughter can have freedom and power.

 

Carter is absolutely perfect for the role. She radiates authority, determination and calm resolve, along with a knowing gaze that bespeaks an impressive intellect. (This is, after all, the woman who raised the world’s most famous consulting detective; we have to assume that he got some of that acumen from his mother!)

 

Justice League: And so it begins...

Justice League (2017) • View trailer 
3.5 stars. Rated PG-13, for sci-fi action and violence
By Derrick Bang

Seeing director Zack Snyder’s name attached to this film was not happy news, given the degree to which he ruined both 2013’s Man of Steel and last year’s Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice.

Having responded to the bat-signal illuminated by Police Commissioner Gordon (J.K.
Simmons, far left), the newly formed Justice League — from left, Wonder Woman (Gal
Gadot), Cyborg (Ray Fisher), Batman (Ben Affleck) and The Flash (Ezra Miller) —
learn that Gotham City is, once again, in serious trouble.

Snyder has much in common with director Michael Bay, similarly notorious for the Transformers franchise. Both favor bloated, soulless, humorless slugfests that wreak havoc on landscapes and cityscapes, while casually snuffing hundreds (thousands?) of civilian bystanders. Their films are the very definition of mindless product over art.

On the other hand, I was cheered to note Joss Whedon as co-scripter on Justice League. As the writer/director of 2012’s The Avengers, Whedon established the template for solid, successful superhero epics. Fans have recognized Whedon’s gift since television’s Buffy slayed her first vampire, back in 1996: He has an unerring talent for blending action fantasy with a (frequently droll) human element, which eases our suspension of disbelief.

And is a helluva lot more fun.

It’s easy to spot Whedon’s touch in Justice League, which is most successful during its first and second acts, as the stage is set, and the players assembled. It’s equally easy to see that the third act belongs to Snyder ... but not entirely. Even here, we get the vicarious relief of the unmistakable Whedon touch.

Justice League picks up in the immediate wake of Batman v Superman. The latter is dead, having perished at the hands of a Kryptonian monster genetically engineered by the villainous Lex Luthor. The country (the world?) is sliding quickly into anarchy, humanity apparently having abandoned hope after losing its gallant symbol for truth, justice and the American way.

(Ah ... but is Big Blue really, truly dead?)

Bruce Wayne (Batman) and Diana Prince (the Amazon Wonder Woman) are doing their best to stem the lawless tide, but they operate in the shadows; they’re not “living symbols” in the manner of Superman. Worse yet, Batman has been encountering winged “parademons” — very hard to kill — that seem to be seeking something.

Mindful of the need for additional super-powered allies, in order to hold off whatever comes next, Bruce and Diana reach out to three promising individuals: Barry Allen (Ezra Miller), a twentysomething nerd transformed by a lightning strike into The Flash; Arthur Curry (Jason Momoa), dubbed Aquaman, and heir to the underwater kingdom of Atlantis; and Victor Stone (Ray Fisher), a once-promising college football player nearly killed in a horrific accident, and “saved” when his scientist father Silas (Joe Morton) employed alien tech to transform his son into the biomechanical Cyborg.

Batman V Superman: Clash of titans

Batman V Superman: Dawn of Justice (2016) • View trailer 
Three stars. Rated PG-13, and somewhat generously, for brief sensuality and relentless, soul-crushing violence
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 3.25.16

A perceptive philosophical theme serves as this film’s beating heart, a tenet that — quite sadly — reflects these cynical and despondent times: that, just as we worship our heroes, we’re all too eager to tear them down.

Alexander Luthor (Jesse Eisenberg, center) is delighted to discover that the guests at his
high-society event include inquisitive Daily Planet reporter Clark Kent (Henry Cavill, left)
and fellow industrialist Bruce Wayne (Ben Affleck). But why are they present?

Because we’re also jealous, and more than a little fearful. Because such individuals are different than you and I.

The “Big Blue” standing as the moral centerpiece of Batman V Superman: Dawn of Justice couldn’t be more different than the cheerful, easily admired boy scout played by Christopher Reeve in his quartet of films, several decades and a tidal shift of public sentiment ago. This 21st century Superman exists in a mutinous, resentful America that mirrors our own today, with a populous eager to be suspicious of any “alien” floating amongst us.

The resulting film is grim, its tone unrelentingly melancholy, its subtext downright depressing: We clearly don’t deserve a Superman.

For longtime comic book fans, the irony is palpable. Back in the early 1960s, DC Comics’ stable of heroes — Superman, Batman, Wonder Woman et al — were colorful but simplistic champions who routinely, almost casually, defeated equally flamboyant villains in self-contained storylines that mirrored popular TV dramas that did the same: all problems solved in one quick read (or one quick hour), and then on to the next adventure, perhaps with a quip or two. Nobody ever changed, because nobody had anything approaching an actual personality.

Upstart Marvel Comics upended this one-dimensional formula with its eye-opening roster of angst-laden superheroes. When out of their costumes, Spiderman, Iron Man, the Fantastic Four and their brethren felt like the folks next door, complete with anxieties and ground-level responsibilities. Their clashes with bad guys often occurred over multiple-issue story arcs: the outcomes less definitive, and often tinged with regret.

How interesting, then, that these two companies have switched roles en route to big-screen domination. Even at their most dire, Marvel movies are fun, their cataclysmic events leavened with an engaging layer of droll humor: a wink and nudge established the first time Robert Downey Jr. donned his Iron Man togs.

The Man from U.N.C.L.E.: Vintage spyjinks

The Man from U.N.C.L.E. (2015) • View trailer 
3.5 stars. Rated PG-13, for action violence, suggestive content and partial nudity
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 8.14.15

Having so successfully re-imagined the sleuthing Sherlock Holmes and his late 19th century London surroundings, director Guy Ritchie has plunged forward half a century and change, in order to replicate the Cold War-era intrigue of classic 1960s spy flicks.

Having outwitted one set of enemies, Napoleon (Henry Cavill, left) and Illya (Armie Hammer)
cautiously check out the scene, in case other adversaries are waiting to ambush them.
Since this is an action-oriented spy thriller, you can bet the answer will be yes...

The engaging result isn’t merely set in the twisty, double-crossing world of Iron Curtain espionage; it even looks and feels like a movie made in the 1960s, thanks to the meticulous efforts of cinematographer John Mathieson, production designer Oliver Scholl, costume designer Joanna Johnston — you have to love how she dresses Alicia Vikander — and even composer Daniel Pemberton.

But let’s be clear: This film has absolutely nothing to do with The Man from U.N.C.L.E. Scripters Ritchie, Lionel Wigram, Jeff Kleeman and Davis C. Wilson may have borrowed a couple of iconic character names — Napoleon Solo and Illya Kuryakin — but the whole elaborate U.N.C.L.E. mythos has been abandoned and/or ignored.

Ritchie’s film feels much more like a blend of early Sean Connery James Bond adventures and Michael Caine’s first two Harry Palmer spy thrillers (The Ipcress File and Funeral in Berlin). Mind you, that’s not a bad thing ... but if Ritchie & Co. wanted to mimic a 1960s spy film, why not invent their own characters?

Messing about with a beloved TV franchise seems a risky proposition either way: Longtime fans are guaranteed to be disappointed — or even irritated — while younger viewers won’t have the faintest idea who these guys are anyway. So ... what’s the point?

This cranky rant aside, Ritchie definitely has the formula down: the all-important blend of nimble spycraft, inventively staged fisticuffs, mildly audacious action sequences and just the right dollop of bone-dry humor (shaken, not stirred). The resulting tongue-in-cheek thriller is a bit lethargic at times — editor James Herbert could (and should) have tightened some of the many talking-heads interludes — but it’s otherwise a sleek and colorful blast from the cinematic past.

The action takes place in 1963, and begins as CIA agent Solo (Henry Cavill) is sent into East Berlin to extract Gaby Teller (Vikander), the long-estranged daughter of Dr. Udo Teller, once Hitler’s favorite rocket scientist. The hope is that Gaby will lead Napoleon to her father, whose wartime research into uranium enrichment has become highly dangerous, in an unstable world where the United States and Soviet Union are locked in an anxious, high-stakes game of chicken over nuclear arms supremacy.

Man of Steel: Dull as iron

Man of Steel (2013) • View trailer 
Three stars. Rating: PG-13, for brief profanity and vicious, unrelenting violence and destruction
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 6.14.13

Grim, humorless and unpleasantly brutal.

Not to mention boring and redundant, particularly during the interminable, body-slamming final act.

No fun at all.

Having been punched through half a dozen buildings by an equally super-powered
adversary, our caped hero (Henry Cavill) pauses for breath before returning to the
city-leveling skirmish. At which point, we wonder: With a hero like this, who
needs enemies?

Director Zack Snyder has delivered a Superman film with the nasty, cataclysmic tone he employed so well — and much more appropriately — in 300 and Watchman: a dark, dour mood that also suited Christopher Nolan’s Batman trilogy, but is wholly out of place here. No surprise: Nolan shares story credit here with David S. Goyer, with whom he co-wrote those Batman epics. All things considered, then, Snyder, Nolan and Goyer have concocted precisely the sort of Superman we should have expected from them.

I do not approve.

All concerned desperately need to take lessons from Joss Whedon, when it comes to choreographing the real estate-leveling carnage of a melee between super-powered beings. As Whedon proved with The Avengers, he understands the importance of the occasional wink and nod, not to mention his recognition of the fine emotional line between necessary collateral damage and a callous disregard for brutalized civilian bystanders.

Snyder obviously relished the opportunity to envision what it really might be like for a being such as Superman to be tossed through half a mile’s worth of office buildings; the director and his special-effects wizards certainly beat such scenes to death. But, speaking of death, it’s impossible to overlook the hundreds (thousands?) of fragile humans who’d be maimed and killed along the way, as a result of each super-powered punch ... which turns Superman’s “code against killing” into something of a joke.

Hell, he must kill scores of people every time he slams his evil, super-powered adversaries through said buildings. Ironic, then, that his code eventually becomes an important — if ill-defined — plot point.

On top of which, the various Metropolis-shattering skirmishes go on for so long, and thus to such diminishing returns, that they become no more meaningful than watching Godzilla stomp and flatten a miniature cardboard Tokyo in all those 1950s and ’60s Japanese monster flicks.