The Caine Mutiny Court-Martial: Riveting courtroom theatrics

The Caine Mutiny Court-Martial (2023) • View trailer

Four stars (out of five). Not rated, and suitable for all ages

Available via: Paramount+

By Derrick Bang • Published in The Davis Enterprise, 10.13.23

The Caine Mutiny Court-Martial — based on Herman Wouk’s 1951 novel, The Caine Mutiny — has been an actor’s showcase ever since he adapted it for the stage two years later.

 

Given its ongoing popularity as a live theater production, it’s surprising that no big-screen version has been mounted since director Edward Dmytryk’s powerhouse with Humphrey Bogart, José Ferrer, Van Johnson and Fred MacMurray. But scripters Stanley Roberts and Michael Blankfort strayed significantly from Wouk’s source material in that 1954 film; director/adaptor William Friedkin has gone back to basics with this new version.

 

Lt. Stephen Maryk (Jack Lacey, left) is understandably unhappy upon learning that his
defense attorney, Lt. Barney Greenwald (Jason Clarke), believes him guilty.

Indeed, his vision is just this side of a filmed stage play, with only three sets: a courtroom, the hallway outside it, and a gathering that takes place elsewhere during the story’s epilogue.

That certainly doesn’t diminish the power of Friedkin’s adaptation. Wouk’s dialogue still crackles with intensity; the story remains riveting; and cinematographer Michael Grady adds considerable tension with inventive camera angles and shrewd, well employed close-ups.

 

And, yes; the acting is exceptional.

 

Wouk’s original took place in a World War II setting; Friedkin’s sole major change moves the story to the present day, setting the action in the aftermath of a mutiny that takes place during the USS Caine’s mine-sweeping operation in the Persian Gulf. Lt. Stephen Maryk (Jack Lacy) is on trial for “improperly” relieving Capt. Philip Francis Queeg (Kiefer Sutherland) of duty during a dangerous typhoon.

 

Maryk did so because he believed Queeg’s actions during the storm put the ship in peril. Maryk took command, citing Article 184 of Navy Regulations, and steered the Caine north — directly into the storm — instead of south, as Queeg had demanded. The ship and crew survived, apparently validating Maryk’s decision … but that didn’t save him from the consequences of his actions.

 

In another nod to modern times, the courtroom prosecuting attorney has been gender-shifted; Monica Raymund gives a crackerjack performance as Lt. Commander Challee. Eyes blazing, posture combative, armed with impressive legal and naval knowledge, clearly whip-smart and sharply perceptive, she’s a true force of nature.

 

Maryk’s defense attorney — Lt. Barney Greenwald (Jason Clarke) — doesn’t even want the assignment. As he admits to an ashen-faced Maryk, prior to the start of trial, he believes his client guilty, and would much rather act as prosecutor. But Greenwald understands the importance of a fair trial, and recognizes his duty to mount the best possible defense.

 

Even so, Greenwald’s initial ambivalence does not go unnoticed by Capt. Blakely (Lance Reddick), chief judge of the court-martial. In the forcefully clipped, severe tone for which Reddick has become famous, he gives Maryk the opportunity for fresh counsel. (Reddick gets more out of a frown, than most actors get out of pages of dialogue.)

Instinct prompts the defendant to stick with Greenwald.

Being the Ricardos: We still love Lucy

Being the Ricardos (2021) • View trailer

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

Available via: Movie theaters and (beginning December 21) Amazon Prime

By Derrick Bang

Writer/director Aaron Sorkin loves the crackling intensity of rapid-fire dialogue amid interpersonal conflict, as we’ve seen in earlier projects from TV’s The West Wing and The Newsroom, to big-screen efforts such as The Social Network and The Trial of the Chicago 7.

 

The stars of I Love Lucy — from left, Desi Arnaz (Javier Bardem), William Frawley
(J.K. Simmons), Vivian Vance (Nina Arianda) and Lucile Ball (Nicole Kidman) — rehearse
a scene wherein Ricky and Lucy Ricardo attempt to "re-unite" the bickering Fred and
Ethel Mertz.

When Sorkin is at the top of his game, the result is exhilarating: absolutely the word to describe this new film.

Being the Ricardos is set primarily during a tumultuous single week in late 1952, as the stars, writers and sponsors of I Love Lucy shape the second season’s next episode, prior to it being performed and filmed before a live studio audience. That said, frequent flashbacks reveal the early careers of Lucille Ball (Nicole Kidman) and Desi Arnaz (Javier Bardem), and how they met and married.

 

Those elements are fascinating, as Sorkin deftly sketches the ambition, shrewd intelligence and business savvy that — once they got together — transformed two B-movie contract players into industry visionaries: They co-created one of television’s all-time most successful shows (No. 1 in the Nielsen ratings for four of its six seasons) and then founded Desilu, one of the world’s top TV production companies at the time (and later the home of Star Trek, among many other hits).

 

Captivating as all this is — and the power couple’s many innovations almost are too numerous to take in, so quickly (a Sorkin trademark) — the film primarily focuses on three crises that erupt during this one week:

 

• A newspaper photo that leads Ball to believe that Arnaz is having an affair;

 

• Muckraking gossip columnist Walter Winchell’s bombshell announcement that Ball is a communist (!); and

 

• The revelation that Ball is pregnant with their second child, and her determination — with Arnaz’s support — to break television’s then-cultural taboo against showing pregnant women on screen.

 

While all these events are factual, Sorkin has “massaged” history — and heightened the intensity of his film — by having them occur simultaneously. (They didn’t. Most notably, Winchell’s radio bombshell wasn’t made until a few days after Ball’s second meeting with the House Un-American Activities Committee, in September 1953.)

 

Ergo, the cacophony of calamity is artistic conceit, but it’s a forgivable sin.

 

Verbal jousting is ubiquitous throughout, in the audacious manner of a 1930s screwball comedy: between Ball and Arnaz; between both of them and their three favorite writers, Madelyn Pugh (Alia Shawkat), Bob Carroll Jr. (Jake Lacy) and Jess Oppenheimer (Tony Hale); and between all five of them and the CBS suits (Clark Gregg, Nelson Franklin and Dan Sachoff) and Phillip Morris representative (Jeff Holman) who question, nitpick, challenge and argue over any line or act that might be considered controversial, risqué or offensive to American TV viewers.

 

It’s a revelation, to be reminded of the jaw-droppingly insane restrictions placed on TV shows, back in the day … and the long-suffering patience required of the stars, writers and directors who had to put up with such nonsense.

 

Alan Baumgarten’s editing, throughout, is as tight and quick as the rat-a-tat dialogue.

Rampage: Nothing but noise

Rampage (2018) • View trailer 
Two stars. Rated PG-13, and quite generously, for violence, gore, destruction, dramatic intensity and brief profanity
By Derrick Bang

Art often responds to life.

Back in the 1950s, rising Cold War paranoia and atomic-era anxiety prompted Hollywood to uncork a series of “giant whatzis” movies: giant ants (Them), giant spiders (Tarantula), giant scorpions (The Black Scorpion), and even — I’m not making this up — giant grasshoppers (Beginning of the End).

With Chicago being demolished by a couple of extremely nasty monsters, can one man and
his faithful albino gorilla companion make a difference? This flick would like you to
think so...

These days, the night terrors are induced by misguided genetic editing and greed-driven corporate malfeasance. But the results are the same: giant whatzis movies.

And, frankly, Rampage isn’t much better than most of those 1950s clunkers.

Modern golly-gee-wow special effects can’t conceal the fact that this is a laughably inept flick fueled by a bone-stupid script that can’t even follow its own interior logic. (Actually, “logic” and Rampage are oxymorons.) Four writers take the blame for this kitchen-sink mess — Ryan Engle, Carlton Cuse, Ryan J. Condal and Adam Sztykiel — and I’m amazed they had the collective chutzpah to demand credit for stuff they swiped from other films, and then stitched together like Frankenstein’s monster.

But, then, what can we expect of a movie “developed” from an arcade game?

I wish Mystery Science Theater 3000 still were around; the ’bots would have a great time dissing this dumb turkey.

In fairness, Rampage has one thing going for it: the incandescent presence of Dwayne Johnson. He may have rolled his eyes in private, when the script pages were delivered, but he nonetheless gives an impressively earnest performance. Those who doubt the power of “movie star charisma” need look no further than this misbegotten flick.

Director Brad Peyton certainly doesn’t bring anything to the party; he basically points and shoots, hoping that Johnson’s reasonably well-timed quips will compensate for the sins that sheer momentum can’t conceal. The two of them did the same a few years ago, when they teamed for San Andreas.

To cases, then:

During a prologue that’s a blatant mash-up (and rip-off) of Gravity and Life, we learn that Chicago-based Wyden Technologies, via their Energyne genetics lab, has been conducting naughty — and highly illegal — experiments in an orbiting space station. Things go awry; three small canisters containing Bad Stuff hurl through our atmosphere, meteorite-like, and plow into different parts of the United States.

Miss Sloane: Superbly written political drama

Miss Sloane (2016) • View trailer 
Four stars. Rated R, for profanity and occasional sexuality
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 12.9.16

Abraham Lincoln tried — and failed — to abolish lobbyists.

“Lobbyists have more offices in Washington than the President,” Will Rogers famously observed. “You see, the President only tells Congress what they should do. Lobbyists tell ’em what they will do.”

Having decided to take a shot at persuading senators to back a bill enhancing gun
background checks, Elizabeth Sloane (Jessica Chastain, foreground) gains the support
of junior lobbyists, from left, Franklin (Noah Robbins), Lauren (Grace Lynn Jung), Alex
(Douglas Smith) and Ross (Al Macadam).

Ayn Rand was somewhat more blunt: “Lobbying ... is the result and creation of a mixed economy: of government by pressure groups. Its methods range from mere social courtesies and cocktail party or luncheon “friendships,” to favors, threats, bribes, blackmail.”

One cringes at the thought of what lobbyists will be able to accomplish, dealing with a president who apparently stalled at fifth grade.

Director John Madden’s Miss Sloane would have been a provocatively charged political drama at any time; given the current circumstances, it’s also quite chilling. First-time writer Jonathan Perera’s electrifying script positively sizzles in the hands of star Jessica Chastain, who tears into the pungent dialogue with the ferocity of a starving lion. She doesn’t merely portray the title character; she charges into the role with messianic fervor.

Perera’s personal saga is just as compelling as his debut screenplay. He was 30 years old, working as an elementary school teacher in South Korea, when he began the project. Once finished, he solicited Hollywood industry reps via cold online queries; his script made the rounds, placing No. 5 on 2015’s celebrated “Black List” of most-liked but as-yet unproduced screenplays.

FilmNation Entertainment picked it up; Madden (Shakespeare in Love, The Debt, The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel) signed on to direct; Chastain agreed to star.

Perera’s dialog has the rat-a-tat intensity of Aaron Sorkin’s best work, with similar hot-button political relevance. It’s compelling, fascinating, suspenseful and crazy-making, lifting rocks and shining a light on slimy Capitol “business as usual” practices much the way The Big Short indicted behind-the-scenes banking shenanigans.

Perera retained sole scripting credit: almost unheard of, these days, for a newcomer. He’s guaranteed to garner an Academy Award nomination, as will Chastain.

Her title character, Elizabeth Sloane, is a high-powered lobbyist heading a team for a well-established “white shoe” firm headed by George Dupont (Sam Waterston). She’s brilliant, ruthless and utterly unscrupulous; she also has no life outside of her work. It’s telling that we never see her eating breakfast, changing clothes, watering plants or doing anything else that would suggest a home life.

Carol: Nothing to sing about

Carol (2015) • View trailer 
Three stars. Rated R, for nudity and intimate sexuality
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 1.15.16

Intimate dramas work best when we understand and empathize with the primary characters: when we feel like we know them.

Even during their first meeting, Therese (Rooney Mara, left) can't help noticing the
smoldering, come-hither gaze that Carol (Cate Blanchett) delivers with a shameless
lack of subtlety.

Despite the scrupulous care with which director Todd Haynes has assembled his new film, it’s almost impossible to become involved with the storyline. The narrative is slow, the tone is sweepingly luxurious, and the performances are overstated: all intentional, since Haynes is imitating the opulent 1950s melodramas made by director Douglas Sirk (Magnificent Obsession, Written on the Wind, Imitation of Life and many others).

Which would be fine, if playwright Phyllis Nagy had done a better job with her adaptation of The Price of Salt, the Patricia Highsmith novel on which this film is based.

Granted, Cate Blanchett delivers another of her carefully sculpted performances as protagonist Carol Aird (although I’d argue that Blanchett did the “anguished socialite” shtick much better in Woody Allen’s Blue Jasmine).

But despite the film’s title, Carol isn’t the most important character in this story, as Highsmith made abundantly clear in her novel. That would be the younger Therese Belivet, who remains an utter cipher as portrayed by co-star Rooney Mara. It’s not entirely her fault; she hits the higher emotional notes reasonably well. But Mara’s Therese has too much “down time,” when she simply stares vacantly toward the camera, as if waiting for Haynes’ next instruction.

More to the point, we know nothing about Therese: her background, the reason she’s so arbitrarily bitchy toward longtime boyfriend Richard (Jake Lacy, who does his best in a thankless role), or — most crucially — why she’s so suddenly infatuated with Carol. We get none of the essential back-story present in Highsmith’s novel.

OK, fine; Therese is trying to “find herself.” But that isn’t good enough; Mara doesn’t sell her half of the dynamic, and therefore the entire film sinks beneath the weight of its own flamboyantly breathy ambiance.

Obvious Child: Needs to grow a bit

Obvious Child (2014) • View trailer 
Three stars. Rated R, for profanity and sexual candor
By Derrick Bang

John Carpenter and Dan O’Bannon collaborated on a 16mm short film initially called Planetfall while students at USC’s film school in the early 1970s; it was expanded for theatrical release in 1974, now titled Dark Star, and quickly became a cult classic. Carpenter went on to a lucrative career highlighted by Halloween and Escape from New York; O’Bannon made his bones as a screenwriter, notably with Alien and many other horror and sci-fi projects.

On the sad day that Donna (Jenny Slate) packs up books — her final act as clerk of a
bookstore forced to close — she gets a surprise visit from Max (Jake Lacy), who
manages to bring a smile to her face. Whether she'll agree to his gentle push for an
actual date, however, is another matter.

A few years earlier, in 1967, George Lucas made a 15-minute short titled THX 1138 4EB, also while a student at USC’s film school. It, too, was expanded to feature length with a slightly shorter title — THX 1138 — and was released commercially in 1971, now starring Robert Duvall and Donald Pleasence, and became both a cult classic and Lucas’ first directorial credit. He went on to make American Graffiti and, well, a certain sci-fi epic that took place in a galaxy far, far away.

Obvious Child began life in 2009, as a 23-minute short film written by Anna Bean, Karen Maine and Gillian Robespierre, and directed by Robespierre. Encouraging reviews at various film festivals encouraged Robespierre and star Jenny Slate to re-make the film for feature release, with an expanded cast and running time. A Kickstarter campaign raised the funds to get it placed at the Sundance Film Festival earlier this year, where indie distributor A24 picked it up and now has brought it to a theater near you.

Its occasional merits aside, however, I rather doubt Robespierre will go on to the sort of career enjoyed by Carpenter, O’Bannon and Lucas.

Slate, however, should get a pretty good bump. She’s been all over TV for the past five years, from Saturday Night Live and Late Night with Jimmy Fallon, to House of Lies and Parks and Recreation. She capably handles a big-screen starring role here, establishing a warm and delectably snarky persona.

Moving forward, though, she needs better material.

The major problem is that Obvious Child still feels like a 23-minute film, albeit one that has been padded with a lot of extraneous “stuff” in order to beef it up into an 84-minute feature. Several sequences do little but fill time, to the detriment of the story being told, and at least one sidebar is completely pointless.

And since Robespierre now has taken the primary scripting credit for this longer version, she’s clearly the one to blame. Perhaps she shouldn’t have been so quick to dismiss Maine and Bean (although Maine and newcomer Elisabeth Holm do share a “story by” credit here).