Cats: Purr-vasively strange

Cats (2019) • View trailer 
Three stars. Rated PG, for some suggestive humor
By Derrick Bang

From the opening moments and without interruption throughout, director Tom Hooper’s big-screen adaptation of Cats is visually breathtaking: a mesmerizing display of cinematic razzle-dazzle dominated by Paco Delgado’s stunning costume design, Sharon Martin’s equally impressive hair and makeup design, and Andy Blankenbuehler’s inventive choreography.

Having unwisely followed the larcenous Rumpleteazer (Naoimh Morgan, left) and
Mungojerrie (Danny Collins, right) into a human house, in order to steal anything that
catches their fancy, Victoria (Francesca Hayward) is dazzled and distracted by
all the finery.

Theater fans who delight in ostentatious production numbers will be blown away. That’s the only possible reaction.

Those seeking a story to go along with all the visual excess, however, will find this many kibbles short of a full bowl.

In fairness, that shortcoming is equally true of the play. Andrew Lloyd Webber’s staging of T.S. Eliot’s poems in Old Possum’s Book of Practical Cats was audaciously far-fetched to begin with, and it definitely didn’t resonate in the manner of Phantom of the Opera or Les Misérables. Cats plays more like an opulent cabaret show, with individual production numbers linked by the barest trace of plot.

And a very weird plot, at that.

The film opens ominously, as a car stops in a Soho alley; the driver gets out only long enough to discard a sack with something inside. The car departs; the sack is surrounded by dozens of cats (all actors), who help the young feline inside free herself. This is Victoria (Francesca Hayward, principal ballerina at The Royal Ballet), abandoned by unseen owners. (Human beings never appear in this saga. Nor do dogs, although one is heard.)

Victoria discovers that she has been embraced by a tribe of cats known as the Jellicles, on the very night that matriarch Old Deuteronomy (Judi Dench) will make the “Jellicle choice” that determines which cat will be reborn into a new life, by ascending to the Heaviside Layer.

(One simply must run with this.)

The rest of the film is dominated by the contenders for this honor, each granted a descriptive song and dance that reveals characteristics and talents. In that respect, Cats is somewhat akin to A Chorus Line, building to the triumphant “choosing moment.” But Cats is more full-blown opera, with each lengthy song weaving into the next; very few lines are spoken in dramatic fashion, absent musical accompaniment.

The Secret Life of Bees: Strong buzz

The Secret Life of Bees (2008) • View trailer for The Secret Life of Bees
Four stars (out of five). Rating: PG-13, for violence and dramatic intensity
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 10.17.08
Buy DVD: The Secret Life of Bees • Buy Blu-Ray: The Secret Life of Bees [Blu-ray]

Certain historical flashpoints remain popular subjects for stories, because savvy authors recognize that we bring cultural awareness to the relationship between artist and audience: If the fictitious characters are constructed persuasively enough to co-exist with real-world events, the drama becomes even more intense.

August (Queen Latifah, left) is surprised to discover that Lily (Dakota Fanning)
doesn't fear the winged insects that fill the hives and produce the sweet honey
for which the Boatwright sisters have become famous. Indeed, Lily seems to
understand — in a deeply spiritual way — when August speaks reverently of
"the secret life of bees."

Director/scripter Gina Prince-Bythewood's deeply moving adaptation of Sue Monk Kidd's The Secret Life of Bees is just such a story. Set in 1964 South Carolina, at a time when the rising civil rights movement actually made an already toxic racial environment even more combustible — because, to the hysterical rage of hard-core racists, African-Americans were daring to stand up for themselves — the narrative unfolds in a constant state of tension and suspense.

All sorts of bad things seem to await these good characters.

Grief battles with pragmatism and hope, in a film highlighted by strong performances that allow us intimate and at-times painful access to these characters and their thoughts. And, as was the case with To Kill a Mockingbird — with which this film shares both subject and tone — these events are filtered through the dawning awareness of a child, and her subsequent loss of innocence.

In the case of 14-year-old Lily Owens (Dakota Fanning), she's not that innocent to begin with. As depicted in a brief but horrifying prologue, Lily believes herself responsible for her mother's death, years earlier, and has suffered ever since at the hands of a father, T. Ray (Paul Bettany), prone to casual cruelty.

T. Ray isn't exactly abusive, and we get a strong sense that he, too, is in a state of constant despair — such is the impressive subtlety of Bettany's performance — but that doesn't make his needlessly stern and unloving treatment of Lily any less heinous.

Things might be worse, were if not for the sheltering care extended by Rosaleen (Jennifer Hudson), who works for T. Ray and has become something of a surrogate mother to Lily. The girl, in turn, has grown to care for Rosaleen: enough to be quite concerned when the older woman quietly shares her intention to walk to a nearby town and register to vote.

Sadly, an almost inevitable encounter with some vicious white crackers goes as badly as could be expected.

Prince-Bythewood does not exploit this scene, but Rogier Stoffers' camera also doesn't flinch from it; we cannot help sharing Lily's sick and heavy-hearted reaction to what she witnesses. (Bullies are nothing new in the world, I realize, and yet I still find it difficult to comprehend that people would behave this way to another human being, based solely on skin color ... and that such behavior was considered acceptable, as recently as 44 years ago.)

Finally fed up with her own father, and worried about Rosaleen's likely future, Lily orchestrates a plan of escape and the two hit the road. Their destination — Tiburon, also in South Carolina — is governed solely by the fact that this town's name is printed on the back of one of the few mementos Lily has from her mother.

Sex and the City: Cash and Carrie

Sex and the City (2008) • View trailer for Sex and the City
3.5 stars (out of five). Rating: R, for profanity, vulgarity, nudity and sexual content
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 5.30.08
Buy DVD: Sex and the City • Buy Blu-Ray: Sex and the City: The Movie [Blu-ray]


Samantha no doubt would disagree, but I’m afraid there is such a thing as too much Sex.

Although longtime executive producer and Sex and the City series writer Michael Patrick King both wrote and directed this big-screen continuation of the hit HBO comedy/drama — and while I’ve no doubt this film will be the bee’s knees for legions of adoring fans — the long-awaited result is self-indulgent and somewhat irritating.

When Samantha (Kim Cattrall, far left) attends an auction with the intention of
purchasing one particular piece, she and her longtime gal pals — from left,
Carrie (Sarah Jessica Parker), Miranda (Cynthia Nixon) and Charlotte (Kristin
Davis) — are dismayed to see another person bidding quite aggressively for
the same item.

Self-indulgent because, at a thumping 145 minutes, this film is almost half a season’s worth of the half-hour TV episodes.

Somewhat irritating because, having left everybody — the show’s characters and us fans — in a happy place when the series rode off into the New York City sunset in February 2004, King rains on everybody’s parade by screwing up key relationships.

Yep, Carrie and Big are on the outs. Again.

And so are Miranda and Steve.

And so are Samantha and Smith.

Sigh.

The always witty and hilariously smutty dialogue aside, one expects better than tired, predictable melodrama from a franchise with such a smart pedigree. This movie feels driven more by studio greed than a need for further explore these characters.

I recall being similarly annoyed (on a much more superficial level) when, having brought Peter Parker and Mary Jane Watson into each other’s loving arms at the conclusion of Spider-Man 2, that series’ producers decided the only way they could obtain dramatic tension for the third film was to rip them apart again.

This is the tried-and-true tactic of afternoon soap operas, where plot developments emerge less from the logic of established characters and their distinctive behavior, and more because some idiot decides to throw a spanner into the gears.

While it’s genuinely delightful to see Carrie (Sarah Jessica Parker), Charlotte (Kristin Davis), Miranda (Cynthia Nixon) and Samantha (Kim Cattrall) once again strutting their Manhattan streets in search of labels, by rights — and by six seasons, and 94 episodes of the series — they should have gotten the other “L” (love) worked out by now.

Indeed, they did get it worked out. We saw it happen back in early 2004, when Carrie abandoned her ill-advised Parisian fantasy and allowed Big (Chris Noth) to sweep her back into his arms.

And when Miranda finally came to terms with her admittedly unusual but still emotionally satisfying relationship with Steve (David Eigenberg).

And particularly when Samantha came to terms with her cancer, and the debilitating effects of chemo, and watched in amazement as Smith (Jason Lewis) not only stood by her, but delivered quite possibly the most swooningly romantic “bouquet” in the history of such gestures.

Charlotte, for her part, had found true happiness a bit sooner than her friends, in the devoted arms of Harry (Evan Handler), her amazingly sweet and satisfying husband.