Driveways: Park yourself in front of this one!

Driveways (2019) • View trailer 
Four stars. Not rated, but with some blunt profanity
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 5.22.20

There are movie stars, and there are actors.

And, rarely, there are actors: the wielders of true magic. The ones who slide into a role with such smoothness — such casual subtlety — that you’re not even aware of the craft on display. You simply spend time with that character.

When Del (Brian Dennehy) realizes that a friend has failed to provide a promised ride,
Kathy (Hong Chau) grudgingly agrees to drive him ... in part because her son,
Cody (Lucas Jaye), insists that it's the right thing to do.

I first clocked Brian Dennehy in 1978’s Foul Play, when his small supporting role — jostling for attention among scene-stealers Chevy Chase, Goldie Hawn and Dudley Moore — nonetheless registered. Considerably, in fact; he was the one authentic human being among exaggerated burlesques. It was a clever move by writer/director Colin Higgins, because it allowed Dennehy to stand out.

He probably caught the attention of most moviegoers as the overzealous, hard-ass sheriff in 1982’s First Blood, which kick-started Sylvester Stallone’s Rambo franchise. Dennehy’s CV since then has been far too impressive to cite here: always engaging, always enjoyable. Even when he was just larking about — as in the two F/X films he made with Bryan Brown — the work was solid. He became that guy.

His film work was eclipsed by a stage career that netted two Tony Awards, for Death of a Salesman and Long Day’s Journey into Night.

Dennehy died on April 20 — 81 years old, and still too young — but he left us with one final sterling performance, in director Andrew Ahn’s sensitive indie drama, Driveways.

The achingly poignant Hannah Bos/Paul Thureen script is buoyed further by co-stars Hong Chau and Lucas Jaye. Although additional characters briefly drift in and out, this is essentially a three-hander: a delicate, intimate study of loneliness and regret, and the healing power of simply reaching out.

Ahn wastes no time in back-story. Single parent Kathy (Chau) and her young son Cody (Jaye), after a long drive, pull into the driveway of her long-estranged and recently deceased older sister. Night has fallen, and Kathy’s body language is reluctant, resigned but grimly resolute; Cody has the morose face of an adult who hasn’t experienced enough joy.

The long-retired Del (Dennehy), living along next door, notes their arrival.

Arrangements, obviously made in haste, are incomplete; Kathy and Cody aren’t able to get inside. They back-track to a cheap motel, and return — better prepared — in the morning. Once inside, they’re greeted by a hoarder’s nightmare; the house is wall-to-wall, floor-to-ceiling with junk and debris that completely conceals what once must’ve been a cheerful, cozy home.

A Most Violent Year: Does corruption inevitably devour idealism?

A Most Violent Year (2014) • View trailer 
Four stars. Rated R, for profanity and violence
By Derrick Bang

Writer/director J.C. Chandor burst on the scene with 2011’s riveting Margin Call, a fictionalized depiction of how one Wall Street investment firm — Lehman Brothers, in all but name — likely kick-started the 2008 U.S. financial crisis. Although primarily a talking-heads discussion among analysts looking to save their own careers, the dialogue and character interaction unfolded with the crisp intensity of a David Mamet play: in other words, not the slightest bit boring.

As things begin, Abel (Oscar Isaac) and his wife, Anna (Jessica Chastain), are full of
optimism about a waterfront property deal that will help expand their heating-oil business.
But life — and organized crime — are about to throw several nasty barriers in their way,
testing Abel's integrity to the limit.

Chandor obviously enjoys the challenge of creating and then dissecting characters under pressure, and in A Most Violent Year he has found another grim “historical moment” in which to build and populate a drama undoubtedly typical of the time and place. And if his new film lacks the razor’s-edge focus and intensity of Margin Call, it nonetheless belongs in the worthy company of thoughtful organized crime dramas such as the Godfather trilogy and Once Upon a Time in America.

Indeed, watching Chandor’s new film, I frequently was reminded of Al Pacino’s iconic line from Godfather 3: “Just when I thought I was out ... they pull me back in.”

Except that Violent Year’s Abel Morales is trying desperately to remain out in the first place, as events conspire to make that impossible.

The story takes place during a single winter month in 1981 New York: a time when Big Apple mayhem had hit ghastly levels, between gang killings, mob family violence, record-breaking robberies, vandalized subway cars and all manner of street crime. Chandor’s characters never stray too far from a radio during the course of his film, and the constant litany of reported murders and vicious misconduct becomes something of a sidebar soundtrack to Alex Ebert’s somber orchestral score.

Against this grim backdrop, we meet Abel (Oscar Isaac) en route to the most important financial transaction of his career: a negotiation to buy some waterfront property that would significant boost the long-term growth of his fledgling heating-oil business. He gets the deal, but it comes with a daunting kicker: This down payment must be followed by the full balance within 30 days, no extensions, or the arrangement is off ... and the initial deposit forfeited.

Sadly, Abel already is in trouble; his trucks have been getting hijacked brazenly, in broad daylight and on busy city streets, by gun-toting thugs who beat up the defenseless drivers. The union boss wants the drivers armed, even if illegally; Abel, angrily defending the “kinder, gentler, better” image that he has worked hard to create, refuses.