Killers of the Flower Moon: Unforgettable

Killers of the Flower Moon (2023) • View trailer

Five stars (out of five). Rated R, for violence, grisly images and profanity

Available via: Movie theaters

By Derrick Bang • Published in The Davis Enterprise, 10.27.23

This is a masterpiece. 

 

It’s the pinnacle of director Martin Scorsese’s career … which, obviously, needed no further burnishing. But there you go: 81 years old, and more visionary than ever.

 

William Hale (Robert De Niro, center) beams on the day his nephew, Ernest Burkhart
(Leonardo DiCaprio) marries Osage woman Mollie Kyle (Lily Gladstone) ... but
Hale's delight has very little to do with genuine affection.

I was reminded, while thoroughly engaged during this film’s (admittedly intimidating) 206-minute running time, of Roger Ebert’s Second Law of Motion Pictures: “No good movie is too long.”

True that. (But an intermission would have been nice.)

 

In adapting journalist David Grann’s 2017 nonfiction book of the same title, Scorsese and co-scripter Eric Roth have aimed a much-needed spotlight — particularly during these tempestuous times of revisionist classroom instruction — on a mostly forgotten slice of American history every bit as heinous as the two-day 1921 race massacre in the Greenwood district of Tulsa, Okla. (which this film briefly references).

 

Scorsese’s film is bookended by Osage cultural rituals, the first a melancholy “pipe ceremony” as the elders mourn the forced assimilation of their children into white American society. It’s the early 20th century, and a sudden silver lining erupts against this sad tableau: Oil is discovered on the Oklahoma reservation, located northwest of Tulsa. (Yep, Tulsa. Again.)

 

Within half a generation, members of the Osage community are, per capita, the world’s wealthiest individuals. They have automobiles, fancy clothes, plenty of glam … and servants. White servants. (Imagine how well that goes down.)

 

Even so, as per U.S. government-mandated reservation law, white “guardians” must manage each individual’s money. (Imagine how well that goes down.)

 

The story proper begins in 1919, as Ernest Burkhart (Leonardo DiCaprio) returns from WWI service, where he’s reunited with his brother Byron (Scott Shepherd) and uncle William Hale (Robert De Niro). The latter has an extensive cattle ranch on reservation land — no oil operations — and has, over time, been embraced as a staunch friend and benefactor to the Osage, speaking their language and participating in all important rituals.

 

Ernest’s initial “interview” with his uncle is revealing. Under Hale’s cheerful, fatherly probing, the younger man bashfully acknowledges his primary interests in money, whiskey and women. DiCaprio is sublime here, as Ernest radiates embarrassment over his limited intelligence; he’s quite unsophisticated, lacking the worldly wisdom that should have resulted from his war service. Unable to handle heavy labor due to a war injury, he gratefully agrees to serve as a chauffeur.

 

Sharper: A cut above

Sharper (2023) • View trailer

3.5 stars (out of five). Rated R, for profanity and sensuality

Available via: Movie theaters and (beginning Feb. 17) Apple TV+

By Derrick Bang • Published in The Davis Enterprise, 2.10.23 

This one has style to burn.

 

Director Benjamin Caron definitely knows his way around atmosphere, and Brian Gatewood and Alessandro Tanaka’s deliciously crafty script is as sleek as the elegant outfits that costume designer Melissa Toth has draped onto the primary characters.

 

After a charming first encounter, Tom (Justice Smith) and Sandra (Briana Middleton)
become inseparable. But what's really going on?

I hate saying anything about the plot, because the fun comes from the discovery — as events proceed — that very little is what it seems. This is a grifter saga, very much in the vein of The Sting, American Hustle and The Brothers Bloom (the latter an overlooked early entry from Rian Johnson, who brought us Knives Out; do look for it).

And yet Sharper — great double-entendre title, that — doesn’t feel like a grifter movie … at least not initially.

 

Gatewood and Tanaka’s narrative is divided into distinct acts, the first of which unfolds like a meet-cute love story (and Caron stages it that way).

 

Manhattan Bookstore owner Tom (Justice Smith) can’t help being intrigued by customer Sandra (Briana Middleton), when she browses and then requests a specific title. Their conversation is mildly flirty until it gets awkward, when her credit card is declined. Tom makes a magnanimous gesture; she gets embarrassed, and that might have been that.

 

But she turns out to be honest, which touches him. Several weeks pass, during which they become an item. Middleton’s Sandra sparkles with warmth and kindness; Smith is equally fine as the aw-shucks, somewhat naïve Tom.

 

Then things take … and intriguing turn.

 

We next meet Max (Sebastian Stan). He’s suave, smooth and sophisticated: a thoroughly accomplished con artist. He undertakes a long-term project, with a very specific goal in mind. He’s alternately patient and merciless, rewarding small successes and applying punishment when necessary.

 

Stan is the epitome of cool: often dressed in black, radiating a degree of mystery heightened by a slightly mocking gaze and insincere smile.

 

The narrative cuts to a new chapter. Madeline (Julianne Moore) has become cozy with über-billionaire Richard Hobbes (John Lithgow). Here, at last, Gatewood and Tanaka reveal some of their hole cards; Madeline’s relationship feels artificial. Moore’s bearing is calculated, her smile — when Richard isn’t looking — quite predatory. Whatever else is going on, Madeline’s affection for him isn’t genuine.

Bombshell: Provocatively outFoxed

Bombshell (2019) • View trailer 
Four stars. Rated R, for profanity and (often unpleasant) sexual candor
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 1.3.20

It’s hard to be completely satisfied, when a disgraced sexual predator departs his high-profile corporate job with an eight-figure severance package.

Despite her ongoing spat with Republican presidential candidate Donald Trump having
become very public, Fox News anchor Megyn Kelly (Charlize Theron) is assured by
boss Roger Ailes (John Lithgow) that he still has her back.

Director Jay Roach’s new film, a scorching slice of recent history, depicts Fox News Chairman and CEO Roger Ailes’ fall from grace, following the brave revolt of numerous female employees who finally said enough is too much.

The frequently snarky script comes from Charles Randolph, who adopts an approach similar to that he took with his Academy Award-winning screenplay for 2015’s The Big Short. Thus, these events unfold against ongoing break-the-fourth-wall narration from Charlize Theron’s Megyn Kelly, who frequently addresses us viewers directly, in order to offer essential back-story. The resulting tone shifts wildly from dark humor to painful intimacy; we chuckle ruefully one moment, recoil in aghast consternation the next.

Stars Theron, Nicole Kidman and Margot Robbie are backed by equally compelling performances from a wealth of supporting players, some seen only fleetingly but no less memorably (as with Malcolm McDowell’s fleeting appearance as Rupert Murdoch). Theron and Kidman play real-world Fox News anchors Megyn Kelly and Gretchen Carlson; Robbie’s Kayla Pospisil is a composite character drawn from Ailes’ lesser-profile victims.

No surprise, then — since Pospisil is constructed for maximum dramatic impact — that Robbie has both of the film’s standout acting moments.

But they come later. Our introductory crash course in Fox News-style “journalism” comes from Kelly, when she trots us through the bullpen and newsroom, her observations peppered with deliciously acerbic remarks. Theron’s wholly immersive transformation is frankly startling; makeup designer Kazu Hiro and costume designer Colleen Atwood — both Oscar winners — have essentially turned their star into Kelly. Theron completes the illusion by flawlessly replicating Kelly’s walk, stance and manner of speech.

The first act is dominated by Kelly’s unexpected feud with then-Republican presidential contender Donald Trump, in the summer of 2015: a headline-generated spat that climaxed with the latter’s tasteless accusation that the Fox News host had “blood coming out of her wherever” during the early August Republican candidates’ debate. Conscious of not wanting to “become the story,” Kelly absents herself for a bit, with Ailes’ support.

John Lithgow, barely recognized beneath the makeup and padding required to convey Ailes’ massive weight, is almost fatherly and sympathetic here … but that’s part of the man’s two-faced abuse of power. Given that Lithgow is an inherently sympathetic actor, it’s easy to think of Ailes benevolently, in these early scenes.

Late Night: Stay up for it!

Late Night (2019) • View trailer 
Four stars. Rated R, for profanity and occasional sexual references
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 6.14.19

I’ve suffered through so many vulgar, trashy, profane and infantile comedies during the past several years, that it seemed like the entire genre had been hijacked by such junk.

Imperious late-night talk show host Katherine Newbury (Emma Thompson) would only
"make nice" in this manner, with lowly writer Molly Patel (Mindy Kaling), if a publicity photo
were required. Otherwise, Katherine wouldn't waste a moment with such a staff peon...

Bless you, Mindy Kaling, for reminding us that witty, sophisticated humor still exists on the big screen.

Late Night is delightful. Kaling’s consistently amusing script is blessed with both sharp one-liners and shrewdly wry jabs at sexism, racism, ageism, tokenism and several other isms that don’t immediately leap to mind. The story also takes pointed pot shots at television and its cult of personality, while giving us the funniest behind-the-scenes writers’ room gang since we lost television’s much-loved 30 Rock.

And, unlike far too many lazy scripters these days, Kaling doesn’t focus solely on her story’s key characters; she also grants sidebar folks distinct personalities, and gives them little moments in which to shine. 

Manhattan-based Katherine Newbury (Emma Thompson) is a pioneer in her field, with multiple Emmy Awards to prove it: She’s the only woman to host a long-running late-night talk show. Unfortunately, she hasn’t changed her approach after three decades, and her ratings are tanking in an age where audiences prefer social media to social discourse. Stuffy philosophers can’t compete with YouTube “celebrities” who make embarrassing videos with their pets.

Worse yet, the notoriously impatient Katherine suddenly is accused of hypocrisy: as a so-called progressive feminist whose writers’ room is staffed solely by men. White men. Mostly young white men.

Stung by the accuracy of this charge, she orders her executive producer — Denis O’Hare, as the long-suffering Brad — to take the first “diversity hire” who walks into the building. Due to a hilariously improbable set of circumstances, that turns out to be Molly Patel (Kaling), a former chemical plant efficiency expert from suburban Pennsylvania, who has dreamed of being a comedy writer.

And whose sudden presence in the writers’ room goes over like the proverbial lead balloon.

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.

The Accountant: Right on the money

The Accountant (2016) • View trailer 
Four stars. Rated R, for strong violence and profanity
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 10.14.16

Characters who defy expectations are a lot of fun.

Accountants toil in the back rooms of office obscurity, burdened further by a reputation for blandness: a pejorative they hardly deserve. The finest accountants are akin to ace detectives, concocting novel methods of financial wizardry, or uncovering corporate impropriety.

Having turned over the results of an analysis that required several months, Dana (Anna
Kendrick) is astonished to return to work the next morning, and find that Chris (Ben
Affleck) has cross-checked, enhanced and sourced the anomaly in question ... all
in a single day.

Link that profession with the savant and socially awkward characteristics of Dustin Hoffman’s Rain Man, or Christian Bale’s character in The Big Short, and the results can be captivating.

At first blush, Christian Wolff (Ben Affleck) fits the bill perfectly. We meet him assisting an elderly couple, Frank and Dolores Rice (Ron Prather and Susan Williams), through their tax prep, gently “steering” them into answers that formalize a home business with advantageous deductions. It’s a droll scene, all the more so because of Chris’ stoic, near immobility: his rigid posture, his failure to smile, his reluctance to meet his clients’ gaze.

We’re familiar with these signs: Chris is on the spectrum.

He returns home each evening to a stabilization ritual in the privacy of his bedroom: a bright light, ear-splittingly loud music, and methodical exercise, all timed to a specific schedule. Chris’ primary tic: He must finish anything he starts, otherwise he loses control.

Actually, the situation is more complicated. During flashbacks to Chris’ childhood — the character played here by Seth Lee, persuasively distressed — we see a boy in full-blown meltdown, unable to interact with an environment he finds too chaotic. Younger brother Brax (Jake Presley) watches helplessly, as their parents argue over treatment. Mom (Mary Kraft) favors intervention in the nurturing environment of a special needs school; Dad (Robert C. Treveiler), career military, insists that it’s more realistic to confront their elder son with a world that’ll never go out of its way to treat him fairly.

But wait: The situation is even more complicated.

Elsewhere, back in the modern day, U.S. Treasury Department Crime Enforcement Division head Ray King (J.K. Simmons), soon to retire, recounts an unlikely tale to recruit Marybeth Medina (Cynthia Addai-Robinson). King shares a shadowy photo trail of a mysterious somebody — known only as “The Accountant” — who gets hired, somehow clandestinely, whenever the world’s most dangerous criminal organizations need their finances vetted.

Somehow, even more improbably, this “Accountant” survives these encounters, remaining available for the next summons by, say, the head of a drug cartel.

King wants to know who this “Accountant” actually is, before he retires. Medina reluctantly accepts the assignment.

Interstellar: Way, way out

Interstellar (2014) • View trailer 
3.5 stars. Rated PG-13, for dramatic intensity, perilous action and brief profanity
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 11.7.14

Nobody could accuse Christopher Nolan of possessing modest ambitions.

His newest big-screen extravaganza is a grim sci-fi drama that could be viewed as a reverential blend of 1951’s When Worlds Collide and 1968’s 2001: A Space Odyssey, with additional nods to 1972’s Silent Running and Robert Heinlein’s 1956 novel, Time for the Stars.

When a solar-powered drone cuts across the sky above their corn field — a striking
reminder of science long absent from a decaying United States — Cooper (Matthew
McConaughey, left) attempts to hijack it while being watched by children Murphy
(Mackenzie Foy) and Tom (Timothée Chalamet).

Along with — and this is a problem — the bleak despair and distasteful human behavior found in the 2009 adaptation of Cormac McCarthy’s post-apocalyptic novel, The Road.

I had the same problem with 2012’s The Dark Knight Rises, Nolan’s final entry in his otherwise impressive Batman trilogy. He and co-scripter (and real-world brother) Jonathan have a harsh view of people facing large-scale calamity, a trait shared with novelist Stephen King, at his gloomier moments. All three tend to assume the worst from mob mentality, with little of the nobler instincts that might make our race worth saving.

Then again, perhaps I’m unduly optimistic, choosing to believe better of my fellow citizens.

Such philosophical musings aside, Christopher Nolan has, over time, focused more on high-concept narratives and visual pizzazz, and less on character development. That’s a bigger problem. His dream-within-a-dream-laden Inception may have been a jaw-dropping head trip, but its characters were flat, sterile and uninvolving: two-dimensional archetypes about whom we didn’t give a damn.

Nolan has become more puppet master than actor-oriented director, manipulating his characters solely to maximize unexpected plot developments, as opposed to allowing them behavior that seems recognizably credible. In a way, then, Nolan is akin to his dueling magicians in The Prestige — Hugh Jackman and Christian Bale — forever tricking each other for the sheer sake of one-upmanship.

That’s not as immediately noticeable with this new film, mostly because Matthew McConaughey delivers enough agonized angst to carry the first two acts. He has matured into a richly expressive actor, and several of his scenes here are heartbreaking: none more so than the manner in which his character’s face yields to uncontrolled sobs, while catching up with some long-distance correspondence.

But that comes much later.

Love Is Strange: Poignant glimpse of family values

Love Is Strange (2014) • View trailer 
3.5 stars. Rated R, and rather harshly, for occasional profanity
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 9.26.14

As first-world challenges go, few can be more heartbreaking than the turmoil sometimes created by our nobler instincts.

On the morning of their official nuptials, George (Alfred Molina, left) assures Ben (John
Lithgow) that yes, they will make it to the appointed place on time ... even if they're not
able to hail a taxi.

We like to believe that we’re capable of helping people — particularly friends and family members — much the way we’d hope to be helped, under similar circumstances. The uncomfortable truth, however, is that benevolence generally extends only so far, and no farther ... and then most people are too polite to confront what has become an intolerable situation.

And so the kettle bubbles, until it boils over: the initial generous act inevitably overwhelmed by hurtful confrontations that cannot be taken back, leaving bruised feelings all around.

Put simply, and to quote a telling line from Ira Sachs’ painfully intimate new film, “When you live with people, you know them better than you care to.”

The speaker is Ben (John Lithgow), whose life has taken a disappointing turn: such a letdown, from the radiant happiness he enjoyed only a few weeks earlier.

Sachs and co-scripter Mauricio Zacharias open Love Is Strange on a triumphant event: After having lived together for 39 years, Ben and George (Alfred Molina) joyfully tie the knot, thanks to New York’s new marriage laws. The morning of, the two men are a study in contrast: Ben, artistic and nervous, fusses over every detail; George, practical and calm, knows that all will be well.

They share both the service and subsequent celebratory party with close friends and family: Ben’s nephew Elliot (Darren E. Burrows), his wife Kate (Marisa Tomei) and their teenage son Joey (Charlie Tahan); Ted (Cheyenne Jackson) and Roberto (Manny Perez), the gay New York cops who live together downstairs; and numerous other well-wishers.

Kate makes a truly charming, heartfelt speech: brimming with love.

The elation doesn’t last long.

Ben doesn’t really have a job; he dabbles at painting. George, the primary breadwinner, teaches private music lessons but earns the bulk of their income from his longtime job as choir master at a local Catholic school. Unfortunately, although all concerned have known and tolerated George’s sexual orientation during his entire 12-year stint at this school, the marriage is an “official” act that cannot be condoned by the Catholic hierarchy.

George is summarily dismissed. Absent that income, he and Ben no longer can afford their apartment, nor — thanks to New York’s relentless real estate market — can they find another place to live. They reluctantly call a family meeting and present this news, hoping for the group to offer a stopgap, if not a solution.

The resulting silence, as the various implications settle, is merely the first of this film’s many gut-wrenching moments.

This Is 40: Fractured family frolic

This Is 40 (2012) • View trailer
Three stars. Rating: R, for relentless crude humor, sexual candor, pervasive language and drug use
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 12.21.12

Some perceptive truths about marriage, mid-life crises and parental angst linger around the edges of This Is 40, but they tend to be overshadowed by Judd Apatow’s reflexive insistence on vulgar humor, crude slapstick and bewildering plot detours. Obviously, he just can’t help himself.

Pete (Paul Rudd), having failed to realize that Debbie (Leslie Mann) could use some
help while getting their daughters ready for school, attempts to recover from this tactical
error while Sadie (Maude Apatow, far left) and Charlotte (Iris Apatow) watch with
wary amusement.

Nor should he, I suppose, since many of his films — either as producer, director or writer — tend to be crowd-pleasers. But we must remember that his lengthy 21st century résumé reads very much like the gag quotient in any one of his projects: Every Bridesmaids or Superbad follows on the heels of a bomb such as Drillbit Taylor, Funny People or Get Him to the Greek ... just as the truly funny bits in This Is 40 are bookended by stuff so forced and ill-advised that we can’t help wondering what Apatow was smoking that day.

Maybe that’s why This Is 40 runs a ridiculously self-indulgent 134 minutes. With that much time on his side, and that many comedic shots in the barrel, some of the humor is bound to stick.

Although Apatow oversees a busy comedy empire, This Is 40 is only his fourth feature as director, following The 40-Year-Old Virgin, Knocked Up and the tediously morose Funny People. This new film, something of a peripheral sequel to Knocked Up, focuses on the five-years-later lives of Pete and Debbie (Paul Rudd and Leslie Mann), that film’s sidebar characters.

Except that Katherine Heigl, who played Debbie’s sister Alison in Knocked Up, is nowhere to be seen here. Apparently she got lost in translation.

As this new film’s title suggests, events center around the ramp-up to Pete’s impending 40th birthday. He’d normally share this milestone with Debbie, but a refusal to face the onset of middle age has prompted her to deny her own birthday; indeed, she even rolls back the clock and claims a younger age, a running gag that becomes truly hilarious during a routine doctor’s office visit, when various nurses and receptionists try to nail down her birth year.

That scene works, by the way, because Apatow goes for subtle underplaying, rather than his usual, last-row-of-the-upper-balcony broad strokes.