Hoppers: Absolutely fabulous

Hoppers (2026) • View trailer

Five stars (out of five); rated PG, for dramatic intensity

Available via: Movie theaters

By Derrick Bang • Published in The Davis Enterprise, 3.8.26

I didn’t think Pixar ever would top 2015’s marvelous Inside Out, with its clever blend of humor, pathos and gentle social commentary, wrapped into a wildly imaginative premise.

 

Having unknowingly violated the all-encompassing "pond rules" that govern this diverse
collection of animals, Mabel — her mind currently occupying the body of the cute
robotic beaver about to become a bear's lunch — is brought before the community's king.

But director Daniel Chong and co-writer Jesse Andrews have done the seemingly impossible: Pixar’s newest entry is even better. Proof positive, once again, that some of today’s best original scripts are attached to animated films.

You’ll laugh, cry, nod and marvel at this film’s similarly ingenious story, which also contains a slyly subversive message.

 

A brief prologue introduces animal-loving Mabel (voiced by Piper Curda) as an adolescent, during a failed attempt to free her school’s numerous classroom pets from their dismal lives of relentless poking and prodding. Banished for the rest of the day, then dumped into the sympathetic embrace of her beloved Grandma Tanaka (Karen Huie), the angry, humiliated little girl can’t understand why people don’t realize she was doing a good thing.

 

 Grandma Tanaka walks her to a large rock in a tranquil glade, which overlooks a pond.

 

“Be still,” her grandmother instructs. “Listen ... and watch.”

 

The silence soon is broken by bird songs and the hum of insects. The foliage rustles, as deer walk past; beavers happily work on the large dam that has created this pond.

 

The moment is magical, transformational. Many more such visits follow.

 

The story then flashes forward. Mabel, now 19, is an equally impassioned college student who constantly locks horns with Beaverton’s grandstanding, development-obsessed “Mayor Jerry” (Jon Hamm). He’s promoting his re-election bid with the promise of a new stretch of overhead highway that’ll improve commute time “by minutes.”

 

The final portion also will destroy Mabel’s beloved glade, along with its many wonderful memories. Mayor Jerry can get away with this, because the pond, dam and its wildlife — particularly the beavers — are long gone.

 

Mayor Jerry taunts Mabel, giving her 48 hours to somehow lure the beavers back, knowing full well that’s impossible.

 

Savvy viewers will wonder why all the animals left.

Mean Girls: Spitefully high-spirited

Mean Girls (2024) • View trailer

Four stars (out of five). Rated PG-13, for sexual candor, profanity and bad teen behavior

Available via: Movie theaters

By Derrick Bang • Published in The Davis Enterprise, 1.12.24

Confucius said it best, so long ago:

 

“Before you embark on a journey of revenge, dig two graves.”

 

While Cady (Angourie Rice, far right) watches apprehensively, her school's "mean girls"
— from left, Karen (Avantika), Regina (Reneé Rapp) and Gretchen (Bebe Wood) —
reveal the "Burn Book," in which they've written all manner of nasty comments about
fellow students.

Unlikely as it seems, this story has become even more relevant today, than it was when scripter Tina Fey’s clever adaptation of Rosalind Wiseman’s 2002 parental guide — Queen Bees and Wannabes — became a popular 2004 film for Lindsay Lohan.

Although it seemed an unlikely choice to transition into a musical, Mean Girls became a Broadway hit upon opening in 2018; Fey wrote the show’s book, accompanied by Jeff Richmond (music) and Nell Benjamin (lyrics). Touring productions continue to this day, and a film adaptation was inevitable; directors Samantha Jayne and Arturo Perez Jr. — with a script once again by Fey — have delivered a thoroughly entertaining two hours of lively razzle-dazzle.

 

(And I have to wonder: Was Fey prescient, two decades back? Did she somehow know that the dark side of social media would make this story fresh again?)

 

All of the original film’s essential plot beats have been retained; many have been re-tooled as energetic production numbers by choreographer Kyle Hanagami.

 

The first is a seemingly spontaneous, home-made garage video by Janis ’Imi’iki (Auli’I Cravalho) and Damian Hubbard (Jaquel Spivey, a force of nature), who function throughout this saga as both characters and a Greek chorus. This opening number, “A Cautionary Tale,” sets the stage for the events to follow. (Pay close attention; their promised details will prove accurate.)

 

The scene then shifts to Kenya, where 16-year-old Cady Heron (Angourie Rice) — despite having thoroughly enjoyed studying animals and stars in the wild, with her mother (Jenna Fischer) — laments her inability to enjoy a “normal” teenage experience. Mom relents, moves them to Evanston, Ill., and Cady eagerly begins her first day at North Shore High School...

 

...and hasn’t the slightest notion how to fit in.

 

A droll montage introduces her various teachers and subjects, most importantly the AP math class taught by Ms. Norbury (Fey, reprising her role from the 2004 film). Cady winds up sitting behind Aaron Samuels (Christopher Briney), and is instantly smitten.

 

Lunchtime is the worst, as Cady slowly walks down the center aisle, silently shunned by the cliques at each table. Janis and Damian — outcasts themselves, and proud of it — take pity and rescue her from social oblivion.

 

Then the air is sucked out of the cafeteria, as queen bee-yatch Regina (Reneé Rapp, deliciously haughty) makes her entrance, joining her already seated posse, Gretchen (Bebe Wood) and Karen (Avantika). They’re “The Plastics,” over-the-top glamour girls with nothing but disdain for the common herd. Regina spots Cady, and — much to everybody’s surprise — invites the new girl to their table.

 

Maggie Moore(s): Dire doings writ dark

Maggie Moore(s) (2023) • View trailer

3.5 stars (out of five). Rated R, for violence, drug use, fleeting nudity, sexual candor and relentless profanity

Available via: Amazon Prime and other streaming services

By Derrick Bang

Director John Slattery and writer Paul Bernbaum are in Coen Brothers territory — most particularly 1996’s Fargo — with this macabre little crime thriller.

 

Rita (Tina Fey) and Sanders (Jon Hamm) would have a hard time connecting under
the best of circumstances; it's even more difficult in the middle of a murder investigation.

The tone veers wildly between larkish and horrifying, the occasional dollops of humor in a dark-dark-dark vein. The story is anchored by star Jon Hamm, note-perfect as an amiable local sheriff trying to focus on his job, but still emotionally reeling from his wife’s untimely death a year ago.

The setting is contemporary, in a small New Mexico desert community. (Filming took place in and around Albuquerque.) A prologue finds Sanders and his deputy, Reddy (Nick Mohammed, immediately recognized from TV’s Ted Lasso), examining the body of a woman killed in a motel parking lot. When ID reveals her name — Maggie Moore — Sanders and Reddy exchange a perplexed look.

 

We then flash back 10 days, and meet Jay Moore (Micah Stock) a hapless schnook who runs a Subway-style chain eatery called Castle Subs, and is unlucky enough to have a wife (Maggie) whose expensive tastes are bleeding him white. As a means of staving off creditors, he has been getting rancid, long-expired meats and cheeses from Liberty Bell Foods, a dodgy outfit run by local slimeball Tommy T (Derek Basco, appropriately smarmy), in exchange for child pornography (!).

 

Jay and Maggie’s frequent screaming matches have been overheard by their next-door neighbor, Rita Grace (Tina Fey).

 

When Jay decides that killing his wife would be the best solution to his financial woes, Tommy T sends him to Kosco (Happy Anderson), a hulking mute whose portion of all conversations are written on yellow legal paper, which he immediately shreds before moving on to his next reply.

 

We don’t see what happens next, but — a day or two later — Reddy discovers a burned-out car with a body inside: charred to little more than a skeleton. When she’s identified as Maggie Moore, Sanders and Reddy naturally have a pointed chat with Jay, whose dismay seems genuine enough.

 

Sanders subsequently learns of the marital strife from Rita, and their mildly flirty banter suggests possibilities. Hamm and Fey are terrific together; her lively sense of smart-assed mischief is well balanced by his world-weary amusement. This role is solidly in Hamm’s wheelhouse, and just as entertaining as his handling of the sardonic title role in last year’s Confess, Fletch. He excels at the deadpan I-don’t-believe-a-word-you’re-saying expression.

Confess, Fletch: Hamm on wry

Confess, Fletch (2022) • View trailer

3.5 stars (out of five). Rated R for profanity, sexual content and drug use

Available via: Amazon Prime and other streaming services

By Derrick Bang • Published in The Davis Enterprise, 10.28.22

Well, this is a nice surprise.

 

Beloved literary characters rarely get a second chance, if their debut leap to the big screen is sabotaged by arrogant studio execs catering to the whims of a Hot Star Of The Moment.

 

Fletch (Jon Hamm) isn't quite sure what to make of the larger-than-life Countess
Sylvia de Grassi (Marcia Gay Harden), particularly since she's apt to become his
future mother-in-law.

Exhibit A: Author Lawrence Block’s gentleman cat burglar/detective, Bernie Rhodenbarr, who became Bernice when Whoopi Goldberg wound up starring in 1987’s absolutely dreadful Burglar. No surprise, Bernie’s subsequent adventures have remained within the safe confines of two covers.

The late and greatly lamented Sue Grafton, author of the beloved Kinsey Milhone “alphabet mysteries,” famously refused to entertain any sort of screen adaptation. She knew full well, having worked in Hollywood earlier in her career, how often a property gets ruined by meddling hands determined to “improve” a writer’s work.

 

At first blush, Chevy Chase seemed an ideal choice as Gregory McDonald’s rogue investigative journalist, Irwin Maurice Fletcher, and 1985’s Fletch was tolerable. But the deplorable 1989 sequel succumbed to Chase’s disguise-overkill vanity, and the character subsequently languished in development hell.

 

Until now.

 

Jon Hamm is spot-on as Fletch, radiating grizzled charm and just enough snark; his comic timing is well-suited to this amusing script’s many cheeky, insubordinate and downright smart-assed one-liners. 

 

Director Greg Mottola, admired ever since 2009’s under-appreciated Adventureland, has just the right touch for this material. He and co-scripter Zev Borow simplified the book a bit, and introduced some different supporting characters, but all essential plot points are in place; in several cases, they even retained McDonald’s dialogue.

 

The story opens in Rome, where Fletch has become engaged to the voluptuous Angela de Grassi (Lorenza Izzo), whose father has been kidnapped; the ransom demand is a Picasso from the Count’s famed art collection. Unfortunately, other parties unknown have stolen the entire collection, which leaves Angela frantic. 

 

She asks Fletch to liaise with an art broker in Boston, where the Picasso is rumored to have surfaced. He duly flies to Boston, arriving late in the evening; he walks into the apartment Angela has arranged for his stay … and finds a dead woman in the living room.

 

Fletch duly calls the police — an amusing conversation that sets the tone for what will follow — and soon finds himself in the cynical cross-hairs of Inspector Morris Monroe (Roy Wood Jr.) and his recently minted partner, Griz (Ayden Mayeri).

 

(Morris is a replacement for the book’s Inspector Flynn, who is missed … but no matter.)

 

Top Gun: Maverick — Top thrills

Top Gun: Maverick (2022) • View trailer

Four stars (out of five). Rated PG-13, for intense action, and some strong language

Available via: Movie theaters

By Derrick Bang • Published in The Davis Enterprise, 5.27.22

When all the cylinders fire properly, it’s hard to beat a star-driven action melodrama.

 

Although this rip-roaring sequel to 1986’s Top Gun has been shaped to Tom Cruise’s outsized personality, there’s no denying the resulting entertainment value. This is classic Hollywood filmmaking: larger-than-life characters with just enough individuality to distinguish one from the next; a couple shades of interpersonal angst — and conflict — to touch the heartstrings; and all manner of heroic derring-do.

 

When his hot-shot students contemptuously snicker over Maverick's (Tom Cruise)
calm insistense that they still have a lot to learn, it doesn't take long for this "old guy"
to prove who really has the right stuff.

I’m generally concerned when the opening credits cite as many as five writers — in this case, Peter Craig, Justin Marks, Ehren Kruger, Eric Warren Singer and Christopher McQuarrie — but this isn’t a case of too many cooks in the kitchen. Their story is cleverly structured into three distinct acts, each with specific goals and relationship arcs that blend with the high-octane fighter jet action.

Director Joseph Kosinski and editor Eddie Hamilton keep a steady hand on the throttle, and their tension-fueled ride never lets up.

 

Granted, this is one of those silly stories where everybody is known by colorful monikers, rather than their actual names. Ya gotta just roll with that.

 

In a refreshing nod to real time, more than three decades have passed since Pete “Maverick” Mitchell (Cruise) established himself as one of the Navy’s top aviators. He has continued to push the envelope as a brave — and somewhat reckless — test pilot, nimbly dodging an advancement in rank that would ground him.

 

“It’s not what I am,” he admits, at one point. “It’s who I am.”

 

Each time a fresh act of insubordination has threatened to get him kicked out of the Navy, Maverick has been rescued by former nemesis-turned-wingman Tom “Iceman” Kazansky (Val Kilmer), now a 4-star admiral with the clout to protect his longtime friend.

 

But even Iceman may not be able to save Maverick from the high-tech progress that includes robotic and remote-controlled fighter jets that won’t require flesh-and-blood pilots. 

 

“The future is coming,” barks Rear Adm. Chester “Hammer” Cain (Ed Harris, in a fleeting cameo), “and you’re not in it.”

 

Nonsense, Maverick replies. A mission’s success always will come down to the split-second reflexes of the pilot on the scene.

 

As if to test this belief, Maverick abruptly is sent back to “Top Gun” school, where he liaises with Adm. Beau “Cyclone” Simpson (Jon Hamm) and Adm. Solomon “Warlock” Bates (Charles Parnell). Assuming he’s about to get a mission, Maverick is chastened to learn that he’ll be teaching a dozen much younger Top Gun graduates: the elite “best of the best.” 

No Sudden Move: Suspensefully riveting

No Sudden Move (2021) • View trailer

Four stars (out of five). Rated R, for profanity, violence and sexual candor

Available via: HBO Max

By Derrick Bang

Fans of slow-burn crime thrillers will love this one.

 

Scripter Ed Solomon’s noir-ish saga is given precisely the right look and atmosphere by director Steven Soderbergh and production designer Hannah Beachler. The post-WWII Detroit setting emphasizes the deplorable racial divide between cozy white neighborhoods and decaying inner-city Black districts, and the wary mistrust this prompts from both sides.

 

Having maneuvered their way up the conspiratorial food chain, Ronald (Benicio Del Toro,
left) and Curt (Don Cheadle) are startled by where they've suddenly wound up.

Soderbergh’s camera glides languidly along both sets of streets, as if perched atop a slow-moving vehicle; he frequently employs a fish-eyed lens, which distorts the image at both edges. This adds to the unsettling, overall sense of disorientation experienced by our fish-out-of-water protagonists. (As he has done before, Soderbergh “hides” behind the pseudonym “Peter Andrews,” when he handles his own cinematography.)

The year is 1954. Curt Goynes (Don Cheadle), recently released from prison, is offered a job by shady go-between Jones (Brendan Fraser). It sounds simple enough: babysit the family of low-level General Motors executive Matt Wertz (David Harbour) for a couple of hours.

 

“Babysit,” meaning “guard at gunpoint while something goes down elsewhere.”

 

Jones also recruits Ronald Russo (Benicio Del Toro), similarly down on his luck, who isn’t wild about sharing a job with, ah, someone of color. (Cheadle’s dry amusement, when the two men share the back seat of Jones’ car, is priceless.) The little gang is augmented further by Charley Barnes (Kieran Culkin), who outlines the plan.

 

Charley will “escort” Matt to his office, to retrieve a document from a certain safe. Curt and Ronald will keep Matt’s family at home: wife Mary (Amy Seimetz) and their two children, Matthew Jr. (Noah Jupe) and Peggy (Lucy Holt). The three criminals will remain masked the entire time; if everybody cooperates, everybody lives.

 

The raw intensity of the early morning home invasion is palpable, as Mary and her children are startled by the sudden appearance of these three menacing intruders. Curt’s calming words do little to ease the atmosphere of terror; Seimetz’s performance is sublime, as the terrified Mary — and we — expect something awful to happen, at any moment.

 

Wild Mountain Thyme: A charming romantic fable

Wild Mountain Thyme (2020) • View trailer

3.5 stars. Rated PG-13, and needlessly, for "suggestive content"

By Derrick Bang 

Lovers of British whimsy likely will embrace this leisurely romantic comedy — available via video-on-demand — which takes an Irish approach to the conventional formula.

 

Rosemary (Emily Blunt) has loved Anthony (Jamie Dornan) ever since they were 10 years
old. Now in their mid-30s, with so much time already behind them, she wonders if he'll
ever be brave enough to ask her hand in marriage.

Given the Irish setting and poetic spirit, writer/director John Patrick Shanley’s gentle little fable — which he adapted from his 2014 Broadway play, Outside Mullingar — naturally involves an element of loss, and is fueled by the beloved, melancholy Celtic folk song that gives his film its title.

 

The mood is established immediately by off-camera narrator Tony Reilly (Christopher Walken), who explains — as cinematographer Stephen Goldblatt’s camera swoops above the wild, amazingly green, stunningly gorgeous Irish countryside — “They say, if an Irishman dies while he’s telling a story, you can rest assured, he’ll be back.”

 

Seriously, how can you resist an opening like that?

 

Anthony Reilly (Jamie Dornan) and Rosemary Muldoon (Emily Blunt) have lived on neighboring farms their entire lives, and she has loved him unreservedly since they were 10 years old. Everybody in their closely knit farming community knows they’re meant for each other … except Anthony.

 

He’s an eccentric, tongue-tied introvert who — fearing that he’s “tetched” — believes himself unlovable. He steadfastly works the family farm, having taken over all chores and responsibilities from his aging father Tony, who nonetheless irascibly grumbles that his son “doesn’t have what it takes.”

 

To a significant degree, Tony is nettled by Anthony’s unwillingness to get on with it, and marry Rosemary, fercryinoutloud. She, in turn — her feisty, independent nature notwithstanding — patiently waits for Anthony to come to his senses. (“Romeo’s not able to climb the balcony,” Shanley muses, in the press notes, “and Juliet won’t come down.”)

 

Tony also grouses about the fact that their farm is blocked by two gates that enclose a little strip of road owned by the Muldoons: which is to say, it’s necessary to open and close those gates every time one enters or leaves the Reilly farm. 

 

The death of Rosemary’s father Chris — who spent his entire life “at war with the crows” — proves a catalyst of sorts. Rosemary’s mother Aoife (Dearbhla Molloy) is bereft, and Tony senses that his own time on Earth is drawing to a close. Something needs to be done, and so he makes a decision that dismays everybody: He announces his intention to sell the family farm to his American nephew, Adam (Jon Hamm).

 

Richard Jewell: Grim slaughter of innocents

Richard Jewell (2019) • View trailer 
Four stars. Rated R, for profanity and dramatic intensity
By Derrick Bang

Perhaps the most reprehensible lingering disgrace in the ordeal suffered by Richard Jewell — during a lengthy nightmare laden with hourly indignities — is the fact that, to this day, the Atlanta Journal-Constitution maintains that it behaved responsibly.

Centennial Park security officer Richard Jewell (Paul Walter Hauser, center) points law
enforcement officers to a suspicious-looking backpack that has been abandoned
beneath a bench near the sound-and-light tower adjacent to the performance stage,
where Jack Mack and the Heart Attack are entertaining thousands of fans.

To borrow a phrase from the younger generation, I call BS.

Jewell deserves to be remembered solely as the hero who, while working as a security guard at the 1996 Summer Olympics in Atlanta, Georgia, discovered a bomb-laden backpack and helped evacuate the crowded area before it exploded. He undoubtedly saved many, many lives.

Instead, he’s more likely remembered as the hapless individual who, three days later, was identified as the probable suspect who planted the bomb, thanks to an overzealous FBI investigation, inflammatory “reporting” by the Atlanta Journal-Constitution, and the hundreds of media outlets that subsequently fanned the flames. 

Despite being cleared after an 88-day siege by media and all manner of law enforcement, Jewell undoubtedly remained a question mark in the minds of many, particularly since nobody initially was arrested for the heinous crime. It’s easy to imagine the rumor-mongering: “Maybe he did do it, but the FBI just didn’t have enough evidence…”

Even when Eric Rudolph confessed to being the bomber after being arrested in 2003, there was no way to wholly eradicate the avalanche of accusatory publicity that had buried Jewell and his equally hapless mother for 88 days. Retractions and “fresh truth” rarely have the impact of three months’ worth of screaming headlines.

Director Clint Eastwood and scripter Billy Ray — adapting Marie Brenner’s mesmerizing profile of Jewell, in the February 1997 Vanity Fair — have done their best to restore his honor, in a compelling drama fueled by powerhouse performances from Paul Walter Hauser and Kathy Bates, as Richard and his mother, Bobi. The result is a terrifying cautionary tale about the fragility of one’s place in society, and the ease with which an ordinary life can be ruined by authority and bad publicity.

Jewell’s ordeal truly is straight out of Kafka.

Bad Times at the El Royale: Well titled

Bad Times at the El Royale (2018) • View trailer 
Two stars. Rated R, for strong violence, profanity, drug content and dramatic intensity
By Derrick Bang

It begins with such promise.

During the first hour, I couldn’t wait to see this film a second time.

Traveling salesman Laramie Seymour Sullivan (Jon Hamm, left) and touring soul singer
Darlene Sweet (Cynthia Erivo) are just as surprised as desk manager Miles Miller
(Lewis Pullman), when their check-in procedure is interrupted by a brazen newcomer.

Shortly thereafter, my enthusiasm began to wane. Ninety minutes in, it was obvious that one viewing would be sufficient.

By the time this interminable slog had concluded, I wanted my 141 minutes back.

Yes, it’s that long. No, the length isn’t justified. Not by any means.

I suspect writer/director Drew Goddard intended Bad Times at the El Royale to be a similarly snarky and dark-dark-darkblend of this past spring’s Hotel Artemis and Quentin Tarantino’s Hateful Eight. The preview certainly suggested as much, and Goddard’s pedigree is solid; he was the guiding hand behind 2012’s ferociously clever The Cabin in the Woods, and he cut his teeth writing and directing episodes of cult TV faves such as Buffy, the Vampire Slayer, Angel, Alias and Lost.

What could possible go wrong?

Well … a lack of self-discipline, for starters. An inability to recognize when “mischievous” veers into “tasteless.” And a failure to perceive that although his script has a great set-up and premise, the execution leaves much to be desired. By the bonkers third act, at which point the film has gone completely off the rails, one gets a sense that Goddard was hastily scribbling fresh pages as he went along.

Such a disappointment.

That said, there’s no denying the skill with which Goddard toys with us, during the ingeniously twisty first hour.

It’s January 1969: a time of momentous upheaval, as the last vestiges of the debonair, Rat Pack jazz era are buried beneath the rock ’n’ roll-fueled counter-culture revolution. Richard Nixon has just been inaugurated as the 37th president of the United States, and a new decade beckons.

But on the border between California and Nevada, the once-glorious El Royale still seems time-locked in the 1950s. The resort is cheekily built to straddle both states, with a fat red line dividing the two wings of rooms, and running right down the middle of the spacious lobby. The establishment offers warmth and sunshine to the west, and hope, opportunity — and gambling — to the east. Once upon a time, this Tahoe hot spot catered to the country’s most famous celebrities and politicians; now it’s just this shy of being a ghost.

(The El Royale is inspired by the actual Cal Neva Resort and Casino, which similarly straddled both states.)

Beirut: A savvy espionage thriller

Beirut (2018) • View trailer 
3.5 stars. Rated R, for violence and profanity
By Derrick Bang

Tony Gilroy has a flair for placing compelling characters at the heart of world-shattering events, whether wholly imagined or extracted from actual history, thereby involving viewers on a more comprehensible and intimate level.

Mason Skiles (Jon Hamm, center) quickly realizes that he has been dragged back to
Beirut under false pretenses, the actual reasons soon to be explained by CIA
operatives Sandy Crowder (Rosamund Pike) and Donald Gaines (Dean Norris).

He tells complex stories through the eyes of just a few (more or less) ordinary folks, often in a manner that feels Hitchcockian: the hero besieged on all sides, uncertain who to trust, often in way over his head. This talent brought Gilroy a well-deserved Oscar nomination for 2007’s Michael Clayton, and he did a similarly fine job on the 2009 adaptation of State of Play.

Then, too, Gilroy knows his way around adrenaline-charged espionage thrillers, having scripted — and, in one case, directed — four of the recent Bourne entries.

All these elements are in play with Beirut, an audaciously clever and suspenseful drama set during the eponymous city’s catastrophic transition from picturesque cultural melting pot to violence-ridden war zone. The focus is on one man who reluctantly returns to a land he once loved, but which now yields only nightmares, and has become ludicrously dangerous: where “truth,” if it exists at all, emerges only when it’s convenient ... or, more likely, when it’s profitable.

Gilroy’s story can’t help feeling far-fetched, particularly as matters grow increasingly complicated. But, sadly, it probably isn’t.

We meet American diplomat Mason Skiles (Jon Hamm) under happy circumstances in 1972, hosting a lavish dinner party at his Beirut estate; the attendees include dignitaries, movers and shakers from various neighboring countries, and even an American senator. Mason is at his best, gliding from one guest to another: telling an insightful story here, facilitating a mutually beneficial introduction there.

It becomes clear, from Mason’s smooth patter, that he’s a fixer: a negotiator (and, frankly, that would have been a better title for this film) able to analyze both people and situations with uncanny accuracy. “Don’t play poker with him,” somebody later cautions, when describing Mason.

The party’s carefully established convivial balance tips with the late arrival of Mason’s best friend, CIA agent Cal Rily (Mark Pellegrino). Moments later — likely not coincidence — the gathering erupts in lethally violent chaos. Mason’s world is shattered in a heartbeat.

Baby Driver: What a ride!

Baby Driver (2017) • View trailer 
4.5 stars. Rated R, for violence and profanity
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 6.30.17

Goodness.

Blend the hyper-driving acceleration of Gone in 60 Seconds with Quentin Tarantino’s bad-ass dark humor, add a touch of the most superbly choreographed music-and-motion sequences ever concocted for classic Hollywood musicals, and you’re getting close to this audacious cinematic experience.

Baby (Ansel Elgort, left) has spent years working off his unusual debt to Doc (Kevin
Spacey), motivated — in part — by the hope that, eventually, this servitude will end.
But will this urbane crime lord really be willing to part with such a valuable asset?

Because the result still must be filtered through the impertinent sensibilities of British writer/director Edgar Wright, he of the manic blend of thrills and whacked-out comedy found in his cult-classic “Three Flavours Cornetto Trilogy” (Shaun of the Dead, Hot Fuzz and The World’s End).

Baby Driver is no mere film; it’s a bold, edge-of-the-seat vision from an auteur who deftly, irreverently exploits the medium’s every aspect to the max. From the attention-grabbing prolog to the suspensefully exhilarating climax — not to mention one of the best aw-shucks Hollywood endings ever added as an epilog — Wright holds our attention to a degree most filmmakers can only dream about.

You dare not even breathe, at risk of missing something way-cool.

Not that you should worry about it, because everything about this flick is way-cool. Not to mention quite impressive, considering the way Wright slides from accelerated, throat-clutching intensity to larkish meet-cute romance — and back again — in the blink of an eye.

To cases:

Music means everything to Baby (Ansel Elgort), who developed a horrific case of tinnitus during a childhood accident, and drowns out the incessant whine by orchestrating every waking moment to paralyzingly loud music pumped into his brain, via the ubiquitous ear buds connected to one of a dozen iPods he carries at all times. Nor is he content to rely on the Top 40 power anthems of today and yesterday; he also mixes his own mash-ups of samples, beats and even offhand chatter captured via pocket digital recorders.

Aside from serving as the perpetual home-grown symphony to which he dances and sashays through even the most mundane activities — such as making lunch — this constant aural companion also propels Baby’s occasional occupation.

Some people drive. Baby drives.

Minions: Banana-rama!

Minions (2015) • View trailer 
Four stars. Rated PG, and needlessly, for cartoon action and brief rude humor
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 7.10.15

Thrusting supporting players into their own starring vehicle rarely succeeds.

Rarely ... but not never. In five short years, the Twinkie-hued, overalled lab subordinates in Despicable Me have gone from screwball second bananas to a genuine world-wide phenomenon ... and they more than hold their own, in the absolutely delightful Minions.

Having won a coveted spot as Scarlet Overkill's new henchbeings, our Minion heroes —
from left, Stuart, Bob and Kevin — eagerly await their first dastardly mission. Sadly,
they've no idea how shallow their new employer's loyalty is destined to be.

But their success remains an anomaly.

Although a more frequent phenomenon on television — where we (briefly) suffered through, among many others, Beverly Hills Buntz (from Hill Street Blues) and Joey (Friends) — the big screen has seen its share of sidekick disasters.

The reason is obvious, although it seems to elude studio execs. A successful ensemble character dynamic is as fragile as a soufflé: Each element is essential, creating a whole that is, to everybody’s delight, greater than the sum of its talented parts. You simply can’t remove one of those pieces, toss it into an under-written spin-off, and expect good results.

Steve Carell’s Evan Baxter was hilarious, supporting Jim Carrey, Morgan Freeman, Jennifer Aniston and Nora Dunn in Bruce Almighty. On his own, in the follow-up Evan Almighty ... not so much. Dwayne Johnson’s Scorpion King may have set up the action in The Mummy Returns, but he couldn’t manage the heavy lifting in his own film, a year later.

Jennifer Garner’s Elektra was the best part of the otherwise awful Daredevil — notwithstanding Colin Farrell’s maniacal villain — but no amount of fancy swordplay could have helped her starring vehicle, two years later. And let’s just try to pretend that Halle Berry’s toothless turn as Catwoman never happened.

(This phenomenon is far from recent. Basil Radford and Naunton Wayne’s Charters and Caldicott, the cricket-loving supporting players in Alfred Hitchcock’s 1938 classic, The Lady Vanishes, wound up in their own feature three years later. Nobody remembers Crook’s Tour today ... which is probably just as well.)

Why, then, have the Minions broken the curse?

It always comes down to the same basic element: the script. In this case, Brian Lynch — who had a hand in 2011’s droll Puss in Boots (another rare spin-off success) — has delivered a story that’s both clever and witty, granting these well-intentioned but disaster-prone subordinates both an origin story and their first chaotic adventure within the ranks of would-be super-villains.

Lynch doesn’t miss a trick. The results are cute, hilarious and wisely episodic: mini-escapades shrewdly stitched together in a manner that feels like a long single storyline. Co-directors Pierre Coffin and Kyle Balda keep things moving at a lively clip, with editor Claire Dodgson also ensuring that this 91-minute film doesn’t overstay its welcome.