The Thursday Murder Club: Totally delightful!

The Thursday Murder Club (2025) • View trailer

Four stars (out of five). Rated PG-13, and too harshly, for occasional violent content, fleeting profanity and mild sexual candor

Available via: Netflix

By Derrick Bang • Published in The Davis Enterprise, 9.14.25

The talent involved here certainly is impressive.

 

Bringing British author Richard Osman’s 2020 debut novel to the big screen was one of the occasional “third rails” of cinema. The book is enormously popular: the UK’s best-selling title of the decade, and translated into 46 languages. Somewhat akin to the challenge of adapting J.K. Rowling’s Harry Potter series, Osman’s fans weren’t about to tolerate anything less than reverential.

 

With their new colleague PC Donna de Freitas (Naomi Ackie, center) leading the way,
she and the members of the Thursday Murder Club — from left, Joyce (Celia Imrie),
Elizabeth (Helen Mirren), Ron (Pierce Brosnan) and Ibrahim (Ben Kingsley) — confront
a rather nasty surprise.

They have nothing to worry about.

Director Chris Columbus and co-scripters Katy Brand and Suzanne Heathcote deftly retained Osman’s essential tone, atmosphere and mildly whimsical, British-dry wit. Of necessity, the labyrinthine twists within the book’s 400 pages have been condensed, with some minor sidebar individuals and distractions left behind, but the core plot and characters are solid.

 

The result is equal parts Agatha Christie and Downton Abbey, with a soupçon of Jane Austen thrown into the mix.

 

On top of which, you simply cannot beat a leading cast that features Helen Mirren, Pierce Brosnan, Ben Kingsley, Celia Imrie and Naomi Ackie. They’re all note-perfect.

 

The setting is the sumptuous Cooper’s Chase retirement village, plunked in the midst of Kent’s (fictitious) seaside village of Fairhaven. The well-to-do residents include Elizabeth Best (Mirren), psychiatrist Ibrahim Arif (Kingsley) and former trade union leader Ron Ritchie (Brosnan), who meet weekly — on Thursdays — to discuss long-dormant cold cases.

 

How they settle on a given case is left somewhat vague, as is Elizabeth’s background; this film deliberately leaves that detail unrevealed until late in the third act. That said, she clearly has “connections” of some sort.

 

The trio quickly is drawn to new resident Joyce Meadowcroft, (Imrie) a retired nurse and compulsive baker, whose facility for lavish cakes immediately endears her to Ron.

 

As the story begins, they decide to investigate the unsolved murder of a young woman named Angela Hughes: a case originally handled by Detective Inspector Penny Gray (Susan Kirkby), now comatose in hospice care, attended constantly by her devoted husband, John (Paul Freeman).

 

Coincidentally, the local police force headed by DCI Chris Hudson (Daniel Mays) has just been augmented by PC Donna De Freitas (Ackie), recently transferred from London. Given that Fairhaven’s police force is “provincial” (read: mostly male), she’s initially relegated to trivial duties. A chance encounter with the Cooper’s Chase quartet prompts a much more interesting collaboration, which in turn grants the retirees access to police intel.

The Penguin Lessons: Waddles into your heart

The Penguin Lessons (2024) • View trailer

Four stars (out of five). Rated PG-13, for dramatic intensity, fleeting sexual candor and mild profanity

Available via: Movie theaters

By Derrick Bang • Published in The Davis Enterprise, 3.30.25

Filmmakers are reading each other’s email again.

 

Just last August, we were graced with My Penguin Friend: a thoroughly enchanting drama, based on actual events, about how a Brazilian fisherman saved the life of an oil-covered penguin in the spring of 2011, after which the bird bonded with him.

 

The initially hopeless teacher/pupil dynamic shifts suddenly when Tom (Steve Coogan)
impulsively brings his penguin companion to class.

And here’s the follow-up: a similarly endearing handling of Tom Michell’s 2016 memoir, which depicts how he — as “a country boy from the gentle Downs of rural Sussex” — similarly saved a penguin while teaching in a boys’ boarding school in 1970s Argentina.

Director Peter Cattaneo and scripter Jeff Pope have taken a few liberties. Michell is played by 59-year-old actor/comedian Steve Coogan, who certainly can’t be termed naïve or unsophisticated. Sidebar characters have been added here and there, and the political context has been amplified in a manner that more pointedly mirrors current events throughout the world.

 

But the saga’s heart remains front and center, along with an aw-shucks level of cuteness ... but Cattaneo ensures that the tone never becomes mawkishly sentimental.

 

Coogan also supplies plenty of dry humor, delivered with his impeccable timing; his sarcastic one-liners are even funnier when contrasted with his bleak, deadpan expression.

 

The disillusioned Michell, carrying tragic baggage eventually revealed, arrives in Buenos Aires to teach at a prestigious boarding school that caters exclusively to the Very Wealthy. He’s greeted by sharp and severe Headmaster Buckle (Jonathan Pryce, appropriately stuffy), who insists on punctuality in all manners, and cautions that any discussion of politics should be approached with a small “p.”

 

That’s wise advice, because Tom — who expected an easy assignment — is chagrined to find the city in turmoil, with soldiers patrolling everywhere, and citizens understandably on edge. (Isabel Perón is shortly to be ousted via a military coup.)

 

Worse yet, Tom is dismayed to discovered that wealthy Argentinian boys are just as obnoxious as their British counterparts. Diego (David Herrero), Ernesto (Aimar Miranda) and Ramiro (Hugo Fuertes) are the stand-outs, with the most dramatic business.

 

Tom can’t begin to obtain control in his classroom, and his tendency to quote highbrow poetry and aphorisms doesn’t help.

 

His initial encounter with the school’s hard-of-hearing cook and cleaner, María (Vivian El Jaber) also goes poorly, much to the amusement of her adult granddaughter, Sofía (Alfonsina Carrocio), who works alongside her.

 

Tom’s sole ray of sunshine is erudite, Finnish-born fellow instructor Tapio (Björn Gustafsson), who — although intelligent and convivial — is hilariously incapable of understanding irony or sarcasm. As are Tom’s students.

All the Old Knives: Quite dull

All the Old Knives (2022) • View trailer

Two stars (out of five). Rated R, for profanity, sexuality, nudity and violence

Available via: Movie theaters and Amazon Prime

By Derrick Bang

Way back in the day, as his TV series The Outer Limits was becoming too expensive, creator/producer Leslie Stevens coined the phrase “bottle show” for a budget-saving episode that minimized cast members, sets, shooting schedules and effects.

 

It begins as an intimate meal, but no: Celia (Thandiwe Newton) knows that she's
actually being interrogated by former lover Henry (Chris Pine), regarding long-ago
events that could leave her continued survival in doubt.

He wrote and directed “Controlled Experiment”: the first known case of a deliberate bottle show, and one that indeed rescued his series from financial peril.

Bottle shows subsequently became ubiquitous, with prominent — and often popular — examples on series as diverse as Star Trek, The X-Files, Friends, Mad About You, Breaking Bad and Grey’s Anatomy.

 

When the pandemic closed down conventional filmmaking for well over a year, innovative directors responded with the cinematic equivalent of bottle shows; examples have been trickling into theaters and streaming services during the past few months.

 

Some, like The Outfit, made ingenious use of such limitations.

 

All the Old Knives, sadly, succumbs to every possible pitfall awaiting such a shoot.

 

Olen Steinhauer’s 2015 novel may have been another popular entry in his oeuvre of best-selling espionage thrillers, but its adaptation here by director Janus Metz is the very definition of boring: slow, dull, overcooked and seemingly interminable. The “bottle” restraints are obvious: incessantly repeated flashbacks, relentlessly tight two-shots during sluggish exchanges between stars Chris Pine and Thandiwe Newton, and ludicrously empty sets.

 

(A posh Carmel restaurant, with nobody else in it during an entire afternoon and evening? Puh-leaze.)

 

The story is pure John Le Carré territory: the eight-years-later search for a mole who compromised a critical operation in the CIA’s Austrian field office, with catastrophic results. 

 

The year is 2020. Ilyas Shushani (Orli Shuka), a long-hunted terrorist, finally has been captured, and — just before he dies (we know not how or why, which seems odd) — he shares a juicy nugget of information that reaches the CIA’s Vienna section chief, Vick Wallinger (Laurence Fishburne). He assigns veteran field agent Henry Pelham (Pine) to investigate all staff members who monitored a horrific attack on Flight 127, grounded by terrorists at the Vienna Airport back in January 2012, when everybody aboard ultimately was killed.

 

Although half a dozen people were intimately involved with the unfolding 24-hour crisis — including one who committed suicide just a few months later, which seems very suspicious — Henry focuses on only two (a decision undoubtedly prompted by bottle shoot limitations, rather than anything remotely approaching logic or common sense).

 

They are second-in-command Bill Compton (Jonathan Pryce), retired and living in London; and fellow operative Celia Harrison (Newton), retired and living in Carmel with her family.

 

And, small detail: Henry and Celia were lovers, back in 2012.

 

Which seems an insane breach of protocol, but — as Henry assures Wallinger — “I’ll know if she lies.”

 

Whatever. 

The Man Who Invented Christmas: Clever take on a holiday chesnut

The Man Who Invented Christmas (2017) • View trailer 
3.5 stars. Rated PG, for no particular reason
By Derrick Bang

This is a droll bit of seasonal mischief.

Les Standiford’s scholarly, quasi-biography of Charles Dickens — 2008’s The Man Who Invented Christmas — seems an unlikely source for a mainstream, holiday-themed film; scripter Susan Coyne deserves credit for an unusual (if hardly original) approach.

As Charles Dickens (Dan Stevens, seated) struggles to work his way through the five
"staves" of his new book, he's helped — and hindered — by his imagined personification
of Ebenezer Scrooge (Christopher Plummer).

The result proceeds briskly under the capable guidance of British film and TV director Bharat Nalluri, perhaps best known on these shores for 2008’s charming Miss Pettigrew Lives for a Day. Nalluri and Coyne similarly concentrate on whimsical character dynamics here, presenting us with a 31-year-old Dickens — played with agreeably feverish anxiety by Dan Stevens — beset by all manner of troubles.

The film begins with a brief prologue in 1842, with Dickens celebrated on both sides of the Atlantic, his stage readings standing-room-only sell-outs in the wake of his wildly popular novels Oliver Twist, Nicholas Nickleby and The Old Curiosity Shop. Flash-forward a year and change, and Dickens is in dire financial straits after three published flops, including — most particularly — the unloved Martin Chuzzlewit.

Dickens is at wit’s end: unable to pay the craftsmen appointing his luxurious new home; forever harried by his spendthrift father (Jonathan Pryce, as John Dickens); and newly panicked by the news that his wife Kate (Morfydd Clark) is expecting their fifth child. Worse yet, he’s months into a ferocious case of writer’s block, the public disdain for his recent output having paralyzed his creative juices.

Best friend and sorta-kinda agent John Forster (Justin Edwards) isn’t much help, his advice limited to little beyond “Well, just write another book.” Dickens’ publishers — Chapman (Ian McNeice) and Hall (David McSavage) — are similarly useless: actually worse than useless, when they reject the pitch for his next book.

They hardly can be blamed, as it’s a crazed notion: a vaguely defined story about Christmas. Nobody writes about Christmas; nobody cares about Christmas. As the boorish husband of one of Dickens’ aristocratic readers sniffs, Christmas is “just an excuse to pick a man’s pocket once a year.”

If that line sounds familiar, you’ve recognized one key element in Coyne’s script.

The narrative conceit here is that Dickens overhears and jots down names, comments and possible plot contrivances from family, friends and random strangers. (Young Irish housemaid Tara — winningly played by Anna Murphy — helps him come up with the name “Scrooge.”) It’s a delightful notion, particularly for those well-versed in A Christmas Carol’s characters and quotable lines.

Woman in Gold: Engaging art world saga

Woman in Gold (2015) • View trailer 
3.5 stars. Rated PG-13, for dramatic intensity and fleeting profanity
By Derrick Bang

Director Simon Curtis’ absorbing, ripped-from-the-headlines drama could be considered the All the President’s Men of the art world.

During a visit to Austria, Maria Altmann (Helen Mirren) and her young friend and colleague,
Randy Schoenberg (Ryan Reynolds), make a point of visiting Vienna's Belvedere Gallery,
where the painting Portrait of Adele Bloch-Bauer has been displayed since just after
World War II. The question is whether it deserves to remain there...

Much the way that 1976 classic made journalistic investigation so fascinating, scripter Alexi Kaye Campbell breathes intrigue and tension into what — in the real world — unfolded as an extended, research-heavy, David vs. Goliath courtroom battle. Campbell has the advantage of the considerable tension surrounding the saga’s Holocaust origins; the result, while sometimes sliding into clichéd melodrama, builds to a suspenseful finale.

On one side of the dispute: octogenarian Jewish refugee Maria Altmann (Helen Mirren) and her callow, almost laughably inexperienced attorney, Randy Schoenberg (Ryan Reynolds).

On the other side: the entire country of Austria, personified by condescending museum owners and Ministry of Culture officials.

The situation at issue: actual ownership of five paintings by Austrian master Gustav Klimt, most notably his legendary Portrait of Adele Bloch-Bauer, a work iconic enough to be recognized even by people who know nothing about art.

As it happens, Adele Bloch-Bauer was Maria Altmann’s aunt ... and therein lies the tale.

Curtis and Campbell divide their narrative between the late 1930s, leading up to and immediately following Hitler’s annexation of Austria; and the late 1990s, beginning with a stack of letters found by Maria, in the twilight of her comfortable years in California, following the death of her beloved sister. The letters’ contents raise intriguing questions, prompting Maria to seek advice from Randy, a budding attorney and the grandson of a family friend.

Randy initially wants nothing to do with what he perceives is a ludicrous, hopeless case; he’s much too busy trying to fit in at the prestigious legal firm where he has just been hired by the authoritative senior partner (Charles Dance, in a brief but suitably intimidating role). But Maria, imperious in her own right, plays the “Jewish heritage” card ... and, before he quite realizes what has happened, Randy is hooked.

An exploratory visit to Austria hardens his interest, after he and Maria are rebuffed by the aforementioned cultural officials. Despite the restitution law passed by Austria’s Green Party in 1998, they discover — with the assistance of Austrian investigative journalist Hubertus Czernin (Daniel Brühl) — that this supposed display of “justice” is little more than a PR ploy, which the country’s nationalists have no intention of applying to any truly revered artworks.

And nothing is more revered than Klimt’s masterpiece, regarded, as Czernin explains, as “Austria’s Mona Lisa.”

GI Joe Retaliation: Too inane to be witless

GI Joe Retaliation (2013) • View trailer 
One star. Rating: PG-13, for nonstop violence and occasional profanity
By Derrick Bang

This sorry excuse for a movie is for folks who find the Transformer series too intellectually stimulating.

Roadblock (Dwayne Johnson, foreground left) and his fellow Joes — from left, Lady
Jaye (Adrianne Palicki), Snake Eyes (Ray Park) and Flint (D.J. Cotrona) — are running
out of options, before the evil Cobra Commander and his minions start doing Very
Bad Stuff to the world. Are we worried? Do we even care?

Honestly, even in the realm of dumb fluff, this new GI Joe entry is impressively pathetic. Rarely has so much money been squandered, to such little effect.

I’m surprised Rhett Reese and Paul Wernick were brave enough to admit writing this dreck. The proverbial 10 chimpanzees with typewriters could have created something better. A random episode of the kid-oriented Power Rangers TV series has more dramatic heft.

Basing a movie series on a toy line does not, of necessity, require all concerned to fashion the result for undiscerning 5-year-olds. Any set of characters can be made captivating; indeed, Reese and Wernick have the advantage here of some established archetypes, just waiting for a bit of back-story.

But, clearly, that would have been asking too much. Instead, we labor through flimsy expository scenes and battle sequences that appear to have been assembled at random. I’ve no doubt, if director Jon M. Chu had simply tossed the script pages into the air and filmed them as they fell, that the result would have made more sense.

What we have, in fact, displays the dumb plotting, wooden acting and lunatic dialogue that grace afternoon TV soap operas, stitched Frankenstein-style to an A-production budget that delivers plenty of golly-gee-wow special effects.

Actually, GI Joe: Retaliation is nothing but special effects. This isn’t a movie; it’s a video game. And one that’s thuddingly predictable and insufferably boring, at that.

This isn’t even bad enough to be campy fun; it’s merely bad. When an actor of Jonathan Pryce’s stature, playing the U.S. president, is forced to utter corn-pone dialogue such as “Send in the Joes!” — and do it with a straight face — we know the lunatics have taken over the asylum.

This is one of those narratives that repeatedly has the actors tell us what their characters are doing, or about to do, or have done ... because, otherwise, it would be impossible to make sense of anything.

Leatherheads: Football frolic

Leatherheads (2008) • View trailer for Leatherheads
3.5 stars (out of five). Rating: PG-13, and much too harshly, for mild profanity and football action
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 4.4.08
Buy DVD: Leatherheads • Buy Blu-Ray: Leatherheads [Blu-ray]

Although ostensibly a period romp set in the rough 'n' tumble world of nascent professional football, Leatherheads also is a perceptive parable on the importance of heroes.

Duluth Bulldogs player Dodge Connolly (George Clooney, right) persuades
ruthless businessman CC Frazier (Jonathan Pryce, center) to move golden boy
Carter "The Bullet" Rutherford (John Krasinski) from his college ball
environment, thus giving the young man a chance to make money while
playing the game he loves. The deal is observed quietly by Chicago Tribune
reporter Lexie Littleton (Renée Zellweger), who knows something the
others don't ... and wonders how best to use this information.

That's a pretty weighty topic for a film that has been marketed as a frivolous romantic comedy, which is all to the good. Credit first-time screenwriters and Sports Illustrated veterans Duncan Brantley and Rick Reilly, who've become minor legends for the perseverance they've displayed while pitching this project for two decades (!).

Credit director and star George Clooney, as well, for recognizing the script's potential.

At first blush, Leatherheads is a retro homage to classic screwball comedies of the late 1930s and early '40s, most notably director Howard Hawks' His Girl Friday, since this new film boasts a similar romantic triangle anchored by a tough-talking female reporter — that would be Renée Zellweger's Lexie Littleton — with strong echoes of Rosalind Russell's Hildy Johnson.

Clooney's rat-a-tat verbal exchanges with Zellweger are to die for, with both performers making the most of crackerjack dialogue, raised eyebrows, pursed lips and impeccably timed double (and even triple) takes.

The story, set in 1925, begins during an average day for the Duluth Bulldogs, a typical "professional" football team composed of rough, foul-mouthed and quick-tempered players who delight in their ability to win through guile, trickery or outright cheating. Actually, "cheating" rather overstates the case, since this fledgling sport exists in a realm without rules or codes of conduct, and often is played on weed-strewn fields not entirely bereft of livestock.

The Bulldogs are more or less led by Dodge Connolly (Clooney), smart enough to see the writing on the wall: Their free-for-all games attract no more than family members and a smattering of loud, drunk fans who'd never dream of spending more than a pittance to attend.

College football, on the other hand, is an entirely different critter: The games are better regulated and held in gorgeous stadiums, and they attract thousands of well-behaved fans. That's particularly true of games that feature rising star Carter "The Bullet" Rutherford (John Krasinski, of TV's The Office), a golden-boy WWI hero coasting on his larger-than-life feat of having forced an entire squadron of German soldiers to surrender. Single-handedly, no less.