I Came By: Enjoyably sinister

I Came By (2022) • View trailer

3.5 stars (out of five). Rated TV-MA, for violence, dramatic intensity and profanity

Available via: Netflix

By Derrick Bang 

Writer/director Babak Anvari definitely studied at the altar of Alfred Hitchcock.

 

This twisty little thriller, co-scripted with Namsi Khan, messes with audience expectations much the way Psycho did, back in 1960.

 

After realizing that their latest "victim" isn't what he seems, Toby (George MacKay, right)
intends to investigate further ... but his best friend Jay (Percelle Ascott) wants
no part of that.

London-based graffiti artists Toby (George MacKay) and Jay (Percelle Ascott) have established a notorious reputation as late-night, never-identified home invaders who target the rich and powerful by painting their “I came by” tag on one wall: an act that’s less about vandalism or theft, and more a means of tweaking the establishment. 

(One suspects, however, that they’re not above nicking an item or two that catches their fancy.)

 

They’re quite adept, having learned how to pick locks and bypass home alarm systems; the adrenaline rush also is a major part of the thrill.

 

“Fighting the system” is all that Toby cares about, much to the dismay of his mother, Lizzie (Kelly Macdonald), a professional counselor who (irony intended) hasn’t the faintest idea how to connect with her own son. Toby, in turn, is rude and disrespectful, but also inclined to random acts of kindness; he isn’t beyond recognizing right from wrong.

 

Jay is brought up short when his girlfriend Naz (Varada Sethu) announces that she’s pregnant. This reality check prompts him to renounce his clandestine partnership with Toby, even though they’ve already cased their next victim: Sir Hector Blake (Hugh Bonneville), a former high court judge who lives alone in a large home in Dulwich.

 

Frustrated and feeling betrayed, Toby invades Sir Hector’s home on his own, prepares to tag a wall … and then is distracted by a noise from the basement. He heads downstairs, pokes around, and …

 

… but that would be telling.

 

Suffice to say, there may have been a reason Sir Hector suddenly resigned from the judiciary, after a sterling career spent helping immigrants.

 

The final key player in what soon becomes a sinister mystery is Det. Sgt. Ella Lloyd (Franc Ashman), who doesn’t need much convincing to decide that Sir Hector is a Rather Suspicious Character. But since his friends include her boss (Anthony Calf), her efforts to investigate are discouraged.

 

No question: The set-up is enticing, and the execution moves in crafty, edge-of-the-seat directions.

 

Operation Mincemeat: Very well done

Operation Mincemeat (2022) • View trailer

Four stars (out of five). Rated PG-13, for brief war violence, disturbing images and brief profanity

Available via: Netflix

By Derrick Bang • Published in The Davis Enterprise, 5.20.22

World War II has long gifted cinema with a wealth of heroic, unusual and downright astonishing stories … but none is more bizarre or audacious than this one.

 

Having been fully briefed about the necessary parameters, North London coroner
Bentley Purchase (Paul Ritter, center) pulls out a cadaver that might suit the requirements
of Ewen Montagu (Colin Firth, far right) and Charles Cholmondeley (Matthew Macfadyen).

In early 1943, the Allies desperately sought a means to break the Nazi stranglehold on mainland Europe, but the only feasible route appeared to be invading Sicily and then pushing northward. Unfortunately, this lone option was tooobvious; Hitler also recognized it as the likely approach, and was fully prepared to thwart such an effort with the full might of the German army. The loss of Allied lives would have been incalculable.

 

A few years earlier, Lt. Cmdr. Ian Fleming — then assigned to Rear Adm. James Godfrey, head of British naval intelligence — had drafted what came to be known as the “Trout Memo.” (Yes, that Ian Fleming. Seriously.)

 

The memo — “Trout,” as in hoping to fool the Nazis hook, line and sinker — contained 54 suggested schemes designed to deceive the Axis Powers. Item 28 was a macabre ploy that Fleming lifted from 1937’s The Milliner’s Hat Mystery, one of several Inspector Richardson mysteries by British author Basil Thomson.

 

So, consider: A now-obscure novelist gives British naval intelligence the idea for a daring act of real-world espionage duplicity, as proposed by an officer — Fleming — who would go on to create the world’s best-known fictitious secret agent.

 

No surprise, then, that this legendary bit of WWII lore would appeal to director John Madden, who similarly played with the historical line between real and make-believe, in 1998’s Shakespeare in Love. Michelle Ashford’s engaging script is adapted from Ben Macintyre’s meticulously researched 2010 nonfiction bestseller of the same title.

 

The resulting film is fascinating. Ashford has done an impressive job of condensing the many key details, without losing track of the saga’s complexity … and while adding a few fictitious embellishments for dramatic intensity. (I’d argue they were unnecessary, but opinions might differ.)

 

The key players here are barrister-turned-naval intelligence officer Ewen Montagu (Colin Firth); Royal Air Force flight lieutenant-turned-MI5 counter-intelligence agent Charles Cholmondeley (Matthew Macfadyen); Godfrey (Jason Isaacs), who oversaw what eventually developed into “Operation Mincemeat”; MI5 clerk Jean Leslie (Kelly Macdonald), who played a key role in the scheme; and MI5 head secretary Hester Leggett (Penelope Wilton), whose talent for credible love letters also proved crucial.

 

Puzzle: The pieces fit beautifully

Puzzle (2018) • View trailer 
4.5 stars. Rated R, for profanity
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 8.24.18

Some actors are so accomplished — they slide so wholly into a role, inhabiting even the smallest nuance of personality — that they simply become the character.

Robert (Irrfan Khan), accustomed to puzzle partners who focus on distinct colors, can't
fathom the more instinctive, pattern-recognition method that Agnes (Kelly Macdonald)
prefers.

Kelly Macdonald is just such a talent. She’d captivate even when doing something humdrum, like grocery shopping. Actually, that’s definitely true, since her character here doesmake an emotional symphony out of grocery shopping. Along with pretty much every other scene in director Marc Turtletaub’s clever, delicately assembled little drama.

The Scottish actress hit my radar with her strong supporting performances in 2001’s Gosford Park, the 2003 British miniseries State of Play and the 2005 British TV movie The Girl in the Café. Came to discover that I’d also seen her acting debut years earlier, in 1996’s Trainspotting. Had to go back and re-watch it. She was marvelous then, as well: right out of the gate.

She’s been quite busy ever since, likely well remembered — on this side of the pond — for her edge-of-the-seat supporting turn in 2007’s No Country for Old Men, and her supporting part in HBO’s Boardwalk Empire.

Astonishingly, Puzzle is her first solid starring role. The 22-year wait has been worthwhile: She doesn’t disappoint.

Agnes (Macdonald) is introduced as she meticulously prepares her home for visitors and a birthday party. We immediately sense, from her air of concentration, that every detail needs to be just so. Turtletaub then cuts to the party in progress: people drinking, laughing, having a good time. Being a bit careless, as guests often are. 

Agnes is the fastidious, detail-oriented sort who gathers discarded glasses and dishes, and scoops dropped appetizers from the floor, before somebody can step on them.

Not until she brings in the beautifully decorated cake, and the crowd launches into a rendition of “Happy Birthday,” do we realize — as they all reach the third line — that it’s her birthday. And she has done all the work.

Agnes lives in Bridgeport, Conn., with her husband Louie (David Denman) and young adult sons Ziggy (Bubba Weiler) and Gabe (Austin Abrams). The latter is forever accompanied by girlfriend Nicki (Liv Hewson), a mildly aggressive Buddhist vegan who seems attached to Gabe like a third arm.

Goodbye Christopher Robin: Farewell, this film

Goodbye Christopher Robin (2017) • View trailer 
2.5 stars. Rated PG, for fleeting but graphic war images
By Derrick Bang

Brief portions of this biographical drama are endearing: precisely what fans may have imagined, when wondering how Winnie the Pooh was created.

To the complete surprise of his parents (Domhnall Gleeson and Margot Robbie), their son
Christopher (Will Tilston) is furious when confronted with a toy shop's massive cache of
stuffed bears in the likeness of his bear. The notion that the public soon will be able to
own such faux copies is more than the boy can stand.

Alas, the rest feels like character assassination, akin to the hatchet job done on Walt Disney and P.L. Travers, in 2013’s Saving Mr. Banks.

One must be wary of film biographies that are “inspired” by actual events, since this often is code for exaggeration and “made-up stuff.” Scripters Frank Cottrell Boyce and Simon Vaughan have succumbed to this temptation, in one case rather egregiously (apparently in service of “dramatic tension”).

Such embellishment can be excused when little is known about the subject(s) in question, but Boyce and Vaughan had much from which to draw: Alan Alexander Milne’s numerous essays, along with Ann Thwaite’s sterling biography; and — most particularly — Christopher Robin Milne’s own memoirs, The Enchanted Places, The Path Through the Trees and Hollow on the Hill.

Director Simon Curtis’ film certainly looks and feels authentic. Production designer David Roger has done a masterful job of recreating the sparkle and sophistication of 1920s London, along with the rustic, cozy and sun-dappled East Sussex countryside that A.A. Milne found so comforting.

Curtis even used actual locations, most crucially “Pooh Bridge” and Ashdown Forest, the wilderness adjacent to Cotchford Farm, where Milne’s son — Christopher Robin, who went by the nickname “Billy Moon” — spent his childhood. (The actual Cotchford Farm still stands, but was unsuitable for filming; a similar property nearby was used for exterior shooting.)

The problem is that this film’s tone is relentlessly dreary, even mean-spirited. Milne’s wife Daphne is portrayed as a cold-hearted, mercilessly self-centered monster: an interpretation that Margot Robbie nails all too well. We hate her on sight, and our opinion only lowers with time. Daphne lacks even a whiff of motherly instinct, having apparently lost interest in her child when he turned out to be a boy, rather than the girl she wanted.

Nor did she abandon that hope gracefully, insisting that her son be garbed in smocks and dresses throughout his childhood.

Anna Karenina: A tale oddly told

Anna Karenina (2012) • View trailer
Three stars. Rating: R, and rather harshly, for mild sexuality and dramatic intensity
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 11.30.12

Artistic vision is captivating — or clever — to the point at which it calls too much attention to itself, and interferes with the story.

Try as she might, Anna (Keira Knightley) cannot shake her growing infatuation with the
dashing Vronsky (Aaron Taylor-Johnson). The resulting affair will prove scandalous in
every respect ... not that this heavily stylized film makes us care a whit.

In effect, the tail then wags the dog; we’re too frequently aware of the artifice, at the expense of plot and character development. Empathy and identification become difficult, if not impossible.

Director Joe Wright’s handling of Leo Tolstoy’s venerable Anna Karenina is radiant and ferociously inventive, thanks to Seamus McGarvey’s luminescent cinematography and, most notably, Sarah Greenwood’s brilliant production design. The film is a thing of great artistic beauty, and we cannot help being enchanted — initially — by its sheer, magnificent theatricality.

But the artifice soon becomes tiresome, which exposes the oddly flat and vexingly mannered performances. Celebrated playwright and screenwriter Tom Stoppard undoubtedly deserves equal credit (or blame) for this vision; I’m disappointed, however, that this abbreviated, heavily stylized handling of Tolstoy lacks the narrative snap and sparkling dialogue that brought Stoppard a well-deserved Academy Award for Shakespeare in Love. (He also was nominated, along with Terry Gilliam and Charles McKeown, for writing 1985’s Brazil.)

Indeed, despite all the bosom-heaving melodrama present in Tolstoy’s novel, this newest adaptation of Anna Karenina is a curiously bloodless affair.

Wright’s approach best can be described as a stylized blend of Baz Luhrmann’s Moulin Rouge (absent the music), Peter Greenaway’s The Cook, the Thief, His Wife and Her Lover and the popular stage farce Noises Off. Luhrmann’s flamboyant musical told its story as the characters improbably broke into song; Greenaway’s saga unfolded as the camera tracked horizontally, apparently seamlessly, between events taking place in various settings ... as if characters wandered into and out of fully dressed stages in half a dozen impossibly connected theaters.

Toss in Noises Off, for its behind-the-scenes antics — the stuff we’re never supposed to see — and the result is, well, fascinating. For a time.

The primary set piece, then, is a once-beautiful but now decaying theater, intended to represent the aristocratic rot of 1870s Russian high society; this building’s various sections, dressed appropriately, serve as the story’s many locales. We find Anna (Keira Knightley) and her husband, Karenin (Jude Law), at home in one corner of the massive stage; as Anna — for example — exits the room, she wanders “backstage” between curtains, scrim and backdrops, perhaps changing her wardrobe in order to be properly garbed as she enters the setting for the next scene.

Brave: Loses its way

Brave (2012) • View trailer
3.5 stars. Rating: PG, and somewhat generously, for rude humor and considerable scary action
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 6.22.12

All Pixar animated films are lush, impeccably mounted productions — every backdrop fine-tuned to the height of available imaging technology, every scene timed to comic perfection — and Brave is no different.

With her disapproving mother and doting father looking on, far right,
Merida demonstrates archery skills that are far superior to all the other
clan lords and their sons: from left, Lord Macintosh and Young
Macintosh, Wee Dingwall and Lord Dingwall, and Lord MacGuffin
and Young MacGuffin.

The long, long ago and far, far away Scottish Highlands setting has a verdant ambiance granted even greater verisimilitude by the careful application of 3D cinematography; the resulting full-immersion sensation is as breathtaking to us, in these early years of the 21st century, as William Garity’s ground-breaking multi-plane camera work was for audiences of Disney’s early 1930s and ’40s animated classics.

The characters here are fun and feisty, often exaggerated for comic relief, and led by Merida, a resourceful and headstrong heroine who is voiced fabulously by Kelly Macdonald. Merida’s pluck, determination and stubborn defiance of tradition are matched only by her flaming, flowing red tresses: as much a part of her presence and personality as her oh-so-familiar teenage angst.

All the elements are in place ... except one.

The most important one.

However well Brenda Chapman’s original story may have flowed, as first conceived, it has become something of a mess in the hands of screenwriters Mark Andrews, Steve Purcell, Irene Mecchi and Chapman herself, along with (no doubt) the uncredited participation of many, many more Pixar staffers. The result plays less like a cohesive, thematically consistent narrative and more like a committee effort calculated to hit all the essential demographic targets.

In the mid-1970s, before attempting his first thriller, physician Robin Cook thoroughly analyzed then-best-selling novels to determine what they had in common; he then sat down and wrote Coma, which incorporated what he had learned. Despite reading like a soulless product, it became a smash hit and kick-started Cook’s second career as a successful author.

Brave has that same sense of having been crafted from a laundry list of “what works” ... which is a shame. Pixar’s best films are truly original creations that establish their own trends; Brave, in contrast, too often echoes bits and pieces from other sources.