The Caine Mutiny Court-Martial: Riveting courtroom theatrics

The Caine Mutiny Court-Martial (2023) • View trailer

Four stars (out of five). Not rated, and suitable for all ages

Available via: Paramount+

By Derrick Bang • Published in The Davis Enterprise, 10.13.23

The Caine Mutiny Court-Martial — based on Herman Wouk’s 1951 novel, The Caine Mutiny — has been an actor’s showcase ever since he adapted it for the stage two years later.

 

Given its ongoing popularity as a live theater production, it’s surprising that no big-screen version has been mounted since director Edward Dmytryk’s powerhouse with Humphrey Bogart, José Ferrer, Van Johnson and Fred MacMurray. But scripters Stanley Roberts and Michael Blankfort strayed significantly from Wouk’s source material in that 1954 film; director/adaptor William Friedkin has gone back to basics with this new version.

 

Lt. Stephen Maryk (Jack Lacey, left) is understandably unhappy upon learning that his
defense attorney, Lt. Barney Greenwald (Jason Clarke), believes him guilty.

Indeed, his vision is just this side of a filmed stage play, with only three sets: a courtroom, the hallway outside it, and a gathering that takes place elsewhere during the story’s epilogue.

That certainly doesn’t diminish the power of Friedkin’s adaptation. Wouk’s dialogue still crackles with intensity; the story remains riveting; and cinematographer Michael Grady adds considerable tension with inventive camera angles and shrewd, well employed close-ups.

 

And, yes; the acting is exceptional.

 

Wouk’s original took place in a World War II setting; Friedkin’s sole major change moves the story to the present day, setting the action in the aftermath of a mutiny that takes place during the USS Caine’s mine-sweeping operation in the Persian Gulf. Lt. Stephen Maryk (Jack Lacy) is on trial for “improperly” relieving Capt. Philip Francis Queeg (Kiefer Sutherland) of duty during a dangerous typhoon.

 

Maryk did so because he believed Queeg’s actions during the storm put the ship in peril. Maryk took command, citing Article 184 of Navy Regulations, and steered the Caine north — directly into the storm — instead of south, as Queeg had demanded. The ship and crew survived, apparently validating Maryk’s decision … but that didn’t save him from the consequences of his actions.

 

In another nod to modern times, the courtroom prosecuting attorney has been gender-shifted; Monica Raymund gives a crackerjack performance as Lt. Commander Challee. Eyes blazing, posture combative, armed with impressive legal and naval knowledge, clearly whip-smart and sharply perceptive, she’s a true force of nature.

 

Maryk’s defense attorney — Lt. Barney Greenwald (Jason Clarke) — doesn’t even want the assignment. As he admits to an ashen-faced Maryk, prior to the start of trial, he believes his client guilty, and would much rather act as prosecutor. But Greenwald understands the importance of a fair trial, and recognizes his duty to mount the best possible defense.

 

Even so, Greenwald’s initial ambivalence does not go unnoticed by Capt. Blakely (Lance Reddick), chief judge of the court-martial. In the forcefully clipped, severe tone for which Reddick has become famous, he gives Maryk the opportunity for fresh counsel. (Reddick gets more out of a frown, than most actors get out of pages of dialogue.)

Instinct prompts the defendant to stick with Greenwald.

One Night in Miami: Compelling revisionist history

One Night in Miami (2020) • View trailer

Four stars. Rated R, for profanity

By Derrick Bang • Published in The Davis Enterprise, 1.15.21

On Feb. 25, 1964 — on the eve of the name change that would prove so controversial — Cassius Clay became the world boxing champion after an upset victory over Sonny Liston, during a bout at Florida’s Miami Convention Center.

 

Basking in the euphoria of an historic sports upset by Cassius Clay (Eli Goree, second
from left), he and his friends — from left, Sam Cooke (Leslie Odom Jr.), Malcolm X
(Kingsley Ben-Adir) and Jim Brown (Aldis Hodge) — are about to debate how best
to "market" such an outcome.

Following the match, Clay returned to his room at the Hampton House Hotel, where he spent a quiet evening with friends Malcolm X, Sam Cooke and Jim Brown … under the watchful eye of Nation of Islam security. Nobody knows what they talked about — at least, not to any great degree — but playwright Kemp Powers became obsessed by the notion of what could have been discussed by that amazing quartet, at that seminal moment during the nascent Civil Rights movement.

 

The result was 2013’s One Night in Miami, a 90-minute one-act play that Powers has just adapted into a film — available via Amazon Prime — helmed with capable assurance by actress-turned-director Regina King (an impressive feature film debut). 

 

It’s a fascinating “what if” scenario. And even if hindsight has allowed Powers to shade the content of this encounter, the issues discussed certainly would have been just as relevant then, as they are today (sadly).

 

Making a movie from a play, particularly one of this claustrophobic nature, always involves the challenge of “opening up” the action, so that we don’t feel we’re merely watching a filmed stage performance. Powers and King get around this with some brief prologues that cleverly — and wincingly — blend Black oppression with failure.

 

Cooke (Leslie Odom Jr.), despite possessing more than two dozen Top 40 hits by this point in his career, flops miserably before a white Copacabana audience that radiates contempt. Clay (Eli Goree), facing Henry Cooper in June 1963, is knocked to the mat. (The astonished look on Goree’s face is an early indication of the almost eerie way he channels the once-and-future Muhammad Ali.)

 

Brown (Aldis Hodge), just beginning to transition from NFL fame to an acting career — having just wrapped his co-starring debut in 1964’s Rio Conchos — drops in on a family friend (Beau Bridges) at a Georgia plantation. What initially seems a congenial visit between equals who like and admire each other, takes a sharp left turn with a line from Bridges — delivered so blandly, so matter-of-factly — that we’re left breathless.

 

The subsequent shift to Clay’s victory over Liston therefore is even more triumphant, with Cooke, Brown and Malcolm X (Kingsley Ben-Adir) cheering in the audience. When they return to the hotel room, it’s with different intentions; Cooke and Brown hope to party, while the abstinent Malcolm X has something more important in mind.

 

Sylvie's Love: Out of tune

Sylvie's Love (2020) • View trailer

2.5 stars. Rated PG-13, which is needlessly harsh, for mild sexual content

By Derrick Bang

At first blush, Sylvie’s Love — an Amazon Prime original — is a charming romantic drama, very much in the cinematic style of its late 1950s/early 1960s setting.

 

Having discovered their shared interest in quality jazz, Sylvie (Tessa Thompson) and
Robert (Nnamdi Asomugha) can't help wondering if they have other things in common ...
such as a mutual attraction.

We rarely get a film so richly, thoroughly immersed in that period’s jazz scene. The incredibly busy soundtrack is laden with classics — “Waltz for Debby,” “Summertime,” “My Little Suede Shoes,” Sarah Vaughan’s “One Mint Julep” and many, many others — along with era-appropriate originals by score composer Fabrice Lecomte, drolly titled “B-Bop,” “B-Blue” and “B-Loved.”

 

Stars Tessa Thompson and Nnamdi Asomugha are enchanting together, and we’re easily charmed as their characters meet and begin what becomes a challenging relationship. Nothing is particularly novel about writer/director Eugene Ashe’s narrative, but his film nonetheless delivers an affectionately retro, comfortably familiar vibe.

 

Until he hits us with a thoroughly ridiculous and wholly unwarranted left turn, as we near the story’s conclusion. Which, frankly, ruins everything.

 

I don’t often see a filmmaker sabotage his own work so catastrophically.

 

Following a fleeting (and rather pointless) flash-forward, the story opens during the hot Harlem summer of 1957. Sylvie (Thompson) fills her days helping at her father’s music store — Mr. Jay’s Records — although she actually spends more time glued to a TV set: not as a casual viewer, but as the careful observer of what goes into the production of a show, because she hopes one day to establish a career in television.

 

Robert (Asomugha) plays tenor sax in a bebop quartet led by the less talented — but much better known — Dickie Brewster (Tone Bell). Robert chafes at the artistic limitations, but, well, a gig is a gig.

 

Needing to supplement his income, Robert applies for a job at Mr. Jay’s Records, after seeing a “help wanted” sign in the window. He and Sylvie share a flirty meet-cute moment, but she’s unavailable; she’s waiting for her fiancé to return from war service.

 

“Unavailable” doesn’t meet “uninterested,” of course, and — as the days pass — nature takes its course. This romantic inevitability is given swooning intensity by pop tunes such as Doris Day’s “Fly Me to the Moon,” the Drifters’ “Fools Fall in Love” and Louis Armstrong’s “A Kiss to Build a Dream On.”

 

Angel Has Fallen: A devilishly good time

Angel Has Fallen (2019) • View trailer 
3.5 stars. Rated R, for profanity and violence
By Derrick Bang

The third time’s definitely the charm, for this series.

Were it not for A-level casts toplined by Gerard Butler’s indestructible Mike Banning, 2013’s Olympus Has Fallen and 2016’s London Has Fallen would have vanished from the face of the planet, due to their outrageously stupid scripts, unforgivably cowardly characters, and offensively jingoistic political undertone.

On the run, and with almost nobody to trust, Mike Banning (Gerard Butler) chances a
phone call to his wife, knowing full well that the FBI has tapped his home phone.

Both typified the exploitative action swill that Cinemax programmed in late-night time slots, back in the 1980s.

Given that series creators Katrin Benedikt and Creighton Rothenberger have been on board throughout, this third entry was approached with more than a little skepticism. But I’m happy to report that Angel Has Fallen is vastly superior to its predecessors; indeed, you’d never believe it came from any of the same folks. Credit likely belongs to new co-scripters Matt Cook and Robert Mark Kamen, the latter a seasoned veteran who has written and co-written crowd-pleasing hits as diverse as The Karate Kid, The Fifth Element and the Transporter series.

In short, Kamen knows how to concoct and pace an effective thriller. More to the point, his stories always have heart, and this new Fallenentry is no different; it includes a level of emotional gravitas that was completely absent in the first two films, whose characters had the depth of tissue paper.

On top of which, the core plot is an always reliable chestnut invariably tapped during the third or fourth season of successful television investigative dramas: the ol’ “We’ve all trusted this guy for years, but now — solely because of circumstantial evidence — we’re gonna believe that he’s been an evil bastard all along.”

Contrived, yes. But undeniably effective, because it puts our hero in the situation beloved by Alfred Hitchcock: on the run from good guys and bad guys.

In fairness, said circumstantial evidence is quite formidable. While keeping President Allan Trumbull (Morgan Freeman) company during a restful fishing trip in the middle of a freezing-cold lake, Banning and his Secret Service team are attacked by a phalanx of explosive drones. Thanks to quick thinking, Banning saves Trumbull’s life, but only barely; the president remains hospitalized, in a coma. Recovering is uncertain.

Banning, in turn, awakens to find himself handcuffed to a hospital bed. As he stares in disbelief, FBI Special Agent Thompson (Jada Pinkett Smith) coldly informs him that he’s the lone survivor, the entire rest of the Secret Service team having been wiped out. Far more damning, the tech-laden van from which the drones were fired has been found, and it’s laden with Banning’s DNA. The cherry on top: $20 million in a clandestine account under his name, with the funds traced back to — we pause, for emphasis — the Russians.

(How’s that for election interference?)

John Wick: Should be snuffed out

John Wick (2014) • View trailer 
No stars (turkey). Rated R, for relentlessly strong, bloody and gory violence, profanity and brief drug use
By Derrick Bang

Vile, reprehensible trash.

Ineptly scripted, badly directed and atrociously acted by the name “star” — Keanu Reeves — who, as one of this tawdry turkey’s executive producers, likely is the only reason it got made in the first place.

Having reached this point in his vengeance-fueled crusade, Wick (Keanu Reeves) hasn't
killed anybody for at least 5 seconds ... so it must be time to shoot another nameless
thug in the face. Wick does that a lot, to rapidly diminishing returns.

The fact that Reeves keeps getting assignments remains a source of amazement; he can’t emote a lick. Indeed, he makes Clint Eastwood look like Laurence Olivier. Reeves lucked into two popular genre franchises awhile back, Speed and the Matrix trilogy, which granted the illusion of A-list credibility.

But everything else he has touched in the past 20 years has bombed, in most cases with ample cause. Really, now ... have you even heard of Hard Ball, Ellie Parker, Thumbsucker, The Private Lives of Pippa Lee, Generation Um... or Man of Tai Chi, let alone had the opportunity to actually watch them? Could anything have been worse that his laughably pathetic efforts at romantic leads, in A Walk in the Clouds or the ill-advised remake of Sweet November?

Is it perhaps time to wonder how much better both Speed and the Matrix movies might have been, with a better lead actor?

Reeves never offers anything beyond a grim scowl apparently intended to convey a wealth of emotion. Far from it; he simply seems smug and contemptuous ... and not necessarily within the parameters of the part he’s playing. It looks, sounds and feels more like a deliberate absence of acting: a smirky sense of superiority, as if he’s delighted to once again make a pot of money for doing no work whatsoever.

I’m not sure which would be worse: that Reeves knows he has scant talent, and keeps trying to fool us into believing otherwise ... or that he truly has no talent at all, but has failed to recognize as much. Still. All these years later.

He also needs to wash his hair more often. And get a better style to begin with.

Sadly, when it comes to no-talent behavior, Reeves has plenty of company in this revolting excuse for a revenge thriller. John Wick is “directed” — and I employ the term in the loosest possible sense — by David Leitch and Chad Stahelski, both of whom have impressively long Hollywood résumés ... as stunt and action coordinators.

Leitch and Stahelski apparently believed that they had learned something, operating under the guidance of other directors for the past two decades.

They believed incorrectly.

Won't Back Down: Belongs in detention

Won't Back Down (2012) • View trailer
2.5 stars. Rating: PG, for dramatic intensity and brief violence
By Derrick Bang

Advocacy cinema is nothing new, and in some cases serendipitous timing can help raise public awareness of an important issue; the most famous example remains The China Syndrome, and its coincidental proximity to the partial nuclear meltdown at Three Mile Island, which took place 12 days after the film was released.

When Jamie (Maggie Gyllenhaal, left) and Nona (Viola Davis) team up to take over
the local public school and — hopefully — build it into something bigger and better,
they're faced with an avalanche of paperwork: reams of forms that need to be
filled out properly, lest their proposal never even leave the starting gate.

But dramas that trivialize significant real-world issues can be extremely irritating, particularly when the filmmakers resort to ludicrous dollops of soap-style melodrama, as is the case with Won’t Back Down.

The American public school system has become a national tragedy, and the many teachers’ unions do themselves no favors by adhering to hard-line policies that favor their own employment over the desperate need for reform and bureaucratic streamlining. Yes, it’s a complicated issue, with economic malaise, parental hostility and student indifference deserving their share of the blame.

But those fires of parental hostility have been stoked, in great part, by the system’s apparent refusal to consider reform, let alone embrace it. And since art always imitates life, we wind up with the likes of dramas “inspired by actual events” ... which is to say, thinly suggested by real-world activity but mostly made up.

The passion at work here is laudable, as are the performances by stars Viola Davis and Maggie Gyllenhaal. But director Daniel Barnz’s film is clumsy and one-sided, his script — co-written with Brin Hill — as unbalanced as kid-centric TV sitcoms that score points by making all adults look like blithering idiots.

It’s perhaps telling to recall that Won't Back Down was a can’t-miss event at both the Democratic and Republican conventions, where it drew applause and prompted lively follow-up panel discussions. And that seems to have been Barnz’s primary goal: to score political points, rather than to make a good movie.

But people rarely are persuaded by material that offends their intelligence — and/or pisses them off — and that’s the core problem here. Few things are more irritating than a filmmaker who piles on contrivance and artificial tension with a trowel.