Creed III: Punches at its weight

Creed III (2023) • View trailer

Four stars (out of five). Rated PG-13, for intense sports action, violence and profanity-laced song lyrics

Available via: Movie theaters

By Derrick Bang • Published in The Davis Enterprise, 3.3.23

This spin-off boxing series finally dances on its own two feet, having outgrown its Rocky Balboa roots.

 

Nice to see.

 

The calm before the impending storm: Adonis (Michael B. Jordan) enjoys some quality
time with his wife Bianca (Tessa Thompson) and their daughter Amara
(Mila Davis-Kent)

The script — from Ryan Coogler, Keegan Coogler and Zach Baylin — delivers a satisfying blend of intimate family drama and riveting pugilistic action, along with a mystery that keeps folks guessing for awhile.

Star Michael B. Jordan also makes his directorial debut here. While he deserves credit for mounting a satisfying sports drama, he also has himself frequently framed in tight close-up by cinematographer Kramer Morgenthau (a frequent vanity misstep by actors-turned-first-time-directors).

 

And although this series always has threatened to drown in soggy melodrama, this newest entry again skates close to the edge, but (happily) doesn’t descend into slushy sentimentality.

 

The core plot stands on its own, but viewers unfamiliar with the two earlier films may be puzzled by some of the family dynamics, notably the (apparently) strained relationship between Adonis Creed (Jordan) and his beloved mother, Mary-Anne (Phylicia Rashad). 

 

The film opens on a flashback that expands on our hero’s origin. It’s 2002, and 15-year-old Adonis (Thaddeus J. Mixson) sneaks out of his house late on evening, in order to watch his slightly older best friend, Damian Anderson (Spence Moore II), win a key boxing match. The two bonded during the two years they lived in a juvenile center, when Damian schooled Adonis in the “sweet science.”

 

Following Damian’s victory, while stopping for snacks at a convenience store, — a suddenly enraged Adonis starts beating on an older guy who exits the place. (And we think, what the heck?)

 

Cue two sudden cuts: the first showcasing the adult Adonis winning the bout that makes him World Heavyweight Champion, and then — just as quickly — several years later, to the present day. Adonis has retired and now runs the Delphi Boxing Academy with his former cornerman, Tony “Little Duke” Burton (Wood Harris). Current champ Felix Chavez (Jose Benavidez) is in residence, as Delphi’s star boxer.

 

Adonis shares his lavish Bel Air home with loving wife Bianca (Tessa Thompson), whose previous life as a pop performer has blossomed into an equally successful career as a music producer. They dote on young daughter Amara (Mila Davis-Kent, absolutely adorable), whose deafness hasn’t harmed her spirit.

 

Jordan and Davis-Kent share marvelous chemistry, and this story’s father/daughter sequences are totally charming. Amara worships her father, and wants to learn more about boxing … to Bianca’s dismay. Particularly since the little girl tends to settle school disagreements with a punch.

 

(Davis-Kent actually is deaf, which adds a solid touch of authenticy to her performance.)

A Journal for Jordan: A heartwarming read

A Journal for Jordan (2021) • View trailer

Four stars (out of five). Rated PG-13, for sexual candor, partial nudity, drug use and mild profanity

Available via: Movie theaters

By Derrick Bang

Messing with a Pulitzer Prize-winner’s memoir requires considerable chutzpah, as I’m sure director Denzel Washington and screenwriter Virgil Williams must’ve been well aware.

 

It takes quite awhile, But Dana (Chanté Adams) finally persuades Charles
(Michael B. Jordan) to visit her in New York ... at which point, what could be more
romantic than a walk in the park?

Nor is A Journal for Jordan a run-of-the-mill memoir; it’s the deeply moving saga of two wildly dissimilar people who — almost reluctantly — stumbled their way into one of The Great Love Affairs Of All Time, and of the touching legacy that a father left his infant son.

Heavy stuff.

 

To their credit, Washington and Williams have nobly honored the source material, while delivering a heartfelt romantic drama that — inescapably — builds to a tear-jerking conclusion.

 

It’s not spoiling anything to reveal that, as this film begins, First Sgt. Charles Monroe King (Michael B. Jordan) is dead; that much is blindingly obvious from our introduction to New York Times journalist Dana Canedy (Chanté Adams), at lowest possible ebb. It’s 2007, and she’s utterly unable to channel or process her grief; she’s prickly at work, irritated by the concern of longtime friends, and hanging on solely because of her infant son, Jordan.

 

Even under these emotionally battered circumstances, Adams conveys a strong sense of Dana’s initiative, investigative resourcefulness and journalistic chops … along with a hell-you-will refusal to share her work with a colleague, simply because he’s a male colleague. And — quickly determined — a wet-behind-the-ears and clearly unprepared male colleague, at that.

 

(Will we never get beyond such sexist behavior?)

 

This scene, in the New York Times bullpen, is a quick glimpse of how Washington and Williams will sketch the rest of their film: via revealing expressions and body language, and concise — but quite telling — exchanges of dialogue.

 

This is a true relationship drama; the story unfolds via illuminating dialogue exchanges between lovers, parents and children, and caring friends. The overall tone is gentle and mostly quiet, allowing us to enter these characters’ lives, as they bond with each other. Washington extracts sensitive, heartfelt performances from everybody, including the minor players.

 

We enjoy spending time with them. How often can you say that?

 

Without Remorse: Without quality

Without Remorse (2021) • View trailer

Three stars. Rated R, for violence

By Derrick Bang • Published in The Davis Enterprise, 4.30.21

We’ve not had a high-profile, Tom Clancy-esque espionage thriller since the COVID lockdown began last year, and they’ve been missed.

 

Too bad this one — debuting on Amazon Prime — isn’t more promising.

 

After learning more about CIA agent Robert Ritter's (Jamie Bell, left) duplicity,
John Kelly (Michael B. Jordan) gets understandably hot under the collar.

No blame can be assigned star Michael B. Jordan; he’s a solid presence and physically adept action hero, clearly in the mold of Jason Bourne. But that’s actually a problem, because memories of the far superior Bourne films make this one look even worse.

 

It’s not merely that the clumsy, muddled Taylor Sheridan/Will Stapes script has virtually nothing to do with Clancy’s 1993 thriller, beyond swiping its title. Director Stefano Sollima and cinematographer Philippe Rousselot compound the problem by staging many of the melees and action sequences in dark-dark-dark settings, so it’s often difficult to discern good guys from bad guys, and who’s doing what to whom.

 

I’ve always regarded that as a lazy affectation; it’s also irritating.

 

And a shame, because this film does offer solid acting talent and — in fairness to Sheridan and Stapes — reasonably engaging supporting players.

 

Events begin in war-torn Syria, where John Kelly (Jordan) leads a team of Navy SEALs on a covert mission to rescue a captured CIA operative. But the CIA spook calling the shots — Jamie Bell, as Robert Ritter — has been less than candid; to Kelly’s dismay, he realizes they’ve invaded a nest of Russian mercenaries.

 

Later, back in the States, revenge comes swiftly; several members of Kelly’s team are murdered by masked Russian assassins, and he barely escapes with his own life.

 

While he convalesces and re-builds his strength via intense physical therapy, Kelly’s friend and former SEAL team member, Lt. Commander Karen Greer (Jodie Turner-Smith) meets with Ritter and U.S. Secretary of Defense Thomas Clay (Guy Pearce), for what she expects will be a discussion of response options. To her dismay, Ritter insists that nothing be done; the situation now is “tit for tat,” which is where it should be left.

 

Raise your hand, if you think Kelly won’t settle for that.

 

(He doesn’t.)

Just Mercy: A real-world horror story

Just Mercy (2019) • View trailer 
Four stars. Rated PG-13, for dramatic intensity and racial epithets
By Derrick Bang

Effective advocacy cinema should enlighten, inspire or outrage.

And, in some cases, prompt grief.

Summoned back to court to hear the results of an appeal for a new trial by defense
attorney Bryan Stevenson (Michael B. Jordan, left), he and wrongly incarcerated
Death Row inmate Walter McMillian (Jamie Foxx) await the judge's announcement.

Director Destin Daniel Cretton’s Just Mercy manages all of the above, and then some. This thoroughly absorbing — and progressively infuriating — drama is an impressively faithful depiction of the jaw-dropping ordeal endured by Walter McMillian, who in June 1987 was arrested for a murder he couldn’t possibly have committed, sentenced to death during a patently absurd trial, and subsequently spent six years on Death Row.

In late 1988, the case came to the attention of freshly minted Harvard lawyer Bryan Stevenson, newly arrived in Alabama to partner with Eva Ansley, with whom he’d co-found the Equal Justice Initiative. (Since 1994, the Republican-controlled Alabama has been the only state that refuses to provide legal assistance to death row prisoners.)

Stevenson’s growing involvement in McMillian’s nightmare fuels the drama in Cretton’s film; he co-wrote the script with Andrew Lanham, based on Stevenson’s 2014 memoir of the same title. The result is must-see cinema, thanks also to powerhouse performances from Michael B. Jordan (Stevenson) and Jamie Foxx (McMillian), along with equally solid work from a roster of shrewdly cast supporting players.

At its core, this saga is about repugnant racism, corruption and the hideous abuse of power by smugly arrogant white men who know they can get away with anything. The villains in this drama are headed by Michael Harding’s chilling portrayal of Sheriff Tom Tate, who — as the film opens — has been under mounting pressure to find the person who shot and killed 18-year-old dry-cleaning clerk Ronda Morrison (white, of course) on November 1, 1986.

For reasons this film never makes clear — partly because there didn’t seem to bea reason — seven months later Tate arrests McMillian, a pulpwood worker shown felling trees in a brief sequence prior to the fateful traffic stop. (The poetic image of blue sky shimmering through gently wafting pine needles, as McMillian glances reverently heavenward, will prove important later.) Tate’s choice seems governed solely by his belief that McMillian looks like a black guy who’d gun down a helpless white woman.

This arrest, surrounded by white cops with rifles and pistols drawn, gives Harding his first flat-out scary moment. (Several others will follow, the actor often radiating lethal menace without saying a word.)

Black Panther: Sleek and polished

Black Panther (2018) • View trailer 
Four stars. Rated PG-13, for considerable action violence and (you gotta love this) a "brief rude gesture"
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 2.16.18

Marvel’s superhero movies have come in a variety of flavors thus far:

• Rip-snortin’ excitement (The Avengers, Captain America);

• Shakespearean high melodrama (Thor);

• Goofy adventure (Guardians of the Galaxy); and even

• Vulgar insolence (Deadpool).

This one’s different yet again.

T'Challa (Chadwick Boseman, left) is dismayed by an unexpected challenge to his
birthright, which comes from N'Jadaka (Michael B. Jordan) and takes place at
Warrior Falls (inspired by South Africa's majestic Oribi Gorge).

Black Panther is the first superhero film steeped with honor, nobility and heritage, while still delivering the requisite dollops of action, along with a soupçon of humor. Careful attention is paid, as well, to introducing a culture defined equally by its spiritual, mystical and technological elements.

On top of which, director Ryan Coogler and co-scripter Joe Robert Cole wrap the entire package with a thoughtful discussion of a contemporary Big Issue.

Add a star and supporting cast who bring dignity and grace to their respective roles, and you truly couldn’t ask for more.

The roster is led by Chadwick Boseman’s impeccably gracious and regal portrayal of T’Challa, reluctant new king of the little-known African country of Wakanda, which has been concealed for centuries — by design — from the rest of the world. This kingdom’s essential back-story is provided during an economical prolog, via a fascinating style of “shifting sand” animation later revealed as Wakanda’s signature means of telecommunication.

Boseman’s stance, manner of speech — his very aura — bespeak graciousness and a compassionate ruler’s tendency to suffer over difficult decisions. He rarely raises his voice — never needs to — and there’s no doubt, even when he dons his super-heroic suit and becomes the Black Panther, that he’s the smartest, kindest and most perceptive person in the room.

Well, maybe not the smartest. That honor falls to his sassy, über-cool younger sister, Shuri (Letitia Wright), the tech wizard who out-dazzles James Bond’s Q and Batman’s Lucius Fox. Her enthusiastic gadgetry genius aside, Shuri gets all the best one-liners, and Wright has a smirk to die for.

But make no mistake: Shuri also is as ferociously protective of her older brother, as T’Challa is of his entire kingdom.

Fantastic Four: Doomed

Fantastic Four (2015) • View trailer 
1.5 stars. Rated PG-13, for action violence and occasional profanity
By Derrick Bang

When some movies go wrong, they really go wrong.

Given the care with which the Marvel Comics Group has shepherded recent projects to the big screen, I’m amazed they ever let this atrocious mess out of the box. Based on this evidence, Josh Trank shouldn’t be allowed to direct a small-town theater production, let alone helm a big-budget superhero epic. He hasn’t the faintest idea how to handle actors, maintain a consistent tone, or even execute smooth scene transitions.

Reed (Miles Teller) and Sue (Kate Mara), obviously having no idea how to approach their
next scene, wait in vain for directorial guidance. It ain't gonna happen, now or at any other
point during this misbegotten superhero adventure.

Trank apparently got this assignment as a result of his only previous feature credit: 2012’s over-praised Chronicle. For a fleeting moment, apparently perceived as the Next Best Thing in sci-fi cinema, he even was assigned to direct the next Star Wars film (following this December’s Episode VII: The Force Awakens). Based either on early footage from this inept handling of Fantastic Four, or reports of his behavior while making this film — the media spotlight hasn’t been kind — Trank’s relationship with the Star Wars franchise was abruptly severed.

Smartest decision George Lucas ever made.

This re-boot of Marvel Comics’ original superhero family — the FF debuted in November 1961, almost a year ahead of Spider-Man’s launch in August 1962 — is even worse than the two earlier efforts, back in 2005 and ’07. And, mind you, that means impressively bad, because those two attempts were quite disappointing.

In fairness, Trank doesn’t deserve the sole blame. He shares scripting credit with Simon Kinberg and Jeremy Slater; the former has a vastly superior résumé as both writer and producer, but the latter’s sole previous credit is the completely awful Lazarus Effect, which was unleashed to unsuspecting viewers earlier this year.

Clearly, Kinberg’s efforts weren’t enough to salvage the clumsy, sloppy input from Trank and Slater.

More than anything else, this Fantastic Four resembles the cornball sci-fi TV shows of the 1950s — Rocky Jones, Space Ranger, Captain Video and His Video Rangers, and a few others — with their clunky dialogue, laughably wooden actors and amazingly silly storylines. Yes, Trank’s new film benefits from special effects that those old shows could only dream of, but that’s meaningless these days, when even stinkers can boast awesome visuals.

Frankly, Trank & Co. have ruined the Fantastic Four. The previous two films left Marvel’s “first family” on life support, but this one puts the final nail in the coffin. And that’s truly a shame, because the FF have an even richer comic book history than Spider-Man or the X-Men.

That Awkward Moment: That sinking feeling

That Awkward Moment (2014) • View trailer 
1.5 stars. Rating: R, for relentless profanity and sexual candor, and brief nudity
By Derrick Bang

If writer/director Tom Gormican’s loathsome little flick reflects Generation Y dating practices to even the slightest degree, I sure feel sorry for Millennial women.

Jason (Zac Efron) blows his first encounter with Ellie (Imogen Poots) by incorrectly
assuming that she's a hooker (merely one of this inept film's many ham-fisted plot
complications). Although she quite reasonably takes offense at this weird
accusation, she nonetheless agrees to a second date. Yeah, right...

The misleading publicity push notwithstanding, Gormican’s film isn’t the slightest bit funny; it’s merely vulgar and morally repugnant. And that Gormican thinks it should be funny is even worse.

That Awkward Moment is precisely the sort of cinematic bomb one expects to be dropped during the January doldrums.

Gormican has no previous credits, save as one of the countless co-producers on last year’s Movie 43, which sank without a trace. I can’t imagine how he secured financing for this misogynistic twaddle, nor do I wish to meet the studio producer(s) who somehow saw merit in his script.

On one level, this clumsy mess is merely another entry in the arrested-adolescent-males-behaving-badly sub-genre typified by high-profile comedies such as the Hangover series, last summer’s This Is the End and any Will Ferrell project. But Gormican’s film isn’t even good enough to be that bad; his dialogue is strictly from hunger, and he has a terrible sense of pacing and narrative flow.

One must be wary of any movie that opens as its main character questions his current “predicament” via a profanity-laced voiceover; it’s a sure sign of very bad things to come ... and Gormican quickly lives down to worst expectations.

That Awkward Moment is particularly abhorrent, however, because unlike the other comedies cited above — which have nothing beyond crude slapstick nonsense on their agendas — Gormican apparently wishes to extract a gentler romantic comedy, complete with hearts-and-flowers conclusion, from a storyline that can’t begin to support such an outcome.

Rewarding this narrative’s three losers for their reprehensible behavior isn’t merely artistically suspect; it’s insulting to every woman of any age who foolishly wanders into this flick.