Arco: Insufferably weird and unstructured

Arco (2025) • View trailer

Two stars (out of five); rated PG, and much too generously, for bleak dramatic intensity

Available via: Amazon Prime and other VOD options

By Derrick Bang 

Every year, it seems obligatory that one of the Oscar-nominated animated feature films is preposterously bizarre and unsatisfying, having attracted attention solely because of the way it looks.

 

When Arco attempts to fly without benefit of his crucial time-traveling gemstone, Iris
supplies the necessary weather conditions by blending the day's bright sunlight with
water spray from sprinklers and her hose nozzle. The result ... leaves much to be desired.

If imagination and visual razzle-dazzle were all that mattered, then this one would indeed deserve some of its many accolades.

But there’s the not-inconsequential matter of story, in which department this feature from French co-directors Ugo Bienvenu and Gilles Cazaux comes up seriously short.

 

In interviews, Bienvenu has admitted constructing Arco from a series of hand-drawn sketches, rather than a script.

 

That’s blindingly obvious, because — in terms of narrative — this film often is an incomprehensible and impenetrable mess. Additionally, its tone veers wildly from serious ecological cautionary tale, to bumbling slapstick farce. Those two don’t play well together.

 

Bienvenu shares scripting credit — such as it is — with Félix de Givry.

 

In the distant future — sources differ on 2932 or 3000, but neither is mentioned during the film — people live on circular, open-air platforms that jut out, like branches, from immense towers. Those are anchored on Earth somewhere far below, beneath an all-encompassing blanket of concealing clouds. 

 

Mention is made that this is “the great fallow,” intended to “let the Earth rest.” We assume some sort of ecological disaster, never specified.

 

Each family’s adult members periodically travel back in time, returning with single examples of a fruit, vegetable or spice, which are gene-sequenced and replicated, so that everybody can have lush gardens. Individuals traveling in this manner — which can take place only during a combination of rain and sunlight — leave a rainbow in their wake.

 

Animals never are mentioned, and (apparently) nobody has pets. But birds are in abundance, and people can talk to them (!).

 

The colorful animation style at times evokes Hayao Miyazaki, but his films always contain a cheerful warmth that’s utterly lacking in this cold, clinical, brooding story.

 

People sleep suspended in mid-air, under an anti-gravity light, in uniform-style pajamas and no blankets (which, frankly looks neither comfortable nor cozy).

The Twits: An overcooked disappointment

The Twits (2025) • View trailer

Two stars (out of five). Rated PG, for rude humor and mild dramatic intensity

Available via: Netflix

By Derrick Bang

Roald Dahl has been treated remarkably well by filmmakers over the years, whether his charming children’s classics (Matilda, the various versions of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory), his slightly grimmer kid-lit novels (Fantastic Mr. Fox, The Witches) and even his sardonic, adult-oriented short stories (The Wonderful World of Henry Sugar and Three More).

 

Beesha and Bubsy are horrified to discover, via a television news broadcast, that they're
accused of stealing the blue-furred Muggle-Wumps ... when, in fact, the children freed
the creatures from inhumane captivity.

I therefore approached this one with enthusiasm, particularly since co-director Phil Johnston brought us the cleverly entertaining Zootopia and Wreck-It Ralph.

Sigh...

 

This adaptation of Dahl’s 1980 children’s novella is a mess: poor pacing, dumb songs (by David Byrne, no less), a cavalier approach to the source material, protracted filler sidebars, and the bewildering — and wholly inappropriate — insertion of a contemporary American political message, all of which make the film’s 98 minutes feel like an eternity.

 

On the positive side, the animation style definitely suits the material, and the voice talent is fine. Too bad Johnston and co-scripter Meg Favreau didn’t give the actors better dialogue. The inane butt jokes quickly wear thin.

 

The saga emerges as a bedtime story, told by mother bed bug Pippa (voiced by Emilia Clarke) to her young son, Jeremy (Sami Amber). The boy occasionally interrupts the narrative to ask a question, or express concern about what will happen next. It’s a cute framing device ... and, arguably, the film’s strongest asset.

 

Credenza S. Twit (Margo Martindale) and James T. Twit (Johnny Vegas), an ill-kempt, spiteful and mean-spirited married couple, are united in mutual hatred. They gleefully pull pranks on each other, such as hiding a frog in their bed, or making a spaghetti dinner with worms. They live in the otherwise bucolic community of Triperot, in a gadget-laden house (a shameless lift from Wallace & Gromit).

 

But the otherwise misanthropic couple share a devotion to their passion project: a theme park dubbed Twitlandia, laden with outrageously dangerous rides such as flying outhouses and a rickety Ferris Wheel. Everything is powered by the tears of three exotic, blue-furred simians known as Muggle-Wumps: magical creatures long ago captured from Loompaland, named Marty (Timothy Simmons), his wife Mary (Natalie Portman) and their young daughter Mandy (Israa Zainab).

 

When stressed — which is frequent — Marty barfs up ambulatory furry stress balls, known as Florbnorbles, which cause all manner of mischief.

 

Fountain of Youth: Dumb fun at best

Fountain of Youth (2025) • View trailer

Three stars (out of five). Rated PG-13, for action violence and mild profanity

Available via: Apple TV+

By Derrick Bang

It’s hard to replicate the directorial panache, sharp writing and star charisma that made Raiders of the Lost Ark so entertaining, but — God knows — people keep trying.

 

Luke (John Krasinski, center left) and his team — from left, Charlotte (Natalie Portman),
Owen (Domhnall Gleeson), Deb (Carmen Ejogo) and Patrick (Laz Alonso) — marvel at
what has just been revealed by a particular painting.

Nicholas Cage did reasonably well, with 2004’s National Treasure, not so much with its 2007 sequel. Angelina Jolie stumbled with both of her Lara Croft entries — 2001 and ’03 — although Alicia Vikander fared better with 2018’s re-booted Tomb Raider. And the less said about 2008’s Fool’s Gold and 2022’s The Lost City, the better.

British director Guy Ritchie now has embraced the challenge, and — having done so well with his two Sherlock Holmes entries, his re-booted Man from U.N.C.L.E. and several stylish crime thrillers — hope sprang eternal.

 

Alas.

 

On the positive side, star John Krasinski brings a lot to the party: boyish enthusiasm, considerable charm, and a lot of well-timed flair for his character’s snarky running commentary. But co-star Natalie Portman is badly miscast; she has no sense of fun, never seems to know how to look or sound, and spends most of the film being a bitchy pain in the ass.

 

And while several of the action sequences are audacious and inventively staged, James Vanderbilt’s clumsy script leaves plot holes large enough to swallow the pyramid where our heroes wind up, in the final act.

 

Ritchie kicks off matters with a bang, as Luke Purdue (Krasinski) cheerfully maneuvers his motorcycle through Bangkok’s busy streets, pointedly ignoring incessant phone calls from somebody named Kasem. He’s then suddenly boxed in by several cars and motorcycles led by the aforementioned Kasem (Steve Tran), who turns out to be a lieutenant in a nasty Thai crime syndicate ... from which Luke has just stolen a painting.

 

Cue a lively, propulsively staged chase through city streets via car, motorcycle and on foot, as Luke finally eludes his pursuers and hops a train, his movements guided via satellite by colleague Patrick Murphy (Laz Alonso), safely elsewhere. Alas, Luke’s planned train getaway is interrupted by the mysterious Esme (Eiza González), who alsodemands the painting, and is accompanied by her own pet thugs.

 

Cue an equally inventive skirmish within the train compartment, employing fixtures, cutlery and everything else not nailed down. Luke once again escapes, this time finally reuniting with Patrick and Deb (Carmen Ejogo), the other member of his crew.

May December: Acutely disturbing

May December (2023) • View trailer

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

Available via: Netflix

By Derrick Bang • Published in The Davis Enterprise, 12.8.23

This is a profoundly uncomfortable film.

 

It’s also an acting tour de force by stars Julianne Moore and Natalie Portman: no surprise, since director Todd Haynes has a long-established talent for eliciting delicately nuanced performances in what are essentially two-character dramas (2015’s Carol and 2002’s Far from Heaven leap to mind).

 

At first blush, Joe (Charles Melton) and Gracie (Julianne Moore) seem a happy couple,
mutually devoted to each other. But still — and quite unwholesome — waters run deep...

But while those earlier films also explored the dangerous paths of “forbidden” relationships, the broken taboo this time — in Samy Burch and Alex Mechanik’s increasingly unsettling script — will be a challenge for conservative viewers.

(Sadly, the story is inspired by actual 1996 events; look up Mary Kay Letourneau.)

 

The year is 2015. Celebrated actress Elizabeth Berry (Portman) has traveled to the oak- and Spanish moss-laden neighborhoods of Savannah, Ga., in order to study Gracie Atherton-Yoo (Moore), the woman she’ll play in her next movie.

 

Gracie’s claim to fame? Back in 1992, at the age of 36 — a wife and mother — she was caught having sex with 13-year-old Joe Yoo, in the storeroom of the pet store where he worked alongside her son Georgie. She was arrested and imprisoned, had a child while behind bars, then divorced her husband and married Joe upon release: all of which fueled long-running, scandalized headlines in mainstream and tabloid publications.

 

Now, 23 years later, Gracie and Joe (Charles Melton) have three children: college-age Honor (Piper Curda) and twins Mary (Elizabeth Yu) and Charlie (Gabriel Chung), the latter two about to graduate from high school. Elizabeth has been invited, with Gracie’s full support, to “shadow” her and her family for several days.

 

Gracie also has instructed everybody to cooperate, to every extent possible.

 

(The casualness of such encouragement is just as unsettling as the situation itself. Which also speaks volumes about Gracie’s character.)

 

At first blush, Elizabeth finds the environment warm and inviting. Many folks — notably Mary — are dazzled by the mere presence of a celebrity in their midst. Joe is amiable and accommodating: a doting parent and husband.

 

But cracks surface; what seems warm actually is quietly stifling. Gracie soon reveals her true colors as a control freak (which Moore plays with chilling persuasiveness). When Elizabeth joins Mary and her mother when the girl selects a new dress to wear beneath her graduation gown, what should be a celebratory moment turns wincingly embarrassing, thanks to Gracie’s manipulative, left-handed “compliment.” (Yu’s expression, at this moment, is shattering.)

 

Thor: Love and Thunder — A mighty bore

Thor: Love and Thunder (2022) • View trailer

Two stars (out of five). Rated PG-13, for sci-fi violence, occasional profanity, suggestive content and partial nudity

Available via: Movie theaters

By Derrick Bang • Published in The Davis Enterprise, 7.8.22

A bit of levity is welcome in a superhero film; otherwise, the thrashing, bashing and smashing would become tedious.

 

But too much levity is just as bad, and this film crosses that line. And then some.

 

When the malevolent Gorr floods New Asgard with all manner of icky, shadowy monsters,
even Thor (Chris Hemsworth) quickly feels overwhelmed.

The fourth Thor entry is a relentlessly silly clown show, and the blame clearly belongs to director/co-writer Taika Waititi; he pushes the inane dialogue and burlesque atmosphere even further than he did with 2017’s mostly silly Thor: Ragnarok.

In Waititi’s hands, Chris Hemsworth’s Thor is little more than a strutting buffoon.

 

Granted, a touch of Shakespearean egotism is appropriate; we are dealing with a near-omnipotent Norse God. Conceit comes with the territory. Director Kenneth Branagh — perfect for the assignment — better understood the balance, when he helmed the first film, back in 2011.

 

Waititi immediately shows his hand, during a prologue that finds Thor still allied with the Guardians of the Galaxy (with whom he departed Earth, following the events in 2019’s Avengers: Endgame, for those not up to date). The Guardians are trying to protect blue-skinned Indigarrians from an invading force determined to take over the planet; Thor sits out the battle until things turn dire, at which point he and his lightning-spitting battle axe make short work of the entire enemy army.

 

Much to the annoyance of the exhausted Guardians, who’ve clearly had enough of this swaggering narcissist. As we also will, very quickly.

 

That’s bad enough; far worse is the collateral destruction of the Indigarrians’ holiest of holies, which Waititi and co-scripter Jennifer Kaytin Robinson discard as a cheap laugh.

 

That’s unforgiveable … and a dire indication of things to come.

 

The “big bad” this time is Gorr the God Butcher (Christian Bale, almost unrecognized beneath make-up), a once-pious individual who renounced worship after the death of his entire species. Rage and despair allowed Gorr to be infected by the malevolent spirit of a god-killing sword, and he has since been systematically eliminating gods, universe by universe.

 

Next stop: New Asgard, on Earth.

 

Ah, yes … New Asgard. The actual Asgard, Thor’s celestial realm — along with most of his fellow warriors — was destroyed during Thor: Ragnarok. The remaining Asgardians have made a home in New Asgard, which has blossomed into an excruciatingly cutesy Norse theme park.

 

Look closely, and you’ll spot Matt Damon, Sam Neill, Melissa McCarthy and Hemsworth’s brother Luke, as a quartet of so-wooden-they-warp stage actors.

Annihilation: Slow death

Annihilation (2018) • View trailer 
3.5 stars. Rated R, for violence, gore, profanity and sexuality
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 2.23.18

Some say the world will end in fire; some say in ice.

Author/editor/literary critic Jeff VanderMeer apparently prefers cellular madness.

After narrowly surviving an encounter with an unexpectedly oversized alligator, cellular
biologist Lena (Natalie Portman) is disturbed to find that its mouth contains far too
many rows of teeth.

His Nebula Award-winning 2014 novel, Annihilation, is — to say the least — a challenging but thoroughly fascinating read.

Director/scripter Alex Garland’s big-screen adaptation is thoughtful, absorbing, unsettling and even scary. For a time.

Unfortunately, he lets everything go to hell in the third act. And I don’t mean that in a positive way.

Certain science fiction films suffer from this problem: a terrific premise and suspenseful development, with — ultimately — nowhere to go. Garland’s take on Annihilation reminds me strongly of 1974’s Phase IV, a low-budget little flick that began with a similarly captivating premise but concluded with a nonsensically metaphysical climax (literally) that only could have been concocted by somebody on mind-altering substances.

The major problem here is that Garland was hell-bent on delivering a resolution that’s wholly at odds with VanderMeer’s novel ... which is only the first book in a trilogy. Garland’s “solution” to this dilemma isn’t merely unsatisfying; it makes total hash of what takes place during the first two acts.

Garland is best known as the writer/director behind 2014’s brilliant Ex Machina, a deliciously unsettling sci-fi saga that holds together superbly, up to a disturbing final scene that perfectly enhances everything that has come before. Too bad he couldn’t bring that rigorous logic and plot coherence to this one.

Former soldier-turned-cellular biologist Lena (Natalie Portman) has mourned the loss of her husband, Kane (Oscar Isaac), for a full year. Flashbacks and passing remarks reveal that he’s active military, subject to abrupt special-ops missions that he’s not able to share with his wife. Now long missing after having deployed on ... something ... Lena reluctantly believes him dead.

Until he turns up in their bedroom one day, disoriented and with no apparent memory of how he got there, or where he has been, or who he was with, or ... anything.

Jackie: A fascinating character portrait undone by directorial excess

Jackie (2016) • View trailer 
3.5 stars. Rated R, for profanity and brief strong violence
By Derrick Bang

A few iconic women have become popular staples in Hollywood dramas; consider the number of actresses, over the years, who’ve portrayed Cleopatra, Queen Elizabeth I and Marilyn Monroe.

Having decided upon a lavish funeral procession that she feels will suitably honor her
late husband, Jackie Kennedy (Natalie Portman) suddenly has last-minute doubts,
which she shares with brother-in-law Bobby Kennedy (Peter Sarsgaard).

And, more recently, Jacqueline Bouvier Kennedy.

Previous Jackies have been played by Blair Brown, Jacqueline Bisset and Katie Holmes, none of whom comes close to the ferocious intensity and shattered vulnerability depicted here by Natalie Portman. Her performance is so painfully raw that, more than once, we feel like uncomfortable voyeurs, intruding on a grief-stricken woman’s privacy during the worst few days of her life.

Portman’s starring role is by far the best part of Jackie, which marks the mainstream American debut of famed Chilean filmmaker Pablo Larraín. His approach is known to be uncompromising, with a grim, take-no-prisoners approach certain to raise eyebrows ... or, in some cases, unapologetically offend.

Many viewers will feel that he has done the latter here.

Noah Oppenheim’s script is unusual, even challenging, in its depiction of Jackie Kennedy during the turbulent few days immediately following her husband’s death: specifically, from the assassination on Nov. 22, 1963, to the massive funeral and procession that took place the following Monday morning. The details in between unfold in a blur of flashbacks and cross-cutting, Larraín and Oppenheim deftly conveying the confusion and shock that followed this national tragedy.

Jackie essentially tells her own story via a series of narrative devices: during a lengthy — and at times quite brittle — interview with a never-named journalist (Billy Crudup), who does his best to suss out the “real” Jackie; during a confessional conversation with a priest (John Hurt) just prior to the state funeral; and during anguished conversations with the only two people she trusts, U.S. Attorney General Bobby Kennedy (Peter Sarsgaard) and White House social secretary Nancy Tuckerman (Greta Gerwig).

These revelatory exchanges are blended further with re-created clips from the TV special A Tour of the White House, with Mrs. John F. Kennedy, hosted by CBS News correspondent Charles Collingwood, and broadcast on Feb. 14, 1962: the first-ever First Lady-led, televised tour of the White House — Jackie recently having renovated and restored the mansion — which was seen by 80 million viewers in 50 countries.

The latter sequences — given fuzzy, black-and-white authenticity by cinematographer Stépane Fontaine — show an entirely different Jackie: nervous, stiff, camera shy but determined to share (and justify) the $2 million spent to bring this presidential palace back to its original luster.

It’s also the narrative touch that establishes the film’s theme. Jackie clearly viewed that TV special as emblematic of her legacy as First Lady, just as she obsesses over details — immediately following the President’s assassination — in order to  properly preserve his legacy.

Thor, The Dark World: Another rich superhero soufflé

Thor: The Dark World (2013) • View trailer 
Four stars. Rating: PG-13, for rather grim action violence
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 11.8.13

One must give considerable credit to the master planners behind the current Marvel Comics movie franchise.

After Thor (Chris Hemsworth, right) reluctantly frees Loki (Tom Hiddleston) from his
Asgardian cell, Jane (Natalie Portman, foreground center) angrily warns the "god of
lies" that she'll go postal on him, if he even thinks of betraying the good guys. The
Asgardian warrior Sif (Jaimie Alexander), carrying a long-term torch for Thor, keeps
her own wary eye on Loki.

Starting with 2008’s Iron Man, and with no missteps, they’ve delivered a consistently entertaining blend of action, light humor and engaging character drama: no small feat, given the supplementary requirement of making these films accessible both to longtime comic book geeks and “regular folks.” Some films have slipped a little; others — notably The Avengers — have been excellent. All things considered, we’ve been having a rollicking good time.

(The X-Men and Spider-Man series have been equally well mounted, and kudos to them, as well. But — thus far — they’ve not been integrated into the current tapestry that showcases Thor, Captain America, the Hulk, the Avengers and SHIELD.)

Credit a blend of savvy directors, carefully calibrated scripts and strong casts, with equal attention paid to the all-essential supporting characters. It’s not easy to construct action epics this massive — with an ever-expanding back-story — while also penning droll, slightly mocking one-liners that demonstrate a willingness not to take things too seriously.

I haven’t seen that formula applied so capably since Sean Connery’s early James Bond escapades.

All of which brings us to Thor: The Dark World, which benefits from equally suitable acting talent. Broad-shouldered Chris Hemsworth is every inch the Asgardian warrior, absolutely fit to wield that marvelous magic hammer, and he also manages to look imperial — rather than silly — in that ridiculously ornate outfit. Anthony Hopkins brings regal Shakespearean sincerity to the florid dialogue we expect from Odin, ruler of Asgard; and Natalie Portman is a refreshingly brave, intelligent and resourceful human sidekick ... anything but a stock “girl in trouble.”

And as also was the case with Thor and The Avengers, this film is darn near stolen by Tom Hiddleston, so perfectly cast as the villainous, duplicitous trickster god, Loki. Speaking of the Bard, Shakespearean actors have long known that the bad guys have the best parts and get all the grand lines, and Hiddleston’s Loki has become the modern template against which all future fantasy baddies will be judged. He’s simply marvelous.

Thor: Smashing good time

Thor (2011) • View trailer for Thor
3.5 stars (out of five). Rating: PG-13, and rather harshly, for brief profanity and fantasy violence
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 5.6.11

The clear skies and warmer weather notwithstanding, the summer movie season has arrived with a clap of thunder.

Courtesy of Marvel Comics' favorite Norse god.

Although banished to Earth and stripped of his powers, Thor (Chris Hemsworth)
has been confident that all will be well, if he can just find and reclaim Mjolnir,
his mighty hammer. Sadly, redemption won't be nearly that simple.

Although never granted the mainstream name-recognition enjoyed by the likes of Superman, Batman and Spider-Man, Thor always has been one of the comic book industry's most intriguing superheroes, particularly when his exploits are chronicled by writers who play on the whimsically awkward juxtaposition of Norse mythology and workaday American existence. J. Michael Straczynski is just such a writer, having recently delivered an engaging run on Thor's comic book exploits; Straczynski shares story credit on this film with Mark Protosevich, and the quality shows. (Three other individuals are credited for the script, which no doubt was fine-tuned — by committee — to maximize its crowd-pleasing potential.)

But the true hero of the hour is director Kenneth Branagh: a great choice to bring this Norse legend's Shakespearean-style gravitas to the big screen. Florid dialogue that plays comfortably on the printed page doesn't always translate well in cinematic terms; few actors can wrap their lips around the stilted thees and thous, not to mention the sing-song cadence that often stands in for the "high speech" of such characters. Branagh well understands how to make Shakespeare enticing for the masses, having done so with marvelous — and sometimes delightfully mischievous — big-screen adaptations of everything from Henry V and Hamlet to Much Ado About Nothing and As You Like It.

But Branagh is equally comfortable with more modern myths, as evidenced by his intriguing 1994 handling of Frankenstein. All of which demonstrates that Thor is right in Branagh's comfort zone, and he delivers a well-paced adventure that allows ample character development in between the necessary smashing and thrashing.

And let's face it: merely getting his stars to wear Alexandra Byrne's opulent costumes, without looking like total fools, is a major accomplishment by itself.

I do question the decision to open this film with a flash-forward prologue, though, as if all concerned felt it necessary to first introduce this saga's Earth-bound (read: ordinary) human characters before transitioning to the other-worldly realms of Asgard and Jotunheim. That doesn't suggest much faith in the average viewer, which seems rather insulting; after all, nobody had trouble with the lengthy planet Krypton prologue that kicked off 1978's Superman.

Thus, we briefly meet research scientist Jane Foster (Natalie Portman), her mentor Erik Selvig (Stellan Skarsgard) and their feisty young intern, Darcy (Kat Dennings), as they chase down a weird celestial phenomenon late one evening ... which climaxes when their SUV plows into a figure who appears out of nowhere, as if deposited by the weird weather spike (which he was). Fade to black and re-wind the clock.

No Strings Attached: Make a date

No Strings Attached (2011) • View trailer for No Strings Attached
3.5 stars (out of five). Rating: R, for profanity, sexual candor, vulgar humor, brief nudity and minor drug use
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 1.21.11


Once it settles down and turns into the film we all paid to see, No Strings Attached is an alternately hilarious and touching romantic comedy, positioned nicely a few weeks ahead of Valentine’s Day.

Rather earthy, as well.

When Emma (Natalie Portman, on the couch) and her roommates -- Shira
(Mindy Kaling, standing) and Patrice (Greta Gerwig) -- retreat into their
apartment because it's "that time of the month," Adam (Ashton Kutcher)
surprises them all by arriving with cupcakes and a rather unusual mix CD.

And therein lies the initial problem. For about the first 15 minutes, writers Elizabeth Meriwether and Michael Samonek try much too hard to enter smutty Judd Apatow territory, and the results are cringe-worthy. The first eye-poppingly vulgar one-liner, exchanged between a boy and girl at a summer camp, delivers a galvanic shock: Did we really just hear that?

(A more apt question: Would a boy that age ever say such a thing to a girl that age? Not for a heartbeat, which is precisely the problem. It ain’t funny.)

Similar raunchy comments flow during the next few sequences, which might be veteran director Ivan Reitman’s version of fair warning, and an effort to clear the theater of patrons too easily offended. But then an odd thing happens: The banter turns measurably milder – if still quite randy – and Reitman manages the deft trick so frequently attempted, without success, by American filmmakers.

He gets very close to the playfully erotic tone of a French sex farce.

Never a bad thing.

All the elements are in play, starting with nice guy Adam (Ashton Kutcher), a mid-level TV production company flunky forever standing in the shadow of his more flamboyant father, Alvin (Kevin Kline), an aging celeb still milking the signature line (“Great Scott!”) that netted him so much willing female companionship back when he starred on a hit sitcom. Not long into this tale, Adam suddenly discovers that his recent ex, Vanessa (Ophelia Lovibond, appropriately sultry) is boinking dear ol’ dad ... which leads to all sorts of uncomfortable questions. (“When did this start, exactly?!”)

After losing himself in an alcohol-fueled effort to find somebody – anybody – to bed that night, Adam wakes the next morning in an apartment shared by Emma (Natalie Portman) and her three med student friends, Patrice (Greta Gerwig), Shira (Mindy Kaling) and Guy (stand-up comic Guy Branum). Rather embarrassingly, Adam is starkers and stretched out on the living room couch; even worse, he has no recollection of the previous evening ... and the teasing descriptions supplied by Emma and the others do little to help him regain any composure.

Kutcher, it should be mentioned, does marvelous work in this scene. His confused, hooded, sidelong glances are priceless, his deft efforts to shield his dangly bits a masterpiece of towel manipulation. (Choreographing this scene, and getting it precisely right, must have been hilarious. Goodness knows, the results are suitably funny.)

Black Swan: Intense flight

Black Swan (2010) • View trailer for Black Swan
3.5 stars (out of five). Rating: R, for profanity, sexual candor, drug use and dramatic intensity
By Derrick Bang

Director Darren Aronofsky grabs us by the scruff and buffets us into submission, much the way a terrier shakes the life out of a favorite toy.

Aronofsky’s films are far from passive experiences; they’re confrontational head trips about unhinged, deeply flawed characters, sometimes barely recognizable as human beings. And even when the approach is more or less realistic – as was the case with The Wrestler, which garnered well-deserved Academy Award nominations for Mickey Rourke and Marisa Tomei – Aronofsky can’t resist the occasional sadistic touches of Grand Guignol. (Recall the bout that put Rourke’s character into a broken glass and razor-bladed cage match.)

When Nina (Natalie Portman) fails to project the sensual heat required for a
segment of her performance in Swan Lake, ballet company director Thomas
Leroy (Vincent Cassel) gets aggressively physical with her. The result, far
outside the young woman's comfort zone, eventually proves quite unexpected.

Black Swan isn’t nearly that conventional, although Aronofsky once again narrows his gaze on a competitor in a highly stylized discipline: the world of ballet. But be warned: This isn’t the luxuriously romantic ballet of The Turning Point, with its soft-focus camerawork and beautifully toned bodies. This is more the unhealthy obsession of The Red Shoes: an aggressive depiction of an artform that involves punishing rehearsals, merciless competition and emotionally battered young women who – like jockeys – flirt with dietary dysfunction in order to make their weights.

Early on, we’re challenged with every bulimic purge, every toenail split down the middle by excess en pointe practice. The environment is punishing to the point where single-minded dedication becomes all-consuming mania.

Ah, yes: This is a story of madness.

Specifically, a descent into madness. Black Swan is the most riveting depiction of a woman coming unhinged since Catherine Deneuve lost her mind while inhabiting the claustrophobic apartment in Roman Polanski’s Repulsion. And I suspect the similarity isn’t accidental; more than a few of Aronofsky’s touches feel like deliberate nods to Polanski.

Nina Sayers (Natalie Portman) is introduced in the protective cocoon of her bedroom: a frilly, fluffy, pastel-pink womb that would be the envy of any little girl. But Nina is many years beyond being a little girl, and this room – as lensed by Matthew Libatique – feels more than a little malignant.

Worse yet, the womb-like atmosphere also is an unsettling metaphor. The emotionally repressed Nina’s every move and thought are subject to the approval of her mother, Erica (Barbara Hershey), a control freak whose smothering embrace doesn’t quite mask long-simmering rage: Erica was forced, years ago, to abandon her own ballet career when she became pregnant. Ever since, this older woman has channeled her own desires through her daughter’s now-identical ambition, employing passive-aggressive mind games to get “little Nina” to cater to her every whim. And Nina, the classic victim, craves nothing more than this malevolent monster’s approval.

Nina is similarly mentally abused by Thomas Leroy (Vincent Cassel), the hard-charging director of the New York City ballet company that counts her as likely heir apparent. The troupe’s current star, Beth Macintyre (Winona Ryder), has grown a bit long in the tooth for the ingénue roles that sell tickets and encourage grants from deep-pockets benefactors.

Or perhaps Thomas, who sleeps with all his stars, merely has grown tired of Beth.

My Blueberry Nights: Sweet dreams

My Blueberry Nights (2007) • View trailer for My Blueberry Nights
3.5 stars (out of five). Rating: PG-13, for profanity and dramatic intensity
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 5.1.08
Buy DVD: My Blueberry Nights • Buy Blu-Ray: My Blueberry Nights [Blu-ray]


Some films luxuriate in their display of technique and mood, the characters' actions sometimes shunted aside so we can reflect upon what brought them to this point, and (more crucially) what might be necessary to propel them anew.

With no other friends in whom to confide, a heartbroken Elizabeth (Norah Jones)
tentatively reaches out to compassionate café owner Jeremy (Jude Law); their
resulting friendship gives her the strength necessary to begin a journey of
self-exploration.

Hong Kong director Wong Kar Wai loves the richness of atmosphere; he indulges in arty set design and inventive camerawork, always striving to convey the contemplative, troubled state of mind that he obviously believes characterizes so much of humanity. His films move slowly — some would say much too slowly — while following the actions of protagonists whose feelings smolder beneath a surface veneer usually dictated by social custom.

2000's In the Mood for Love, for example, followed the relationship of chance that develops between stars Maggie Cheung and Tony Leung Chiu-Wai, when they learn that their respective spouses (whom we never meet) are having an affair. What, then, might our protagonists' next move be? A supportive friendship? Their own extra-marital fling, prompted by spite?

The decision unfolds against the gloomy hallways and darkened rooms of an apartment complex in 1960s Hong Kong: often more dream than reality.

Wong's films are an acquired taste: eclectic and temperamental for their own sake, but unfailingly generous to actors willing to conceive and then inhabit richly intriguing characters, suggesting their thoughts and desires via small gestures and minimal dialogue.

"Sometimes the tangible distance between two persons can be quite small," Wong has said, "but the emotional one can be miles."

His English-language film debut, My Blueberry Nights, is very much in this spirit: a quiet examination of a young woman who decides to find herself in the wake of a relationship gone sour. The resulting drama is pure road trip; she journeys across the United States and touches down in this city or that, pausing long enough to become a catalyst in the lives of other troubled souls.

She learns, as do we, that no matter how tragic our own experiences seem, somebody else is having a much tougher time. And, sometimes, watching others fail to cope — watching them sink for the third time — is all the prodding we need to get our own act together.

The young woman is Elizabeth (sultry jazz/folk singer Norah Jones, in a respectable acting debut), and her story begins in New York, where she has just learned that her boyfriend is cheating on her. The news is delivered almost accidentally by a compassionate café owner, Jeremy (Jude Law), who remembers his customers not by their faces, but by what they order; he recalls Elizabeth's "pork chop" companion having been in with somebody else.