Uncle Frank: One of the year's best

Uncle Frank (2020) • View trailer

4.5 stars. Rated R, for profanity, sexual candor and drug use

By Derrick Bang • Published in The Davis Enterprise, 11.27.20 

I haven’t been this nervous since Anne Hathaway reached for the microphone, in 2008’s Rachel Getting Married.

 

Although she has adored him her entire life, Beth (Sophia Lillis) begins to realize that
there's a lot more to her Uncle Frank (Paul Bettany) than he reveals to most people.

Writer/director Alan Ball’s Uncle Frank — an Amazon Prime original — is a deeply personal and sensitively handled character study, brought to life by an excellent ensemble cast headed by Paul Bettany, Sophia Lillis and Peter Macdissi. Ball deftly walks the razor’s edge that often separates comedy from tragedy, delicately developing circumstances that set up a third-act revelation/confrontation that raises our anxiety to the screaming level.

 

We know an emotional train wreck is coming.

 

A lengthy prologue — set in 1969, in tiny Creekville, S.C. — introduces the Bledsoe clan during a rowdy birthday party for elderly patriarch Daddy Mac (Stephen Root). Three generations are present: Daddy Mac, his wife Mammaw (Margo Martindale) and Aunt Butch (Lois Smith); adult children Frank (Bettany), Neva (Jane McNeill) and Mike (Steve Zahn); the latter two’s respective spouses, Beau (Burgess Jenkins) and Kitty (Judy Greer); and a rambunctious passel of grandkids.

 

Fourteen-year-old Beth (Lillis) stands out as a quiet observer, keenly attuned to the moods of others. Alas, she isn’t quick enough to prevent an irate Daddy Mac from explosively chewing out the younger kids: an eyebrow-raising moment that reveals a truly nasty temper.

 

We also don’t notice Frank right away; like Beth, he seems somehow removed from the noisy celebration. The exchange of gifts reveals a guarded dynamic between Frank and his unpleasant father. We assume it’s the former’s outsider status; unlike everybody else in the room, Frank long ago left Creekville for the Big Apple, where he has become a revered literature professor at New York University (NYU).

 

Frank escaped the vicious cycle of high school pregnancies that trap Creekville 16-year-olds into a lifetime of drudge jobs: a fate he hopes Beth also can avoid. He’s her favorite adult: the only one who treats her like a person, and not a child, listening attentively to her every word. But she fears her limited options, given family circumstances.

 

Don’t settle for who people expect you to become, he advises; become who you want to be.

 

That sentiment caps an achingly sweet and poignant chat on the porch, an entire world removed from the noisy clan on the other side of the wall: staged by Ball with carefully nuanced sensitivity, and delivered with touching persuasiveness by Bettany and Lillis.

 

This film is bookended by an older Beth’s off-camera narration, much in the manner of the adult Scout, in 1962’s To Kill a Mockingbird. (A bit later, Ball cheekily has Beth admit that Harper Lee is one of her favorite authors.)

 

Solo: A rip-snortin' space adventure

Solo (2018) • View trailer 
Four stars. Rated PG-13, for sci-fi action and violence
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 5.25.18

Among this film’s back-story revelations, large and small, the one that raises the quickest smile is the origin of Han Solo’s name.

Not yet at home: Han (Alden Ehrenreich, center) reluctantly sits back while Lando
(Donald Glover) and the overly chatty L3-37 pilot the Millennium Falcon to their
next destination.

I’d expect no less from a script co-authored by Lawrence Kasdan, who — let us not forget — collaborated with sci-fi legend Leigh Brackett on 1980’s The Empire Strikes Back, arguably still the best of all Star Wars films.

Lawrence and his son Jonathan share writing duties on Solo: A Star Wars Story, which tells the origin (more or less) of the lovable rogue who introduced himself to Luke Skywalker by sliding behind a table at the Mos Eisley cantina, pointing to himself and saying, “Han Solo. I’m captain of the Millennium Falcon.”

Rather plain-vanilla, as character debuts come. How could we have known?

Solo joins 2016’s Rogue One as another side story that “fills in the cracks” between episodes of the primary Star Wars mythos. Unlike that earlier film, though, Solo clearly marks the beginning of its own two- or three-film franchise, given that it concludes quite neatly by dovetailing with a character from 1999’s The Phantom Menace.

Meanwhile, director Ron Howard’s Solo is a thoroughly engaging — and frequently suspenseful — depiction of the people and events that will shape Han into the lone wolf-turned-rebel hero who proves so important in the battle against the evil Empire.

Well, not entirely lone wolf. Kasdan père et fils also supply origin stories for Chewbacca, Lando Calrissian and even the Millennium Falcon’s holochess game.

Fans couldn’t ask for more.

As always is the case with the best Star Wars films, this one hits the ground running: Young Han (Alden Ehrenreich) and his girlfriend Qi’ra (Emilia Clarke) do their best to escape the Dickensian White Worm Syndicate on Corellia, where they’re in thrall to a rather disgusting, otherworldly Fagin dubbed Lady Proxima (and voiced by Linda Hunt). This hell-for-leather opening concludes with Han — having no other choice — joining the galaxy-cleansing Empire as a foot soldier.

Captain America: Civil War — The Marvel universe turns (sorta) serious

Captain America: Civil War (2016) • View trailer 
Four stars. Rated PG-13, for intense action violence
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 5.6.16

Official title notwithstanding, truth in advertising suggests that this film should have been called The Avengers: Civil War.

Much as it pains him, Captain America (Chris Evans, second from right) and his like-minded
allies — from left, Hawkeye (Jeremy Renner), the Scarlet Witch (Elizabeth Olsen) and Bucky
Barnes (Sebastian Stan) — realize that the only way to complete their mission, is to wade
through Iron Man and his comrades.

Although Steve Rogers’ Captain America (Chris Evans) endures a fair amount of angsty indecision in this rather busy chapter of the Marvel Universe saga, it’s nothing compared to the emotional battering suffered by poor Tony Stark’s Iron Man (Robert Downey Jr.). We’ve definitely left the larkish adventuring behind; although this mash-up is far more palatable than last month’s unpleasantly grim Batman V Superman: Dawn of Justice, the core storyline borrows from the same somber, real-world textbook.

Which is to say, superhero/supervillain battles — even those that conclude successfully — result in considerable collateral damage and civilian casualties. Where, then, does responsibility lie ... and does the end always justify the means? Should superheroes be subject to national or international oversight?

Popular comic book writer Mark Millar’s Civil War storyline, which occupied numerous Marvel titles during 2006 and ’07, was a direct response to U.S. government overreach with respect to post-9/11 citizen surveillance. (And some people still dismiss comics as being trivial?) The argument divided Marvel’s characters, with Iron Man leading a faction that supported a “Superhero Registration Act,” and Captain America and various followers refusing to submit to what they regarded as a dangerous police state.

Scripters Christopher Markus and Stephen McFeely have modified this premise slightly, in keeping with events in recent Marvel movies.

This cinematic Civil War opens as Captain America and a few colleagues — Natasha Romanoff, the Black Widow (Scarlett Johansson); Sam Wilson, the Falcon (Anthony Mackie); and Wanda Maximoff, the Scarlet Witch (Elizabeth Olsen) — track a terrorist to Lagos, Nigeria. It’s a crackerjack prologue, crisply choreographed by directors Anthony Russo and Joe Russo, and editors Jeffrey Ford and Matthew Schmidt.

But although our heroes successfully prevent a bio-weapon from being unleashed, Wanda’s powers unintentionally backfire, resulting in numerous civilian deaths. Back home, this proves one calamity too many for U.S. Secretary of State Thaddeus Ross (William Hurt), who convenes an emergency meeting of the available Avengers, forcing them to watch video footage of the city-leveling events from earlier conflicts (lifted from both Avengers films and the previous Captain America entry).

If this feels similar to the way Batman V Superman opened, it’s only because imitation is the sincerest form of flattery. (In fairness, Marvel’s comics struck first.)

Mortdecai: Fool's gold

Mortdecai (2015) • View trailer 
Three stars. Rated R, and needless, for fleeting profanity and mild blue humor
By Derrick Bang

I’ve a soft spot for light-hearted caper flicks, and a corresponding tendency to treat them gently, during post-mortem analysis.

It’s therefore with great regret that I pronounce Mortdecai a crushing disappointment.

Intending to rig the art auction on which their fortunes now depend, Mortdecai (Johnny Depp)
and his wife, Johanna (Gwyneth Paltrow) make a public appearance to allay suspicion.
But will the hapless Mortdecai be able to orchestrate his end of this complex swindle?

Although promoted as a caper saga, that’s not quite accurate; the closest our title character gets to a heist is climbing a ladder to enter a second-story window. And while the story does revolve around a rumored Goya masterpiece enhanced by the possibility that its canvas has been defaced with a code that might lead to long-lost Nazi gold, Eric Aronson’s script dwells too heavily on Mortdecai himself.

Preening, foppish, self-centered Charlie Mortdecai, played in full-blown, upper-class-twit mode by Johnny Depp.

Time was, a new Johnny Depp project was cause for celebration; he brought such panache to most everything he did a decade or so ago, in projects as diverse as Chocolat, From Hell, Finding Neverland and even the first Pirates of the Caribbean. More recently, though, his work has tended toward self-indulgent laziness, with Depp apparently coasting on the merits of his own career, and bringing little to each new party.

These days, in the wake of The Rum Diary, Dark Shadows and most particularly The Lone Ranger, we’re more inclined to roll our eyes at the prospect of a new Depp feature ... much the way his Mortdecai sighs theatrically and rolls his eyes at just about everything here.

That’s the major problem with director David Koepp’s approach; he and cinematographer Florian Hoffmeister focus far too much on Depp. Granted, one expects a movie’s star to receive the lion’s share of close-ups, but Depp’s slow, aristocratically condescending line readings — although initially droll — become tiresome, and eventually bring the otherwise fast-paced film to a grinding halt. Every. Time. He. Speaks.

Koepp is trying for a manic, effervescent blend of P.G. Wodehouse and The Pink Panther: a smart choice, since this film is inspired by the charismatic, forever cash-strapped, art-dealer anti-hero in a series of three comic novels by the late British author Kyril Bonfiglioli, and published back in the 1970s. His Mortdecai clearly is based on Wodehouse’s Bertie Wooster, and the resemblance is cemented further by Mortdecai’s far more capable manservant Jock Strapp, an equally obvious nod to Bertie’s Jeeves.

Bonfiglioli’s Mortdecai books are beloved by no less than Stephen Fry, who will be remembered as the pluperfect Jeeves in the 1990 TV series he did with frequent colleague Hugh Laurie. And if this film’s press notes are to be believed, Depp himself is another Bonfiglioli fan. So far, so good.

Transcendence: A whole new level of tedium

Transcendence (2014) • View trailer 
Three stars. Rated PG-13, for sci-fi action and violence, brief profanity and mild sensuality
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 4.18.14

The White Queen in Lewis Carroll’s Through the Looking Glass may have been able to believe as many as six impossible things before breakfast, but smart screenwriters limit themselves to one.

Expecting her former colleagues to be amazed, Evelyn (Rebecca Hall) shows Joseph
(Morgan Freeman) and Buchanan (Cillian Murphy) through the massive underground
complex that has been built to her deceased husband's specifications ... via his
AI avatar, who watches closely from a series of computer monitors.

Meaning, viewers generally are willing to stretch credibility and accommodate one massive leap of faith per movie. Transcendence kicks off with an intriguing premise and rather quickly unveils its fanciful notion. Fair enough: We buy it, for the sake of the impending drama.

But first-time screenwriter Jack Paglen doesn’t know when to quit. He piles absurdity atop contrivance, then gets sloppy with logic, basic human nature and socio-political behavior. By the third act, you’ll lose track of the glaring plot-holes.

Newbie director Wally Pfister doesn’t do much to improve the situation; in fact, he makes it worse. While he deserves credit for drawing compelling performances from his stars, Pfister also succumbs to the weakness suffered by most cinematographers who insist on helming a movie: too much reliance on arty scene compositions and camera shots, and a smothering atmosphere of Great Significance.

Pfister is best known as director Christopher Nolan’s visual amanuensis: the cameraman behind The Prestige, the Batman trilogy and most particularly Inception, for which Pfister won an Academy Award. He has given Transcendence the same labored, walking-through-glue self-importance that made Inception such a chore to watch.

Every scene seems to carry an invisible subtitle: “This is really cool, and very important, so pay close attention.”

Yawn. Wake me when it’s over.

And, as is the case with many first-time scripters, Paglen’s so-called “original” narrative begs, borrows and steals from many other, better sources. Avid sci-fi buffs will recognize strong elements from films such as 1970’s Colossus: The Forbin Project and 1974’s Phase IV, and books such as Greg Bear’s Blood Music and Michael Crichton’s Prey.

Finally, on top of all their other sins, Paglen and Pfister open their film in the aftermath of horrific events — thus ruining the suspense they quite easily could have built — and then flash back five years, to show us how everything went to hell. That’s an irritating cliché these days, and one that makes sense only if it later turns out that assumptions derived from said prologue are inaccurate, as a result of a clever twist.

No clever twists here. Just a long, slow descent into sci-fi silliness.

Iron Man 3: Ol' Shell-head triumphs again

Iron Man 3 (2013) • View trailer 
Four stars. Rating: PG-13, for intense sci-fi action and violence, and mild sensuality
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 5.3.13

Most people eventually develop the wisdom to learn this lesson: Never poke the bear.

Robert Downey Jr.’s Tony Stark is quick-witted, ferociously smart and impressively resourceful ... but he also seems to view arrogance and recklessness as virtues. As we’ve seen in this series’ first two installments, such behavior inevitably gets him into trouble.

Stuck in small-town Nowheresville, Tony Stark (Robert Downey Jr.) sadly regards the
remnants of his Iron Man outfit, and wonders how he'll handle repairs in a community
that has nothing more than a big-box hardware store. Ah, but Tony is a clever genius,
donchaknow, and he's bound to figure something out. Besides, he's just made a
new young friend (currently off-camera, sent to fetch a tuna sandwich).

As is the case this time.

Giving his home address to a scary terrorist, and then challenging the maniac to do his worst?

Definitely not something Tony could mention when filing the subsequent insurance claims.

But it sets up a rollicking retribution storyline courtesy of director/co-scripter Shane Black, who hasn’t lost the touch he established so well back in 1987, with his debut screenplay for Lethal Weapon. Black clearly understands the formula that has worked so well for the Iron Man franchise: plenty of action, laced with equal opportunities for Downey to get his snark on.

When it comes to cracking wise in the face of serious adversity, Downey’s Tony Stark could give James Bond lessons in well-timed one-liners. Veteran comic book fans may show up for the landscape-shattering punch-outs, but Downey’s the glue that holds these films together.

He persuasively conveys the impatience and frustration of a genius scientist whose ideas come more rapidly than he can act upon them. Downey can weave a tapestry of emotional conflict from a simple sigh of exasperation. He’s the ultimate obsessive/compulsive, and for that reason he’s an improbably endearing character: seriously flawed emotionally, and desperately in need of a keeper.

Too frequently, in times of stress, he turns to his A-I helpmate Jarvis — voiced with mellifluous irony by Paul Bettany — rather than Pepper (Gwyneth Paltrow), the woman who loves him. And puts up with him. (No small thing.)

Three films into this series, Downey and Paltrow positively bubble with playful erotic tension. They’re one of very few on-screen couples able to honor the deft rat-a-tat banter that hearkens all the way back to William Powell and Myrna Loy, in the 1930s and ’40s Thin Man series. In a word, Downey and Paltrow are fun together, even as we wonder if his self-centered attitude finally has gone too far for her to endure.

Let’s hope that never happens. And while this film does put poor Pepper through seriously unpleasant plot contrivances, romantic doubt isn’t even a blip on the radar.

Indeed, the core of this storyline — Black shares scripting credit with Drew Pearce — involves Tony’s realization that he must always protect the one thing that’s dearest to him. With his back to the wall, with all the chips down, he’s surprised to discover that the choice is obvious: Pepper means far more than all the gadgets his unparalleled wealth can allow him to build.

It must be said, however, that this film gets a bit egregious with respect to Tony’s wealth. He doesn’t just have more money than God; he has more money than God’s banker.

But that’s getting ahead of things.

Margin Call: Grim tidings

Margin Call (2011) • View trailer for Margin Call
Four stars. Rating: R, for profanity
By Derrick Bang

Moving into the third act of writer/director J.C. Chandor’s Margin Call, I was reminded of the war room discussions in Stanley Kubrick’s 1964 adaptation of Dr. Strangelove, particularly when Peter Sellers’ U.S. President Merkin Muffley and George C. Scott’s Gen. Buck Turgidson argue over “collateral damage.”

Having survived a devastating company layoff, Peter Sullivan (Zachary Quinto)
attempts to settle down for a "normal" day's work. But a financial time bomb is
ticking away in his pocket: the parting gift from a veteran risk analyst who was
escorted out of the building that same morning. Eventually, as day turns to night,
Peter will examine the files on that flash drive ... and then nothing will be the same.

“Mr. President,” Turgidson finally insists, “I’m not saying we wouldn’t get our hair mussed. But I do say no more than 10 to 20 million killed, tops. Uh, depending on the breaks.”

The point, of course — delivered with every possible ounce of chilling satire — is that nobody in this room, filled as it is with people responsible for the safety of the entire United States, has the faintest idea what would happen during an all-out nuclear war. And yet they still argue over “acceptable losses.”

Just as everybody in the board room of the fictitious investment firm in Margin Call debates the acceptable losses certain to arise in the wake of a proposed we’re-first-into-the-lifeboat desperation ploy.

Hell, it’s worse than that. They’re not simply commandeering the first lifeboat; they’re scuttling all the others.

I’m not sure the public is ready for this suggestion of how the 2008 financial crisis kicked off; my own interest was guarded, upon entering the theater. It’s simply too soon: The real-world wound remains too fresh, the resulting carnage still plain in every drawn and desperate face, every freshly foreclosed and empty home that once contained a family that still believed in the American dream.

I worried that Chandor would trivialize actual history, or — worse yet — attempt to build sympathy for the greedy, soulless bastards who fiddled while Wall Street burned.

But, as it turns out, Chandor is much smarter and shrewder than that. He’s also a sharp scripter and a damn fine director, and Margin Call is an extremely impressive feature debut for a fellow whose sole previous credit was a short back in 2004.

Granted, Chandor also had the good sense to assemble an impressive cast ... but a director still needs to know how to encourage excellent work. And he draws fine performances from all concerned.

Chandor’s most brilliant stroke, however, was to resist the temptation to imagine what truly occurred in the late summer of 2008. We can assume that his script evokes Lehman Brothers, and that the two days depicted here offer a guess as to what may have gone down behind closed doors, before that august firm filed for bankruptcy on Sept. 15, 2008.

But it doesn’t really matter. Chandor’s build-up is absorbing, and the subsequent character interactions generate the intensity of a solid, well-acted stage play. We eventually share the horror of those who recognize a catastrophe only after it’s too late to attempt a recovery.

The Young Victoria: Vivat regina!

The Young Victoria (2009) • View trailer for The Young Victoria
Four stars (out of five). Rating: PG, for brief violence and mild sensuality
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 1.8.10
Buy DVD: The Young Victoria • Buy Blu-Ray: The Young Victoria [Blu-ray]


If Jane Austen had written a factual novel about Queen Victoria's early years, it likely would have sounded much like The Young Victoria.

No surprise there: Screenwriter Julian Fellowes won a well-deserved Academy Award for his sly 2001 pastiche, Gosford Park, which felt like an impossible dream collaboration between Austen and Agatha Christie. Fellowes has a knack for meticulously interlaced ensemble drama and the delectable, tart-tongued dialogue that Austen employed so well.

Recently married and still working out how to behave with each other, Prince
Albert (Rupert Friend) and Queen Victoria (Emily Blunt) must set aside the
injured pride of a recent quarrel while making a necessary public appearance.

Fresh evidence is on hand in director Jean-Marc Vallee's tantalizing Young Victoria, which also benefits from Emily Blunt's accomplished and carefully layered starring performance.

Queen Victoria reigned for a jaw-dropping 64 years, from 1837 to 1901, during which time — as the saying goes -— the sun never set on the British empire. She championed the arts, ignored the customary aristocratic arrogance and developed relations with "the riff-raff" (read: ordinary citizens), and kept her nation stable during a time of great industrial and economic change.

We can well imagine that this grande dame might have looked and sounded like Blunt's portrayal here, because one thing is obvious: From a young age, Victoria had to have been quite waspish with those making meddlesome attempts to usurp her birthright. History proves this, because otherwise she likely never would have retained the royal power necessary to back up the authority of her crown.

Vallee's film is tightly compressed, detailing — as its title suggests — Victoria's life and career from just prior to her 17th birthday, to shortly after her initially tempestuous but eventually highly successful marriage to Prince Albert. Fellowes' focus concerns Victoria's need to retain, understand and consolidate her power, and the point at which — not that many years later — it becomes clear that she'll successfully do so.

And yes, those who've not recently dipped into a history book may be vexed by the spoiler unleashed in the previous paragraph, since this film teases us with respect to whether Victoria will succumb to the much more flamboyantly dashing advances of Lord Melbourne (Paul Bettany), who becomes her first prime minister and, for a time, sole advisor.

But c'mon, folks; the London landmark is the Royal Albert Hall, not the Royal Melbourne Hall!

Inkheart: Somewhat stained

Inkheart (2008) • View trailer for Inkheart
Three stars (out of five). Rating: PG, for quite a lot of scary action violence
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 1.23.09
Buy DVD: Inkheart • Buy Blu-Ray: Inkheart (+ BD-Live) [Blu-ray]

Some movies are curious creatures, and Inkheart is a perfect example.

Director Iain Softley's adaptation of Cornelia Funke's best-selling novel is handsomely mounted, with a top-drawer cast, sumptuous production values and quite believable special effects. The story itself, scripted by David Lindsay-Abaire with Funke's participation, is a clever pastiche of beloved fairy tales, and a tribute to the sense of wonder that books can awaken in readers young and old.

After being confronted by a wealth of fantastic events, Mo (Brendan Fraser) and
his daughter, Meggie (Eliza Hope Bennett), hope for answers and suggestions
from Elinor (Helen Mirren) ... but get little beyond rambling speeches. Try as
it might, this film simply doesn't deliver the magic one expects from such
an engaging premise.

All the necessary elements are present, and the movie should deliver the same edge-of-the-seat suspense that Funke's 2004 book brought to so many happy fans (who then went on to devour the two sequels, 2005's Inkspell and last year's Inkdeath).

And yet...

Softley's film is oddly soulless. Genuine tension is frequently absent, because some of the actors simply don't sell the material all that persuasively. (Paul Bettany is a vibrant exception; he's sensational.) In star Brendan Fraser's case, the problem could be too much familiarity; after three Mummy installments and last summer's Journey to the Center of the Earth, his "wise-cracking reluctant hero" schtick is wearing rather thin.

As for Helen Mirren, she's inhabiting some other film entirely. Her character's stream-of-consciousness monologues are pointless and mildly annoying, and Softley's handling of Mirren is clumsy and even embarrassing at times. What's the point of hiring an actress of her caliber, if she's not given anything important to do?

The other problem, also having to do with familiarity, isn't this film's fault. It should be noted that Adam Sandler's recent Christmas vehicle, Bedtime Stories, bears a highly uncomfortable resemblance to the central gimmick in Funke's books: the notion that reading/telling a story aloud brings its ingredients — characters, settings, random bric-a-brac — to life in our "real" world.

Two such film fantasies, arriving right on top of each other? Somebody's been reading somebody else's mail again...

(Not long into this film, readers of Jasper Fforde's popular Thursday Next novels also will discover similarities between the two series. For the record, Funke's books are aimed at young readers, while Fforde's offerings — and their endless use of hilariously awful puns and wordplay — are much more adult.)

The Secret Life of Bees: Strong buzz

The Secret Life of Bees (2008) • View trailer for The Secret Life of Bees
Four stars (out of five). Rating: PG-13, for violence and dramatic intensity
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 10.17.08
Buy DVD: The Secret Life of Bees • Buy Blu-Ray: The Secret Life of Bees [Blu-ray]

Certain historical flashpoints remain popular subjects for stories, because savvy authors recognize that we bring cultural awareness to the relationship between artist and audience: If the fictitious characters are constructed persuasively enough to co-exist with real-world events, the drama becomes even more intense.

August (Queen Latifah, left) is surprised to discover that Lily (Dakota Fanning)
doesn't fear the winged insects that fill the hives and produce the sweet honey
for which the Boatwright sisters have become famous. Indeed, Lily seems to
understand — in a deeply spiritual way — when August speaks reverently of
"the secret life of bees."

Director/scripter Gina Prince-Bythewood's deeply moving adaptation of Sue Monk Kidd's The Secret Life of Bees is just such a story. Set in 1964 South Carolina, at a time when the rising civil rights movement actually made an already toxic racial environment even more combustible — because, to the hysterical rage of hard-core racists, African-Americans were daring to stand up for themselves — the narrative unfolds in a constant state of tension and suspense.

All sorts of bad things seem to await these good characters.

Grief battles with pragmatism and hope, in a film highlighted by strong performances that allow us intimate and at-times painful access to these characters and their thoughts. And, as was the case with To Kill a Mockingbird — with which this film shares both subject and tone — these events are filtered through the dawning awareness of a child, and her subsequent loss of innocence.

In the case of 14-year-old Lily Owens (Dakota Fanning), she's not that innocent to begin with. As depicted in a brief but horrifying prologue, Lily believes herself responsible for her mother's death, years earlier, and has suffered ever since at the hands of a father, T. Ray (Paul Bettany), prone to casual cruelty.

T. Ray isn't exactly abusive, and we get a strong sense that he, too, is in a state of constant despair — such is the impressive subtlety of Bettany's performance — but that doesn't make his needlessly stern and unloving treatment of Lily any less heinous.

Things might be worse, were if not for the sheltering care extended by Rosaleen (Jennifer Hudson), who works for T. Ray and has become something of a surrogate mother to Lily. The girl, in turn, has grown to care for Rosaleen: enough to be quite concerned when the older woman quietly shares her intention to walk to a nearby town and register to vote.

Sadly, an almost inevitable encounter with some vicious white crackers goes as badly as could be expected.

Prince-Bythewood does not exploit this scene, but Rogier Stoffers' camera also doesn't flinch from it; we cannot help sharing Lily's sick and heavy-hearted reaction to what she witnesses. (Bullies are nothing new in the world, I realize, and yet I still find it difficult to comprehend that people would behave this way to another human being, based solely on skin color ... and that such behavior was considered acceptable, as recently as 44 years ago.)

Finally fed up with her own father, and worried about Rosaleen's likely future, Lily orchestrates a plan of escape and the two hit the road. Their destination — Tiburon, also in South Carolina — is governed solely by the fact that this town's name is printed on the back of one of the few mementos Lily has from her mother.