The Fantastic Four: First Steps — Fourth time's the charm!

The Fantastic Four: First Steps (2025) • View trailer

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

Available via: Movie theaters

By Derrick Bang • Published in The Davis Enterprise, 8.10.25 

We’ve certainly waited long enough.

 

After this seminal superhero team’s disastrous earlier big-screen outings — in 2005, ’07 and ’15 — Marvel Cinematic Universe fans and long-time comic book nerds were understandably wary of this new attempt.

 

Ben (Ebon Moss-Bachrach) has a polite "discussion" with the Fantastic Four's helpful
robot, H.E.R.B.I.E., regarding the proper way to cook a meal.

Well, worry no longer. Director Matt Shakman and five credited scripters — Josh Friedman, Eric Pearson, Jeff Kaplan, Ian Springer and Kat Wood — have done right by this quartet of blue-costumed champions.

You’ll be charmed immediately by the film’s look and atmosphere. Production designer Kasra Farahani establishes a retro-futuristic style that evokes the era when writer Stan Lee and artist Jack Kirby debuted their comic book series in November 1961. It’s a time when recordings still are made via vinyl discs and reel-to-reel tape, with fashion, cars and household accessories in a mischievous, not-quite-accurate reflection of what our grandparents wore, drove and used, back in the day.

 

A television documentary-style flashback celebrates the quartet’s fourth anniversary in a kinder, gentler world — this is Earth 828, in the multiverse — where they’re beloved by everybody, and nations peacefully cooperate amid mutual respect.

 

(God knows, this sure isn’t our Earth.)

 

The flashback clips describe how Dr. Reed Richards (Pedro Pascal), Ben Grimm (Ebon Moss-Bachrach), Sue Storm (Vanessa Kirby) and her younger brother Johnny (Joseph Quinn) were bombarded by cosmic rays during an outer space mission, granting them unusual powers as, respectively, the stretchable Mr. Fantastic, the super-strong Thing, the Invisible Woman and the Human Torch.

 

Scenes of the quartet saving civilians during natural disasters are intercut with battles against more ambitious foes; longtime comic book fans will smile when the FF’s first issue cover image monster and villain — the Mole Man — are referenced. Reed and Sue subsequently married, and the quartet established a fancy headquarters in New York’s iconic Baxter Building.

 

Moving to the present day, Shakman and his scripters take their time with the first act, focusing on the quartet’s “down time” behavior and interpersonal dynamics: the “human element” that immediately set Marvel Comics characters apart from their DC competitors (Superman, Batman, etc.). These four people are messy, and they struggle with relatable problems.

 

Reed, the resident scientist, agonizes over decisions big and small, constantly second-guessing himself; Pascal displays the right blend of analytical sharpness and emotional befuddlement. Sue, the group’s heart and calming influence, also is an accomplished diplomat for world peace; Kirby delivers a performance that radiates warmth, caring ... and a ferocious degree of protectiveness.

 

To the casual eye, Ben and Johnny are like squabbling brothers, the latter forever trying to get under the former’s rock-hard skin. Quinn emphasizes his character’s sloppy and often reckless behavior, particularly during a crisis. Moss-Bachrach’s Ben, finally, is the group’s tragic member: forever trapped in an oversized orange body that may delight children, but is a constant reminder that he’s unlikely to enjoy the sort of romantic relationship shared by Reed and Sue.

 

These folks are fun, behind the scenes. They’re like family.

 

Nosferatu: It sucks

Nosferatu (2024) • View trailer

One star (out of five). Rated R, for strong bloody violence, graphic nudity and sexual content

Available via: Movie theaters

By Derrick Bang

Watching paint dry would be preferable to enduring this turgid, overcooked slog.

 

In fairness, writer/director Robert Eggers gets points for atmosphere. Cinematographer Jarin Blaschke definitely maximizes the eerie settings concocted by production designer Craig Lathrop. (That said, much of the film is too damn dark.)

 

Professor Albin Eberhart Von Franz (Willem Dafoe) and Ellen (Lily-Rose Depp) eventually
realize that particularly drastic measures will be required, if they're to have any chance
of defeating the vampire in their midst.

Alas, these opulently sinister backdrops are ill-served by a somnambulant cast that appears to wade through thick glue at all times, delivering lines with breathy pauses in between each word ... particularly true in the case of the title monster, who wheezes through every labored syllable, like he’s battling the world’s worst chest cold.

That affectation undoubtedly was intended to sound scary, but Eggers misses “scary” by a Carpathian mile.

 

His film has an intriguing legacy. 1922’s Nosferatu was plagiarized from Bram Stoker’s Dracula; director F.W. Murnau and scripter Henrik Galeen stole the plot and characters, changing names and relocating the story to their native Germany, in order to evade copyright issues. The ploy didn’t work; Stoker’s heirs sued, and the court ruled that all copies of the film be destroyed.

 

They missed a few, and Murnau’s film now is deservedly hailed as an early silent masterpiece that birthed the horror genre; the appearance of star Max Schreck’s Count Orlok also established a template for vampire makeup. 

 

Aside from the numerous legitimate adaptations of Stoker’s novel during the subsequent century, Nosferatu was remade by director Werner Herzog in 1979, with Klaus Kinski as the title vampire. Francis Ford Coppola’s handling of Bram Stoker’s Dracula, in 1992, also tipped a fang to Murnau.

 

Eggers’ new film borrows from all of the above, while focusing mostly on Murnau’s setting and characters. Eggers also employs shadows, often of a menacing hand, just as Murnau did. And, as befits our modern era, this film more explicitly emphasizes the lurid sexual eroticism that fuels much of the vampire mythos.

Everybody's Talking about Jamie: As well they should!

Everybody's Talking about Jamie (2021) • View trailer

Four stars (out of five). Rated PG-13, for thematic elements, suggestive content and fleeting profanity

Available via: Amazon Prime

By Derrick Bang • Published in The Davis Enterprise, 9.17.21

Director Jonathan Butterell’s thoroughly delightful blend of Billy Elliot and The Adventures of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert is based on the Dan Gillespie Sells/Tom MacRae 2017 stage musical of the same name, which in turn is adapted from the 2011 television documentary Jamie: Drag Queen at 16, which profiled Jamie Campbell.

 

After Jamie (Max Harwood) gets a bit too aggressive with an eyebrow pencil, his
best friend Pritti (Lauren Patel) graciously does her best to repair the damage.

(Got all that?)

MacRae handles the script here, and Butterell also directed the play’s original Sheffield and West End productions, so there’s no question this film is faithful to their original vision. That’s important, given the subject’s sensitivity, which Butterell treats with respect. The result is joyous, poignant, uplifting, frequently amusing and — at times — emotionally shattering.

 

Which you’d expect, given that we’re talking about a teenager who wanted to come out as a drag queen, in a conservative, working-class community in Sheffield, England.

 

Butterell’s film is powered by an incandescent performance by star Max Harwood, in a frankly amazing acting and singing debut. There’s often something special about a talented actor’s debut screen role: Absent expectations and preconceived notions — it’s not as if we know anything about Harwood — it’s easier to embrace the notion that he is this character.

 

And he has absolutely no trouble handling choreographer Kate Prince’s inventively staged song-and-dance numbers. The first one — “And You Don’t Even Know It,” which establishes Jamie’s personality, hopes and dreams — is a true stunner.

 

Indeed, Butterell and all concerned have “opened up” the stage production quite imaginatively.

 

Musicals are, by nature, strange beasts; some seamlessly integrate the songs and production numbers into the narrative — Cabaret, most famously — while others simply interrupt the story. Jamie is one of the latter, although — to its credit — all the songs are so heartfelt, poignant or flamboyantly fun, that it’s easy to succumb to the film’s spirit.

 

With his dyed platinum blond pixie cut, gaudy accoutrements added to the mandated uniform, and aggressively frank personality, Jamie New (Harwood) is quite a presence at Mayfield High School. That rarely works in his favor, and he’s often targeted by mocking lads egged on by the sneering Dean (Samuel Bottomley).

 

He has one friend: the diminutive Pritti Pasha (Lauren Patel, in an equally strong acting debut), a studious Muslim who plans to become a doctor. She’s Jamie’s exact opposite: a shy, conservative girl who wouldn’t dream of wearing makeup, and hates being the center of attention. But — even though Butterell and MacRae don’t go there much — the hijab clearly has made her an outcast in this community, so of course she understands and sympathizes with Jamie’s isolation.

 

Despite the fact that it’s his own fault, given the way he behaves. Indeed, she’s his second staunchest advocate, forever encouraging him to embrace his ambitions, to “stop waiting for permission to be you.”

 

Gunpowder Milkshake: Gleefully explosive

Gunpowder Milkshake (2021) • View trailer

3.5 stars (out of five). Rated R, for frequent profanity and strong, bloody violence

Available via: Netflix

By Derrick Bang • Published in The Davis Enterprise, 7.23.21

A title such as this one practically screams “guilty pleasure.”

 

Indeed, it’s a pleasure.

 

Albeit extremely guilty.

 

With all manner of vicious thugs hot on their heels, Scarlet (Lena Heady, left) guides
Sam (Karen Gillan, right) and young Emily (Chloe Coleman) through a secret
escape route.

Director/co-scripter Navot Papushado’s opulently stylish revenge/survival thriller is a total kick: the sort of high-octane B-movie that’ll be adored by fans of Baby Driver and Guy Ritchie’s early-career crime flicks. Papushado, production designer David Scheunemann and cinematographer Michael Seresin give this violent romp all manner of atmosphere: way-cool settings, exaggerated and cleverly distinct color palettes, and a degree of intensity that threatens to burst from the screen.

These backdrops are populated by outré characters laden with ’tude: burlesques who couldn’t possibly exist in the real world (and thank God for that). Then there’s the most important element, which sets this film apart from grim, joyless cousins such as John Wick and its sequels: The script — by Papushado and Ehud Lavski — has heart.

 

The hyper-violence is mitigated by our lead character’s virtuous decision to Do The Right Thing.

 

Fifteen years ago, 12-year-old Sam (Freya Allan) learned — in the worst possible way — that her mother Scarlet (Lena Headey) worked as an assassin for a ruthless crime syndicate known as The Firm. That day also was the last time Sam saw Scarlet; the girl subsequently was raised by The Firm, and has followed in her mother’s lethal footsteps.

 

She has become coldly, mercilessly efficient: the go-to “handler” dispatched to clean up The Firm’s most dangerous messes.

 

As the film opens, Sam (now Karen Gillan) has been a little too thorough with her most recent assignment, much to the chagrin of Nathan (Paul Giamatti), her handler and surrogate parent figure. The blowback is likely to enrage the local Russian mob, with which The Firm has an uneasily cordial understanding.

 

While Nathan frets over how best to handle the repercussions, he sends Sam on an easier assignment: to kill a man (Samuel Anderson) and retrieve a bundle of cash that he stole from The Firm. During this confrontation, she learns that he took the money in order to ransom his 8-year-old daughter Emily (Chloe Coleman), who has been kidnapped by a quartet of mopes concealed behind monster masks.

 

This triggers Sam’s memory of her own younger self, orphaned under similarly dire circumstances. In the blink of an eye, Sam’s loyalty to The Firm evaporates; we see the shift in Gillan’s gaze. No matter the consequences, she intends to protect that little girl.

 

Consequences prove plentiful.

 

The Witch: Barely casts a spell

The Witch (2016) • View trailer 
Two stars. Rated R, for disturbing violent content and graphic nudity
By Derrick Bang

Filmmaker Robert Eggers’ modest little chiller is being hailed as 2016’s first “New Wave horror masterpiece,” akin to last year’s It Follows.

Sadly, that’s high praise this film doesn’t deserve.

As Thomasin (Anya Taylor-Joy) continues to suffer the guilt of having "lost" her baby
brother, Caleb (Harvey Scrimshaw) tries to comfort her. But he does the job badly, in
part because of his own conflicted feelings about his older sister.

It also has been described as the unholy love child of Swedish director Ingmar Bergman and The Blair Witch Project. That’s much closer to the truth, albeit with far more Bergman than Blair. Unlike that 1999 cinematic con job, which was a case of the emperor having no clothes whatsoever, The Witch does deliver a few lurid sequences while building to its nasty finale.

But Eggers is a much better director than writer. He definitely gets full marks for moody atmosphere and unsettling tension, and — assisted by production designer Craig Lathrop — quite cleverly stretches the $1 million budget to deliver impressive period authenticity.

But the plot is clumsy and random, with key details and motivation left undisclosed, and the characters are badly under-written. We’ve no idea why any of this is happening, or what these poor folks have done to deserve it (although there’s a suggestion that female puberty is the catch-all culprit).

More to the point, character behavior is deranged, and therefore impossible to take seriously. Much has been made of Eggers’ meticulous adherence to early 17th century New England dress, mannerisms and particularly speech; that’s well and good, but he rather overplays the religious zealotry, to the point of generating unintended laughter at all the wrong moments.

On top of which, even with the aforementioned third-act climax, Eggers’ pacing is languid to the point of tedium. Something obviously is wrong, when you can’t sustain interest for a brief 90 minutes.

In a word, The Witch is a yawn. Until the final 10 minutes or so.