Scoop: Fascinating, fact-based depiction of a journalistic coup

Scoop (2023) • View trailer

Four stars (out of five). Rated TV-14, for dramatic intensity, sexual candor and occasional profanity

Available via: Netflix

By Derrick Bang • Published in The Davis Enterprise, 5.3.24

Movies about reporters have been a cinema staple ever since talkies emerged.

 

Early classics leaned toward comedy, most famously with 1931’s The Front Page and 1940’s His Girl Friday (actually a gender-switched remake of the former). Following World War II, the genre focused more on social issues, with notable examples that included 1947’s Gentleman’s Agreement, 1948’s Call Northside 777 and 1951’s Ace in the Hole.

 

Prince Andrew (Rufus Sewell), naively believing that his "royal bearing" will win the day,
hasn't the faintest notion how his oblivious behavior will come across on camera, when
interviewed by BBC journalist Emily Maitlis (Gillian Anderson)

But it took 1976’s All the President’s Men to bring the genre into crucially important territory, with its depiction of dogged real-world investigative reporters determined to speak truth to power, and warn ordinary people about the monsters hidden in plain sight.

Recent classics similarly ripped from actual events include 1999’s The Insider, 2005’s Good Night, and Good Luck, and 2015’s Spotlight. They remind us of the crucially important role played by the Fourth Estate in a democracy, at a time when honest journalism — in print or on television — is in a death spiral, and an increasing number of corrupt individuals exclude truth-tellers and speak solely to “friendly” reporters.

 

Bloggers don’t break stories or create news; they merely repeat it.

 

All of which brings us to Scoop, adapted from a chapter in Samantha McAlister’s 2022 memoir about her most (in)famous journalistic “gets”: in this case, the events that led to the 2019 BBC television interview that brought down Prince Andrew.

 

As was the case with All the President’s Men — which captivated naysayers who initially scoffed at the notion of investigative journalism being interesting — director Philip Martin’s well-paced handling of these events is fascinating. He gets a significant boost from the sharp script by Geoff Bussetil and Peter Moffat — the latter a veteran of crime-oriented British TV shows such as Criminal Justice and Silk — and a terrific cast.

 

The story begins in 2010, with a suspenseful prologue that finds tabloid photographer Jae Donnelly (Connor Swindells, excellent in this brief role) finally getting the photo — on December 5 — that showed Prince Andrew strolling amicably through New York’s Central Park with his good friend Jeffery Epstein.

 

That picture would haunt Prince Andrew for almost a decade, as he tried to distance himself from the slowly widening sex scandal that embroiled Epstein and his equally complicit partner, Ghislaine Maxwell.

 

Martin and his writers then move events to 2019, as staff members of the BBC current events program Newsnight listen with dread when massive layoffs are announced. Emotions are high, prompting an uncomfortable exchange between “booker” Sam McAlister (Billie Piper), producer Esme Wren (Romola Garai) and on-air interviewer Emily Maitlis (Gillian Anderson).

Old: Only partly satisfying

Old (2021) • View trailer

Three stars (out of five). Rated PG-13, for dramatic intensity, sexual candor, nudity and fleeting profanity

Available via: Movie theaters

By Derrick Bang

Calling this the best film M. Night Shyamalan has made in well over a decade is damning with very faint praise; this is, after all, the man who unleashed stinkers such as After Earth, The Visit, The Happening and The Last Airbender (the latter one of the worst big-budget fantasies ever made).

 

A creepy discovery — from a clever point of view — is made by, from left, Chrystal
(Abbey Lee), Patricia (Nikki Amuka-Bird), Jarin (Ken Leung), Maddox (Thomasin
McKenzie), Charles (Rufus Sewell), Sedan (Aaron Pierre) and Prisca (Vicky Krieps).

But credit where due: Old is by turns intriguing, mysterious and disturbing. It also holds together, as a story, better than the above-mentioned turkeys: a welcome surprise that can be attributed to the fact that this is not a Shyamalan original script. He has adapted the 2010 graphic novel Sandcastle, by Pierre-Oscar Lévy and Frederick Peeters.

Here’s a bigger revelation: Shyamalan’s altered conclusion — one of his signature twists — is more satisfying than the original’s ruminative metaphor.

 

Mind you, we’re talking a degree of success. There’s still much to complain about here.

 

We meet Guy (Gael García Bernal), wife Prisca (Vicky Krieps) and their children — Maddox (Alexa Swinton) and Trent (Nolan River) — en route to a family holiday in a trendy seaside resort. The atmosphere is a bit tense, the dynamic between Guy and Prisca clearly fragile. Troubled.

 

They attempt to mute such feelings, to spare the kids: not difficult, in such a pampered environment, where attentive staff cater to their every whim. This cheerful prologue is quite pleasant; it allows Guy, Prisca, Maddox, Trent and a few of the other resort guests to define themselves.

 

Guy’s family is encouraged to spend the next day at a gorgeous, secluded cove: “Only for our special guests,” promises the resort manager (Gustaf Hammarsten, oozing false sincerity). This invitation clearly troubles young Idlib (Kailen Jude), the manager’s nephew, who has just befriended Trent.

 

The family accepts; they’re joined by Charles (Rufus Sewell), his Barbie-doll trophy wife Chrystal (Abbey Lee), their 6-year-old daughter Kara (Kyle Bailey), and his mother Agnes (Kathleen Chalfant). The shuttle driver (Shyamalan, in his usual cameo role) deftly evades their questions.

 

The promised cove is peacefully picturesque; the little group is augmented by late-comers Jarin (Ken Leung) and his wife Patricia (Nikki Amuka-Bird).

 

They’re all surprised to find somebody else on site: Sedan (Aaron Pierre), brooding and isolated in a distant corner, against the sheer rocky walls that enclose the cove. His presence irritates Charles, who seems to have a hair-trigger temper. Actually, the three family groups seem oddly uneasy around each other.

 

(And for no reason, at this early stage; it’s just Shyamalan, clumsily — and needlessly — heightening the disconcerting atmosphere.)

 

The Father: Not for the faint of heart

The Father (2020) • View trailer

4.5 stars. Rated PG-13, for dramatic intensity and occasional profanity

By Derrick Bang • Published in The Davis Enterprise, 4.16.21  

This one is very hard to watch.

 

Not in the negative sense; director Florian Zeller’s film adaptation of his award-winning 2012 stage play — available via video on demand — is fueled by a powerhouse performance from Anthony Hopkins, cast as a mischievous 80-year-old whose grip on reality is unraveling. Hopkins’ performance is heartbreaking; the path his character walks is absolutely shattering.

 

Anthony (Anthony Hopkins) is all smiles and good manners when introduced to Laura
(Imogen Poots, left), who's being interviewed by Anne (Olivia Colman) to become his
caregiver. But the moment Anne's back is turned...

Consider this a companion piece to Julianne Moore’s Oscar-winning — and similarly distressing — performance in 2014’s Still Alice (although I wouldn’t recommend watching them back to back). The comparison isn’t entirely apt; Moore’s Alice spends the bulk of her film fully aware that she’s sliding into Alzheimer’s, whereas Hopkins’ Anthony has no knowledge of his condition.

 

Zeller’s non-linear and provocatively disorienting play was designed to give audiences a sense of what dementia looks, sounds and feels like; his film is similarly disconcerting. There’s no “beginning” to speak of; we’re simply dumped into Anthony’s world, for the most part confined to the flat that he shares with his divorced daughter, Anne (Olivia Colman).

 

She has fallen in love anew, and intends to join her new man in Paris. But she worries about her father, knowing that he shouldn’t be left alone. But Anthony is defiant, and refuses to put up with the caregivers Anne keeps bringing into the flat. His “trick” is to be charming and solicitous when meeting each new possibility — as with Laura (Imogen Poots), the one we witness — and then, later, to bully, frighten or antagonize them into quitting.

 

But I’ve already created an impression of linear progression, and that’s far from true. Zeller and cinematographer Ben Smithard favor establishing shots down the flat’s long hallway, and we never know whose voice — or presence — will manifest at the distant end. Anne’s clothing — and even age — shift. At one point, a man (Mark Gatiss) pops up in the living room, contentedly reading, looking like he belongs there.

 

Anthony misplaces things, most frequently his beloved watch. He forgets that he squirrels it away in a hidey-hole, to prevent it being stolen; Anne reminds him of this, and he erupts in a fury, incensed that she knows about that “secret” stash.

 

He frequently laments the absence of his other daughter — Lucy, his “favorite” — and wonders aloud why she never visits, oblivious to the pain such remarks cause Anne.

Judy: A faded rainbow

Judy (2019) • View trailer 
3.5 stars. Rated PG-13, for dramatic intensity, substance abuse, and profanity
By Derrick Bang

This film has moments — quite a few, actually — that are sublime, and not merely due to Renée Zellweger’s mesmerizing portrayal of Judy Garland.

Determined to revive her career with a cabaret tour in London, Judy Garland (Renée
Zellweger) bids what she hopes will be only a temporary farewell to her children,
Lorna (Bella Ramsey) and Joey (Lewin Lloyd).

Everything comes together during such sequences: Zellweger’s performance, scripter Tom Edge’s dialog, cinematographer Ole Bratt Birkeland’s framing, and director Rupert Goold’s equally sensitive handling of the supporting actors in a given scene. The results are both magical and (frequently) utterly heartbreaking.

If only the entire film could be so assuredly composed.

Such highlights aside, other portions of Judy feel clumsy and ill-conceived: particularly those having to do with Mickey Deans, Garland’s fifth — and most ill-advised — husband. Finn Wittrock’s boyishly giddy performance doesn’t feel the slightest bit genuine, and he tries much, much too hard. Wittrock appears to have been cast for his resemblance to the actual Deans, but that doesn’t get him very far.

It’s quite jarring to see such a false, tin-eared performance alongside Zellweger’s far superior work.

Judy is a distinctly British take on the iconic American film and music star. It’s adapted from Peter Quilter’s play End of the Rainbow, which depicts Garland’s on- and off-stage trials and tribulations during what would become her final series of live performances. She began a five-week cabaret run at London’s Talk of the Town restaurant on Jan. 14, 1969; the results were chaotic, unpredictable, disastrous … and occasionally incandescent, which is why the punters kept purchasing tickets.

That said, late-night cabaret audiences could be brutal; these are far from the refined patrons at concert hall productions.

Zellweger’s all-in portrayal is authentic enough to be frightening. This was Garland at the fragile lowest of low ebbs: twitchy and jittery, her head often bobbing like that of a terrified bird; rambling, dismissive and often incoherent, due to chronic insomnia; beholden to a constant cocktail of uppers, downers, sleeping pills and tranquilizers; and with far too much make-up applied in an effort to conceal a frame so emaciated that it appeared skeletal.

Abraham Lincoln, Vampire Hunter: Sharp-edged alternate history

Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter (2012) • View trailer
3.5 stars. Rating: R, for considerable horror violence, brief sensuality and fleeting nudity
By Derrick Bang

The only thing more audaciously lunatic than this film’s skirmish atop — yes, atop — a panicked herd of horses, is the climactic battle royale aboard a speeding train.

Say what you will about this storyline’s cheeky absurdity; director Timur Bekmambetov has style to burn.

Having beheaded and otherwise dispatched most of the vampire
minions in his undead host's New Orleans mansion, Abraham Lincoln
(Benjamin Walker) suddenly must face the far more deadly
Vadoma (Erin Watson).

Actually, Bekmambetov has built his entire career on visual pizzazz; the trouble — until now — is that the scripts for his various projects have been seriously flawed. The Russian-born director came to our attention with his bizarre, often incomprehensible vampire franchise, Night Watch and Day Watch. Both films were massively popular in his native country; on our shores, however, they felt quaintly retro.

But they looked fabulous and boasted plenty of creative touches, even when it was difficult to follow the seemingly random, fever-dream narratives.

Hollywood took note, and Bekmambetov made his American film debut with 2008’s similarly flamboyant adaptation of Wanted, based on the Mark Millar/J.G. Jones comic book series. Again, though, the frenetic editing, sleek cinematography and loopy action scenes overwhelmed the ill-defined characters and insufferably haphazard script.

Happily, things are much better with Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter. Seth Grahame-Smith’s screenplay, adapted from his own impudent novel, establishes solid characters and progresses through a clever re-boot of 19th century American history.

This saga belongs to the new literary sub-genre that Grahame-Smith founded with his first parody novel, 2009’s Pride and Prejudice and Zombies (due to hit the big screen next year). Although Jane Austen undoubtedly rolled over in her grave — and let’s hope she stayed there! — Grahame-Smith definitely tapped a fresh vein in the zeitgeist; if TV shows like Glee can mash up new pop songs with old classics, why not do the same with written genres?

More to the point, if Quentin Tarantino can employ his own gonzo talents to re-write history so that a squad of Jewish U.S. soldiers successfully assassinates Adolf Hitler, in 2009’s Inglourious Basterds — while also scoring an Academy Award for co-star Christoph Waltz — then surely Bekmambetov and Grahame-Smith can achieve the same results by giving “Honest Abe” something other than wood to chop, with his trusty axe.

And, frankly, Grahame-Smith’s narrative is rather clever. Once we accept the notion that 19th century vampires infiltrated the United States, with the hopes of helping the South preserve slavery — in order to maintain a readily available food supply — then everything else falls into place quite neatly. Grahame-Smith borrows just enough authentic history to help certain plot points look and sound familiar; beyond that, we simply hang on for dear life.

The Tourist: First-class accommodations

The Tourist (2010) • View trailer for The Tourist
Four stars (out of five). Rating: PG-13, for violence, mild sensuality and a hiccup of profanity
By Derrick Bang

Stars Johnny Depp and Angelina Jolie, director Florian Henckel von Donnersmarck – who won a well-deserved Academy Award for 2006’s merely terrific The Lives of Others – and a sharp, cosmopolitan script by von Donnersmarck, Christopher McQuarrie (The Usual Suspects) and Julian Fellowes (Gosford Park, The Young Victoria).

Goodness, how could it miss?

It doesn’t.

Strangers on a train: Elise (Angelina Jolie) surprises Frank (Johnny Depp), a
complete stranger, when she sits across from him during a railway journey to
Venice. Although Frank is convinced she has made an odd mistake, in fact
Elise has chosen her new comparion with care ... and for reasons that are
about to become significantly dangerous.

The Tourist is an engaging throwback to sophisticated 1960s espionage romps that matched stunning women with bemused and often clueless men: deservedly treasured classics such as Charade (Audrey Hepburn and Cary Grant) and Arabesque (Sophia Loren and Gregory Peck). Full disclosure forces me to acknowledge this as one of my favorite genres, so I approached The Tourist with high expectations and guarded concern: It ain’t easy to re-capture this sort of lightning in a bottle.

No worries, mate. The storyline is pure bonkers, to be sure, but the execution is a whole lotta fun.

Jolie makes a pluperfect femme fatale, although cut from a different (much more expensive) cloth than the sleeper agent she played in this past summer’s Salt. Her Elise Clifton-Ward is an ethereal sophisticate: the sort of woman accustomed to playing with her toys, particularly those that stand on two legs. Her expression is a heady brew of charming amusement and mildly smug superiority: a smoldering, come-hither glance that promises much but yields little.

At the same time, she’s open to novelty: Any man might have a chance, her gaze suggests, if he intrigues her sufficiently.

Depp, although playing as “ordinary” as we’ve seen him in years – his Frank Tupelo is a mild-mannered American math professor – is captivating in his mundaneness. His timid astonishment – this woman’s paying attention to me? – is pitch perfect, his worried, are-you-putting-me-on sideways glances to die for. And I lament the fate of theater patrons lacking acute hearing, because they’ll miss all of Depp’s nervous grumbles and worried frum-frahs. He can turn a squeaky “Hmmmm?” into the height of hilarity.

We know we’re in good hands right from the get-go, as James Newton Howard’s engaging score draws us into a stakeout of Elise by law enforcement agents in several countries: a long-running operation overseen by British investigator Acheson (Paul Bettany, appropriately brittle).