The Greatest Beer Run Ever: A heady brew

The Greatest Beer Run Ever (2022) • View trailer

Four stars (out of five). Rated R, for profanity and war violence

Available via: Apple TV+

By Derrick Bang

Fiction doesn’t hold a candle to this particular slice of dog-nuts truth.

 

In November 1967, on little more than a dare, 26-year-old John “Chickie” Donohue impulsively decided to bring some Pabst Blue Ribbon and Schlitz beers to the neighborhood buddies who were serving in Vietnam.

 

When the hell of war suddenly breaks out, Arthur (Russell Crowe, left) and Chickie
(Zac Efron) are torn between witnessing and recording events, and running for safety.

His subsequent four-month journey throughout that war-torn country eventually became a 2015 documentary short sponsored by (who else?) Pabst, and then a 2017 book co-written with New York Daily News reporter Joanna Molloy.

And now a thoroughly engaging film by director Peter Farrelly.

 

Given the larkish marketing art, and recalling the lowest-common-denominator oeuvre of the Farrelly brothers as a team — There’s Something About Mary, Dumb and Dumber, The Heartbreak Kid — one is tempted to dismiss this project as a similarly dopey comedy. That would be a mistake; we must remember that Peter Farrelly, on his own, brought us the Academy Award-winning Green Book.

 

While this new film doesn’t approach that level of quality, it’s nonetheless entertaining, thoughtful and sneaky: the latter due to an initially light-hearted tone that suddenly turns deadly serious in the third act.

 

Zac Efron, with the High School Musical trilogy now a thoroughly distant memory, is spot-on as Chickie: introduced at loose ends, between hitches as a Merchant Marine. He’s living with his parents and younger sister Christine (Ruby Ashbourne Serkis) in their upper Manhattan Inwood neighborhood, and doing little beyond hanging out with friends each evening at Doc Fiddler’s Saloon, where George “The Colonel” Lynch (Bill Murray, grizzled and irascible) holds court.

 

The Colonel and his patrons, dyed-in-the-wool supporters, are annoyed by protesters whose “antics” are broadcast all over the world; Chickie confronts it more directly, because Christine has joined the local anti-war brigade.

 

These early scenes — particularly Chickie’s argument with his sister — aren’t directed very well; there’s a strong sense that Efron and Serkis are “acting” and merely spouting lines, rather than sincerely inhabiting their characters.

 

Fortunately, matters subsequently improve, particularly when The Colonel — in a mild huff — growls, “I’d like to go over to Vietnam, track down all the boys in the neighborhood, and just give ’em a beer.”

 

“I could do that,” Chickie replies, a thoughtful look on his face.

 

That’s how it starts.

 

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.

The Mummy: Should've stayed buried

The Mummy (2017) • View trailer 
Two stars. Rated PG-13, and generously, for relentless violence, scary images, dramatic intensity, partial nudity and mild sensuality
By Derrick Bang

Tom Cruise is on solid ground when he concentrates on straight action epics, such as the always entertaining Mission: Impossible series.

Nick (Tom Cruise) and Jenny (Annabelle Wallis) can't believe what they're seeing: probably
fresh script pages that make even less sense than what they've endured, thus far, in this
laughable mess of a movie.

But when he attempts to blend adventure with light humor, the results can be dire. He’s a far, far cry from the breezy comedic charisma of — to pull out an appropriate name — Brendan Fraser.

In fairness, Cruise can’t take all the blame for the lamentable mess of The Mummy; there’s plenty to go around. This debut entry in Universal Pictures’ highly touted “Dark Universe” classic monster revival series is a grave disappointment, from Alex Kurtzman’s lackadaisical direction, to a breathtakingly bonkers script credited to no fewer than six (!) people. It would appear that too many cooks spoiled the broth.

This is a kitchen sink mess, with elements borrowed (or stolen) from all over the place, then clumsily stitched together in a manner that only Dr. Frankenstein could love. Cruise swans about, one scene to the next, not even trying for characterization — not that he’s given much — and adding absolutely nothing to these daft proceedings.

Hell, co-star Jake Johnson gives a more engaging performance. And he’s dead most of the time.

This abysmal monster mash clearly was compromised by the need to serve too many masters. I’m surprised the ego-laden Cruise even signed up, because he isn’t the significant element in this ghoul-laden thrill ride; he’s merely window dressing, as the stage is set for future installments involving the Invisible Man, the Wolf Man, the Creature from the Black Lagoon, and the aforementioned Dr. Victor Frankenstein. Establishing all of that pulls focus from the adventure at hand, to its additional detriment.

Mostly, though, this Mummy simply isn’t well conceived. It’s one of those make-it-up-as-we go contrivances, with random, Perils of Pauline-style dangers interrupting microscopic moments of plot. The story also suffers from a malady quite common to modern adventure epics: a villain so strong, so evil, so world-manipulatingly powerful, that there’s simply no way our ordinary, flesh-and-blood heroes could prevail.

Except that the script says they must, and, well, that’s that.

The Nice Guys: Abominable

The Nice Guys (2016) • View trailer 
One star. Rated R, for violence, sexuality, nudity, drug use and relentless profanity
By Derrick Bang

A few minutes into this film, as we’re getting a sense of scruffy private investigator Holland March (Ryan Gosling), he attempts some late-night breaking and entering by wrapping his hand in a cloth, in order to punch out a glass door pane. He nonetheless slashes his wrist quite badly — the likely result, in real life — and we chuckle as he nearly faints at the sight of his own blood.

Meet Dumb and Dumber: Jackson Healey (Russell Crowe, left) and Holland March (Ryan
Gosling) find themselves enmeshed in a missing-persons case that leaves them baffled.
They should just let Holland's daughter, Holly (Angourie Rice), take over; she's much
smarter than both of them combined.

Somewhat later, a 13-year-old girl gets thrown through a plate-glass window. Miraculously, she survives without even a scratch.

Interesting juxtaposition, donchathink?

It also begs the obvious question: Have we become so callous, as a society, that filmmakers assume we’ll be entertained by the sight of a helpless girl body-slammed through glass?

I’d like to think not, since the blame more properly can be directed at the repulsive schmuck who vomited up this tasteless excuse for big-screen popcorn thrills: director/co-scripter Shane Black.

Black established his Hollywood rep back in 1987, with the deservedly popular Lethal Weapon. Unfortunately, his subsequent action thrillers became dumber, noisier and appallingly mean-spirited, climaxing — at the time — with 1991’s indefensibly dreadful Last Boy Scout. Black unleashed one more bomb with 1996’s The Long Kiss Goodnight, and then wisely dropped out of sight for a decade.

When he resurfaced with 2005’s engaging Kiss Kiss Bang Bang — adapting a Brett Halliday mystery novel, and also making a decent directorial debut — Black appeared to have learned his lesson. The results also were good just a few years ago, when he helmed and co-scripted Iron Man 3.

Based on his newest film, though, Black was just building up enough cred to trick some studio — in this case, Warner Bros. — into letting him regress to his bad ol’ self.

So ... how tasteless is The Nice Guys?

It opens with the nauseating tableau of a horny adolescent boy running to the scene of a car crash, and then staring at the driver — a bloodied porn star, her voluminous breasts exposed — as she slowly dies. Black and cinematographer Philippe Rousselot turn us into unwilling voyeurs as well, by making sure those naked boobs are quite well displayed.

March’s constant companion is his 13-year-old daughter, Holly (Angourie Rice, who deserves so much better than this), who spends the entire film exposed to drugs, naked partygoers, porn flicks, appalling violence and a slew of very, very bad people. She also swears a lot, and employs an impressive string of vulgar sexual euphemisms. All of which are played as laugh lines.

Winter's Tale: A crisp, sparkling fantasy

Winter's Tale (2014) • View trailer 
Four stars. Rating: PG-13, for violence and sensuality
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 2.14.14

Fans of Neil Gaiman’s novels, particularly Neverwhere and Stardust, will adore this film.

Director/scripter Akiva Goldsman’s luxuriously romantic fantasy offers the same mythic qualities: a setting that’s familiar yet not quite of this world; an incandescent yet oddly witty love story; and mortal characters — of a sort — caught within a timeless duel between agents of good and evil.

Despite having broken into her home with the intent of stealing its valuables, Peter
(Colin Farrell) finds his plans thwarted after meeting Beverly (Jessica Brown Findlay).
Her response, to this uninvited stranger? Why, to offer him a cup of tea, of course!

It’s such an odd concoction that one false move — a single line of dialogue too precious, delivered with perhaps too much smug arrogance — and the entire narrative would collapse under the weight of its own contrivance. And yet Goldsman unerringly walks that fine line, delivering a warm, gently humorous and richly poignant adaptation of Mark Helprin’s massive 1983 novel.

Indeed, the first miracle is that Goldsman has captured this huge book’s essence in a film that runs a mere 118 minutes. But perhaps we shouldn’t be surprised, given his Academy Award victory for adapting A Beautiful Mind, and his obvious fondness for historical dramas (Cinderella Man) and speculative fiction (The Da Vinci Code, I Am Legend).

Even so, this film’s mere existence represents a second miracle: a most unexpected roll of the dice by Warner Bros. Helprin’s captivating epic is the sort of story that rarely works on the big screen.

The American public is notoriously reluctant to embrace intelligent, adult-oriented fantasy, preferring instead the empty calories of popcorn sci-fi action flicks. Granted, Gaiman is doing his best to help reverse that trend, and Goldsman’s captivating work here could help a great deal.

I frankly hesitate to describe this plot to even a minor degree, because while not a mystery per se, Winter’s Tale derives much of its charm from the many revelations — major and minor — that emerge along the way. Indeed, even the casting offers surprises, all of them pleasant.

Our most unusual protagonist is Peter Lake (Colin Farrell), an orphan with an unusual origin, having arrived in late 19th century New York under quite unlikely circumstances. This is, in fact, the film’s core test: One must accept this startling, almost biblical introduction as a foreshadowing of the storytelling style to come. Having allowed this near-impossible weave of otherworldly thread, the resulting tapestry will be much easier to snuggle into.

Peter grows up poor and uneducated — a skilled thief who also possesses “a way with machines” — and lives on the streets until taken under the wing of a Fagin-like protector, Pearly Soames (Russell Crowe). We catch up with these two in 1916, with Peter on the run after some sort of falling out; the furious Soames and his men are hell-bent on cornering and then killing their prey ... slowly and painfully.

Man of Steel: Dull as iron

Man of Steel (2013) • View trailer 
Three stars. Rating: PG-13, for brief profanity and vicious, unrelenting violence and destruction
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 6.14.13

Grim, humorless and unpleasantly brutal.

Not to mention boring and redundant, particularly during the interminable, body-slamming final act.

No fun at all.

Having been punched through half a dozen buildings by an equally super-powered
adversary, our caped hero (Henry Cavill) pauses for breath before returning to the
city-leveling skirmish. At which point, we wonder: With a hero like this, who
needs enemies?

Director Zack Snyder has delivered a Superman film with the nasty, cataclysmic tone he employed so well — and much more appropriately — in 300 and Watchman: a dark, dour mood that also suited Christopher Nolan’s Batman trilogy, but is wholly out of place here. No surprise: Nolan shares story credit here with David S. Goyer, with whom he co-wrote those Batman epics. All things considered, then, Snyder, Nolan and Goyer have concocted precisely the sort of Superman we should have expected from them.

I do not approve.

All concerned desperately need to take lessons from Joss Whedon, when it comes to choreographing the real estate-leveling carnage of a melee between super-powered beings. As Whedon proved with The Avengers, he understands the importance of the occasional wink and nod, not to mention his recognition of the fine emotional line between necessary collateral damage and a callous disregard for brutalized civilian bystanders.

Snyder obviously relished the opportunity to envision what it really might be like for a being such as Superman to be tossed through half a mile’s worth of office buildings; the director and his special-effects wizards certainly beat such scenes to death. But, speaking of death, it’s impossible to overlook the hundreds (thousands?) of fragile humans who’d be maimed and killed along the way, as a result of each super-powered punch ... which turns Superman’s “code against killing” into something of a joke.

Hell, he must kill scores of people every time he slams his evil, super-powered adversaries through said buildings. Ironic, then, that his code eventually becomes an important — if ill-defined — plot point.

On top of which, the various Metropolis-shattering skirmishes go on for so long, and thus to such diminishing returns, that they become no more meaningful than watching Godzilla stomp and flatten a miniature cardboard Tokyo in all those 1950s and ’60s Japanese monster flicks.

Les Misérables: A slightly tarnished dream

Les Misérables (2012) • View trailer
3.5 stars. Rating: PG-13, for dramatic intensity, violence and sexual content
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 12.26.12

Anne Hathaway’s performance, by itself, is worth the price of admission.

Having finally realized that his failure to intervene earlier has cost Fantine (Anne
Hathaway) her dignity and a great deal more, Valjean (Hugh Jackman) promises to do
better. Sadly, aside from the fact that his actions on Fantine's behalf likely will be too
late, he doesn't even know about her young daughter, also in desperate need of rescue.

Her climactic solo on “I Dreamed a Dream” may be the best musical moment ever captured on film. Nay, one of cinema’s finest five-minute scenes, period.

Words cannot convey the power of her performance, which director Tom Hooper wisely, amazingly, captures in a single long take. Hathaway starts out gangbusters, never taking cover in the multiple edits that have become ubiquitous in too many of today’s lesser musicals, and she simply gets better, stronger, more poignant and powerful as the tune continues.

This is no standard-issue pause for song; Hathaway emotes throughout, never losing her character’s heartbreaking anguish, instead using the lyrics themselves, pouring body and soul into every syllable, as the scene builds, and builds, and builds, until achieving a level of intensity that grabs us by the throat. Her work is positively wrenching.

When she concludes, finally, we sink back with exhaustion. Truly stunned. Blown away. Aware of having witnessed a movie moment for the ages.

Wow.

I can’t say that Hooper achieves the same level of excellence throughout all of this long-awaited, big-screen adaptation of Les Misérables, but he certainly draws similarly superb performances from most of his cast. His film is highlighted by numerous show-stopping songs: some solos, others displaying the exquisite harmonies woven into Claude-Michel Schönberg’s often complex score.

Hugh Jackman is well cast as the stalwart Jean Valjean, the tragic hero whose destiny changes first with an act of kindness by a clergyman, and then again after accepting responsibility for an orphaned little girl. Hathaway is sublime as the doomed Fantine; Sacha Baron Cohen and Helena Bonham Carter provide ample comic relief as the greedy, grasping Thénardier and his wife.

Their production number, “Master of the House,” is another marvelous set-piece, this one an imaginatively choreographed display of larcenous behavior that evokes fond memories of Fagin’s “You’ve Got to Pick a Pocket or Two,” in 1968’s Oliver!

Robin Hood: Straight as an arrow

Robin Hood (2010) • View trailer for Robin Hood
Four stars (out of five). Rating: PG-13, for battlefield violence and occasional sensuality
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 5.14.10
Buy DVD: Robin Hood (Single-Disc Unrated Director's Cut) • Buy Blu-Ray: Robin Hood: Unrated Director's Cut (Blu-ray/DVD Combo + Digital Copy)


Technically, director Ridley Scott's new film should be titled Robin Longstride, because the rugged character played so well by Russell Crowe doesn't become Robin Hood until the final scene.

So no, Brian Helgeland's screenplay — developed from a story by Helgeland, Ethan Reiff and Cyrus Voris — isn't the usual Sherwood Forest romp, with the "merry men" making sport of the Sheriff of Nottingham, while robbing the rich to benefit the poor. This drama purports to reveal what transformed a skilled infantry archer in King Richard the Lionheart's army into a renegade no longer loyal to his king.

Robin Longstride (Russell Crowe, foreground right) chances upon an ambush
of British soldiers by French mercenaries, an intolerable situation that will
prompt him and his men -- from left, Allan A'Dayle (Alan Doyle), Little John
(Kevin Durand) and Will Scarlet (Scott Grimes) -- to lend their able support.
The results of this skirmish will shape Longstride's future.

As such, Helgeland plays fast and loose with both history and established legend, although that's probably splitting hairs; we've little idea what really went down in the 13th century, cell phone cameras not yet having been developed. Most of what modern folks know about Robin Hood derives from films starring the likes of Errol Flynn, Sean Connery and Kevin Costner, along with Richard Greene's extremely popular mid-1950s TV series.

Our only concern is whether Scott, Helgeland and Crowe deliver a suitably involving drama. They succeed, and quite admirably.

Things begin as King Richard (Danny Huston, one of few badly cast players in this film) and his troops, taking the long way home after their less than glorious behavior during the Third Crusade, lay siege to one final castle in despised France. They win the skirmish but lose everything else: King Richard is killed in battle.

Meanwhile, back in London, Richard's younger brother, John (Oscar Isaac) has upset his mother, Eleanor of Aquitaine (Eileen Atkins), by abandoning his British wife in favor of a French crumpet (Lea Seydoux, as Isabella of Angoulme). Worse yet, John has placed his trust in the duplicitous Sir Godfrey (Mark Strong, always a marvelous villain), who secretly plots with France's King Philip to invade England.

The timing is perfect, as the increasingly desperate British people have been taxed almost to starvation, in order to finance the Crusades. Sentiment against the crown is high, and a divided British populace unwilling to unite behind its monarch makes the country a tempting target for King Philip.

Eleanor recognizes this all too well, as does Sir William Marshal (William Hurt), her most trusted adviser. The question, though, is how to win over angered landowners and desperate serfs who've no love for the newly crowned King John: a childish twerp who does himself no good with arrogant temper tantrums and vindictive behavior.

Isaac plays such immaturity quite well; he truly makes John a ruler we love to hate.

State of Play: Suspenseful game

State of Play (2009) • View trailer for State of Play
Four stars (out of five). Rating: PG-13, for violence and brief profanity
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 4.17.09
Buy DVD: State of Play • Buy Blu-Ray: State of Play [Blu-ray]


The fire alarm went off as the third act heated up during Tuesday evening's preview screening of State of Play, and the collective moan of disappointment clearly indicated the degree to which the Sacramento-area audience had been wrapped up in the drama.

We all dutifully filed out of the theater, joining other customers departing from their respective movies, and everybody's night out came to a premature conclusion. Full disclosure demands that I acknowledge not yet having seen the final half-hour or so of State of Play (although I certainly intend to catch up with the rest).

The first time Della (Rachel McAdams) seeks help from Cal (Russell Crowe),
he blows her off, not willing to be bothered by an upstart who believes that
self-indulgent blogging is the height of journalism. But as their two
respective stories unexpectedly converge, Cal takes a chance that Della will
get fired up by the hynotic allure of true investigative reporting; his hunch
proves correct, and then this story really kicks into gear.

That said, I'm quite comfortable pronouncing director Kevin MacDonald's film an absorbing thriller, based both on the 90 minutes we did see, and my recognition of the fidelity with which screenwriters Matthew Michael Carnahan, Tony Gilroy and Billy Ray adapted the gripping 2003 British miniseries — Paul Abbott, take a bow — on which this film is based.

As a sidebar, State of Play also reminds me of the degree to which investigative journalists make great movie heroes, and the potential loss we all face, in a world of downsized — or fully shuttered — newspapers no longer able to sic inquisitive reporters on highly placed political and/or corporate figures who are Up To No Good.

Hollywood has produced plenty of great films about newspapers and reporters, from the exaggerated farce of His Girl Friday to more cautionary dramas such as Call Northside 777 and All the President's Men. State of Play belongs with the latter.

And I'm not just saying this because this film's protagonist delivers a few superbly placed shots about the poorly researched, self-indulgent uselessness of most blogs. Although those are great one-liners. And I did want to stand up and cheer.

Anyway...

MacDonald's film hits the ground running, with two seemingly unrelated events: the execution-style killing of a young street punk, and the attempted murder of an unfortunate witness; and the apparent suicide-by-subway of Sonia Baker (Maria Thayer), a Capitol Hill staff assistant and researcher to rising congressman Stephen Collins (Ben Affleck).

Veteran Washington Globe reporter Cal McAffrey (Russell Crowe) gets the first story, and is intrigued by the marksmanship involved with the double-shooting. The second piece falls to fresh-faced Globe blogger Della Frye (Rachel McAdams), who sees little beyond the obvious fact that the very married Collins was having an affair with his assistant.

Thus, in the time-honored fashion of sleazy tabloids — the level to which most so-called "news" bloggers aspire — Della leads the charge to smear the congressman.

Body of Lies: Truth or dare

Body of Lies (2008) • View trailer for Body of Lies
3.5 stars (out of five). Rating: R, for violence, profanity and graphic torture
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 10.10.08
Buy DVD: Body of Lies • Buy Blu-Ray: Body of Lies (+ BD Live) [Blu-ray]

For all its concussive, eardrum-shattering explosions and a nasty contemporary plot certain to unsettle — if not terrify — viewers already worried about the spread of Islamic fanaticism, director Ridley Scott's new film is most persuasive during its quieter, conversational moments between two people ... proving once again that the foundation of good drama is character, character, character.

Roger Ferris (Leonardo DiCaprio) first meets Aisha (Golshifteh Farahani) when
she begins his rabies therapy after a particularly vicious dog attack; he quickly
realizes that his interest in this kind, soft-spoken nurse is more than casual. But
is such a relationship wise, in a profession that puts him — and anybody he
knows — in harm's way?

And Body of Lies is filled with intriguing characters, all of them played quite persuasively by actors who do their best to stand out against Scott's perhaps too-eager inclination to ratchet up the tension with scenes of grisly, crowd-laden mayhem.

Indeed, the balance is wrong, during the scattershot first act, before all the players have been assembled on this story's chessboard; I began to worry that Ridley was unwisely imitating the insufferably tiresome visual tics and hiccups of his more bombastic but lesser-talented brother, Tony Scott.

Fortunately, cinematographer Alexander Witt's zigzag camerawork does settle down, and the prime movers in William Monahan's script — adapted from David Ignatius' chilling novel — are allowed to develop and coalesce. At this point, Body of Lies gets interesting and engage our minds, rather than simply trying to frighten us to death.

The primary relationship is one of distant opposites. Under deep cover and on the ground in Iraq, Jordan or Syria, CIA op Roger Ferris (Leonardo DiCaprio) relies on razor-sharp instincts and language fluency to discover and infiltrate terrorist cells, and thus gain knowledge about — or even help prevent — destructive acts against innocent civilians.

Ferris takes his marching orders from, and is in constant contact with, seasoned handler Ed Hoffman (Russell Crowe), an insufferably pragmatic analyst whose big- picture views frequently collide with Ferris' intimate methods. Hoffman demands immediate results and will hasten the "development" (read: ruthless exploitation) of an "asset" (informant), even if this threatens long-term gains; Ferris is more willing to patiently nurture a source, believing that trust will reap more benefits than intimidation.

Their endless philosophical squabble takes place via the continuous cell phone conversations that link Ferris, bouncing hither and yon overseas, to Hoffman, based at Langley's CIA headquarters and outwardly living the life of an average suburban soccer dad. The incongruity of these long-distance dialogues, set against the actions of both men at any given moment — Ferris often chasing a suspect or fleeing for his life, Hoffman helping his young son make the transition to grown-up bathroom behavior — is deliberately ironic and always mordantly amusing. Talk about multi-tasking!