The Beanie Bubble: Bursts with fun

The Beanie Bubble (2023) • View trailer

3.5 stars (out of five). Rated R, for profanity

Available via: Apple TV+

By Derrick Bang • Published in The Davis Enterprise, 8.11.23

On June 3, 1999, a massive truck was side-swiped and overturned on Atlanta’s I-285 during rush hour, spilling its contents onto the freeway.

 

The payload: a massive shipment of “Stretchy the Ostrich” Teenie Beanie Babies, bound for a McDonald’s outlet.

 

"Success," insists Ty Warner (Zack Galifianakis), "is 1 percent inspiration, and 99 perecent
presentation." New business partner Robbie (Elizabeth Banks) plays along, when the
two prepare to make a splash at their first collaborative toy fair.

Rather than stop to determine if the driver was all right, or call 911, numerous motorists — according to an Associated Press wire story — “leaned from their cars to scoop up the Beanie Babies with one hand, while they kept rolling with the other hand on the wheel.”

Co-directors Kristin Gore and Damian Kulash open their engaging film with a re-enactment of that chaotic scene, albeit with a bit of dramatic license: full-size Beanies, a wide variety of styles, and drivers exiting their cars to grab an armful.

 

The Beanie Bubble — scripted by Gore, from Zac Bissonnette’s 2015 non-fiction book, The Great Beanie Baby Bubble: Mass Delusion and the Dark Side of Cute — is a dramatized account of the toy craze that captivated folks during the latter years of the 20th century, and early 21st. It’s a deliciously scathing indictment of both speculative greed — on par with the 17th century Dutch tulip craze — and the Svengali-like sway an entrepreneur held over three key women in his professional and personal life.

 

Although there’s no doubt Ty Warner was an incredibly gifted businessman with acute market sense, he also exploited and subsequently abandoned talented colleagues who deserved equal credit for his company’s success. Given that two also became lovers, Gore and Kulash’s entertaining film shines a well-deserved light on the fact that success, in this case, required a village of four.

 

Much of this saga’s depiction here is accurate; other key details are — shall we say — massaged. Gore and Kulash are up front about this, opening with a cheeky text block that reads “There are parts of the truth you just can’t make up. The rest, we did.”

 

Their film unfolds in a non-linear fashion, bouncing between multiple timelines that depict how Warner (played here by Zack Galifianakis) meets and soon relies upon Robbie (Elizabeth Banks), Sheila (Sarah Snook) and Maya (Geraldine Viswanathan).

 

Robbie — at loose ends, stuck in an unhappy marriage — enters Warner’s life in 1983, just as his fledgling toy company achieves its first breakthrough: plush cats that are deliberately under-stuffed, to make them more cuddly and lifelike. The two become lovers and partners, with Robbie’s sharp business acumen quite instrumental in building the Ty brand.

 

Banks deftly captures the nuanced thrill of a woman given an opportunity to emerge from an unhappy shell, to become a mover and shaker. Robbie becomes dynamic, playful and (so she believes) firmly in control of what blossoms into an exciting career. She’s also the only person who can stand up to the often imperious Warner; Banks’ steely sideways glance gets plenty of action.

 

The Glass Castle: A shattering family dynamic

The Glass Castle (2017) • View trailer 
Four stars. Rated PG-13, and generously, for dramatic intensity, family dysfunction, children in peril, and brief profanity
By Derrick Bang

And I thought Detroit was hard to watch.

(It is. So’s this one.)

As Friedrich Nietzsche observed, That which does not kill us, makes us stronger.

Rex (Woody Harrelson, center), ever the ludicrous idealist, attempts to put a positive
spin on the dilapicated shack that his family is about to call hom; everybody else — from
left, Lori (Sadie Sink), Brian (Charlie Shotwell), Jeannette (Ella Anderson), Rose Mary
(Naomi Watts) and Maureen (Eden Grace Redfield) — is justifiably appalled.

Jeannette Walls must be pretty damn strong.

Walls’ riveting — and frequently heartbreaking — 2005 account of a childhood spent with nomadic and unstable parents remained a fixture on the New York Times Best Seller list for an astonishing 261 weeks. The book is a deeply personal memoir told with grace, perceptive intelligence and unexpected wit; it leaves readers not only with great respect for Walls — and her three siblings — as survivors, but also emphasizes the spiritual importance of closure and forgiveness.

Most readers undoubtedly finished the final pages with awe, thinking, You’re a better, nobler soul than I, Ms. Walls.

Her book has been transformed into an equally compelling film by up-and-coming director Destin Daniel Cretton, who with co-scripter Andrew Lanham has distilled the crucial essence and vitality of Walls’ book, while miraculously finding the heart of a saga that feels unrelentingly tragic. Granted, he had help: not only from his three primary stars, but also from an impressively well-selected collection of young actors.

Everybody turns in a masterful, thoroughly persuasive performance. Which, of course, makes the film that much harder to watch.

Cretton begins his film in 1989. Jeannette (Brie Larson) is polished, poised and refined: every inch a late twentysomething Manhattan journalist, regaling friends and professional acquaintances with often hilarious tales of her encounters while penning the “Intelligencer” column for New York magazine. She’s engaged to marry David (Max Greenfield), an ambitious financial advisor on the fast track to Big Apple aristocracy.

But we sense something. Jeannette is too elegant: less a human being and more a porcelain doll. Larson’s features are frozen, and she moves with a stiffness that suggests fragility, and the possibility that she might shatter at any moment.

A chance encounter during a late-night taxi ride home calls up memories, at which point Cretton establishes the format for his narrative: Jeannette’s saga will bounce back and forth, from present to past, until the two intersect.

The Dressmaker: Leaves us in stitches

The Dressmaker (2015) • View trailer 
3.5 stars. Rated R, and rather harshly, for occasional profanity and fleeting drug content
By Derrick Bang 

Revenge is a dish best served with needle and thread.

Metaphors aren’t the only things mixed in director/co-scripter Jocelyn Moorhouse’s deliciously savage adaptation of Rosalie Ham’s 2000 novel. The Dressmaker starts as a tart-tongued Aussie burlesque populated by small-town eccentrics: something of a cross between Tim Burton’s sensibilities, and arch British films such as Cold Comfort Farm and Death at a Funeral.

Returning to her home town after an absence of two decades, Tilly (Kate Winslet,
standing) finds that her first chore is to restore order — and cleanliness — to the
grotesquely messy house in which her mother Molly (Judy Davis) is living.

But just as you’ve settled into what seems a comfortable — if rather scathing — groove, the story takes a jaw-dropping third-act lurch and turns dark. Very dark. Pitch-black gallows humor.

All of which continues to work, even as we gasp for breath. Ham had a lot to say about small-minded, small-town snobbery — “suspicion, malice and prejudice,” in her own words — and such concerns are the thread from which this cutting tapestry is woven. Moorhouse and co-scripter P.J. Hogan (who brought us Muriel’s Wedding) faithfully retain both the tone and essential plot points from Ham’s book, and the result is a tasty blend of social commentary, mystery and oh-so-sweet revenge saga.

The time is 1951, the setting the tiny community of Dungatar, a one-horse town deep in the wheat belt of southeast Australia. The film opens late one night, as a mysterious woman arrives by bus. This is Tilly Dunnage (Kate Winslet): poised, polished and professional.

And the last person most folks in Dungatar ever wanted to see again.

Moorhouse slyly parcels out brief, sepia-hued flashbacks. As a child, Tilly was hated by the one-room schoolteacher; was the butt of every other child’s prank; was despised even by local adults. The distraught little girl lacked the sophistication to realize that she was being “punished” for being an illegitimate child, her mother Molly (Judy Davis) having defied social convention by remaining in town to raise her daughter alone.

Now, 20 years later, and having been trained in France to become a haute couture designer, Tilly has returned to Dungatar. Ostensibly, she has come back to care for her ailing and now wildly peculiar mother; under the surface, though, Tilly wants answers.

She also wants payback.

The first task, though, may prove impossible. Molly, a bitter recluse with a particularly nasty tongue, won’t even acknowledge Tilly as her daughter; the early confrontations between these two women are hilarious. Davis never has been more wily, Winslet never more grimly determined. Cackling eccentrics are an actor’s dream come true, and Davis milks the role for all it’s worth.

Were it not for my fear that this little film won’t attract any attention, Davis would be a shoo-in for a supporting actress Academy Award nomination, if not the statue itself. Yes, she’s that good.