I Wanna Dance with Somebody: Celebratory

I Wanna Dance with Somebody (2022) • View trailer

3.5 stars (out of five). Rated PG-13, for drug use, profanity and emotional abuse

Available via: Movie theaters

By Derrick Bang

Film biographies live or die on the basis of the starring performance, and Naomi Ackie is by far this project’s strongest asset (although, in fairness, she’s surrounded by an equally strong supporting cast).

 

As her career explodes, and she finds herself surrounded by an increasing number of
"takers," Whitney Houston (Naomi Ackie) knows that she always can trust
Clive Davis (Stanley Tucci) to look out for her best interests.

Ackie persuasively runs the complex emotional arc of Whitney Houston’s tempestuous — and tragically brief — career: modest ingénue; giddy breakthrough artist; savvy judge of what works best; regal diva; betrayed daughter; out-of-control mega-celebrity, blind to the way in which she’s torching her own brand; and, ultimately, wan and emaciated substance abuser.

During the best and brightest moments, Ackie’s mimicry is almost eerie: the warmly radiant smile; the shrewd, theatrical hand gestures and body language; and — most crucially — the sheer magnetic presence this woman displayed, both on stage and during quieter moments. She lights up an otherwise quiet room, sucks all the air out of a massive, sold-out theater.

 

What Ackie does not do, however, is sing; she lip-synchs everything to Houston’s actual vocals. (It is, credit where due, extremely convincing lip-synching.)

 

This, perhaps, is the most visible example of the compromises, omissions and tread-very-carefully decisions that director Kasi Lemmons and scripter Anthony McCarten were forced to make, every step of the way: both in order to please the many surviving associates and family members, and to avoid potential defamation lawsuits.

 

This is most obvious during McCarten’s “softening” of Bobby Brown (Ashton Sanders), and the ludicrously restrained manner in which the film deals with his abusive behavior during their 14-year train wreck of a marriage.

 

On the other hand — and no doubt a reflection of our more enlightened times — McCarten’s depiction of Houston’s bisexuality is refreshingly frank, along with her long, complex relationship with best friend (and eventually executive assistant) Robyn Crawford (Nafessa Williams). 

 

Their flirty, meet-cute connection, as young women, is one of this film’s many pleasures. Williams is similarly excellent as the effervescent lover turned steadfast, truth-telling watchdog, as Whitney’s career ascends and then heads into troubled waters. Robyn’s feisty, take-no-prisoners loyalty cracks only briefly, when the necessity of a heterosexual “image” derails any chance of a longstanding romantic relationship.

 

Robyn’s crestfallen expression — and rage — are heartbreaking, when this moment of truth arrives.

A Journal for Jordan: A heartwarming read

A Journal for Jordan (2021) • View trailer

Four stars (out of five). Rated PG-13, for sexual candor, partial nudity, drug use and mild profanity

Available via: Movie theaters

By Derrick Bang

Messing with a Pulitzer Prize-winner’s memoir requires considerable chutzpah, as I’m sure director Denzel Washington and screenwriter Virgil Williams must’ve been well aware.

 

It takes quite awhile, But Dana (Chanté Adams) finally persuades Charles
(Michael B. Jordan) to visit her in New York ... at which point, what could be more
romantic than a walk in the park?

Nor is A Journal for Jordan a run-of-the-mill memoir; it’s the deeply moving saga of two wildly dissimilar people who — almost reluctantly — stumbled their way into one of The Great Love Affairs Of All Time, and of the touching legacy that a father left his infant son.

Heavy stuff.

 

To their credit, Washington and Williams have nobly honored the source material, while delivering a heartfelt romantic drama that — inescapably — builds to a tear-jerking conclusion.

 

It’s not spoiling anything to reveal that, as this film begins, First Sgt. Charles Monroe King (Michael B. Jordan) is dead; that much is blindingly obvious from our introduction to New York Times journalist Dana Canedy (Chanté Adams), at lowest possible ebb. It’s 2007, and she’s utterly unable to channel or process her grief; she’s prickly at work, irritated by the concern of longtime friends, and hanging on solely because of her infant son, Jordan.

 

Even under these emotionally battered circumstances, Adams conveys a strong sense of Dana’s initiative, investigative resourcefulness and journalistic chops … along with a hell-you-will refusal to share her work with a colleague, simply because he’s a male colleague. And — quickly determined — a wet-behind-the-ears and clearly unprepared male colleague, at that.

 

(Will we never get beyond such sexist behavior?)

 

This scene, in the New York Times bullpen, is a quick glimpse of how Washington and Williams will sketch the rest of their film: via revealing expressions and body language, and concise — but quite telling — exchanges of dialogue.

 

This is a true relationship drama; the story unfolds via illuminating dialogue exchanges between lovers, parents and children, and caring friends. The overall tone is gentle and mostly quiet, allowing us to enter these characters’ lives, as they bond with each other. Washington extracts sensitive, heartfelt performances from everybody, including the minor players.

 

We enjoy spending time with them. How often can you say that?