Beverly Hills Cop 4: Axel F — Everything old is (not quite) new again

Beverly Hills Cop 4: Axel F (2024) • View trailer

3.5 stars (out of five). Rated R, for violence, drug use and relentless profanity

Available via: Netflix

By Derrick Bang • Published in The Davis Enterprise, 7.14.24

The cinema summer of 2024 should be dubbed Return of the Ancient Franchise.

 

Six weeks ago, Garfield the cat returned to the big screen, not quite two decades after his previous appearance. One week later, Will Smith and Martin Lawrence reunited (yet again!) for Bad Boys: Ride or Die. In two weeks, we’re getting Twisters, a sorta-kinda retread of 1996’s Twister. The winner’s trophy, however, goes to Michael Keaton’s return in Beetlejuice Beetlejuice on Sept. 6 ... not quite four decades after he last donned that pasty make-up.

 

Having become reluctant allies, Jane (Taylour Paige) and Bobby (Joseph Gordon-Levitt)
listen attentively as Axel (Eddie Murphy) outlines a plan to gain access to a top floor
private gathering.

Meanwhile, Netflix has given us Beverly Hills Cop: Axel F, 30 years after Eddie Murphy last played the title character.

The good news is that director Mark Molloy and his scripters — Will Beall, Tom Gormican and Kevin Ketten — respect this franchise’s fan base. They’ve delivered a well-assembled product that ticks all the necessary boxes, and — in more ways than one — can be considered a cast reunion and nostalgic throwback to the 1984 original.

 

The soundtrack certainly hasn’t changed; the film opens with the pulsating sax grooves from Glenn Frey’s “The Heat Is On,” and it doesn’t take long for The Pointer Sisters’ “Neutron Dance” and Harold Faltermeyer’s instrumental “Axel F” to arrive. Indeed, the latter pops up, in various arrangements, throughout the entire film (perhaps a bit too frequently).

 

And — of course — Murphy takes every opportunity to deliver Axel’s signature foul-mouthed and smart-assed schtick, often while pretending to be somebody else. It’s part of the character’s charm, and no; it hasn’t worn thin.

 

The bad news is that producer Jerry Bruckheimer’s reputation precedes him, with respect to the ludicrously overblown amount of real estate, vehicles and personal property that gets destroyed during the course of this saga. Bruckheimer remains the poster boy for wretched excess, and Molloy and stunt supervisor Mike Gunther cheerfully oblige.

 

(That said, it’s nice that the original Bruckheimer/Don Simpson logo heralds this new film, by way of acknowledging his late partner’s involvement with the first one.)

 

The action kicks off one evening in Detroit, as Axel interrupts the theft of sports memorabilia from the players’ locker room during an ice hockey game. The subsequent vehicular chase finds Axel in a garbage truck-sized city snowplow, in pursuit of four baddies on peppy quad-cycles: a smash ’n’ crash sequence that destroys a good-sized chunk of the city. 

 

After which, Axel’s only “punishment” is standing back as beloved boss Deputy Chief Friedman (Paul Reiser) falls on his sword and retires, in order to keep his “favorite cop” out of trouble with the Police Commissioner.

 

(As if. One would hope that Beall and the other writers would try a little harder, but this sort of nonsense has long been a franchise hallmark.)

Mack & Rita: Body-swap redux

Mack & Rita (2022) • View trailer

Two stars (out of five). Rated PG-13, for sexual candor, drug use and occasional profanity

Available via: Movie theaters

By Derrick Bang

This is a modestly entertaining rom-com fantasy … when it gets out of its own way.

 

Actress-turned-first-time-director Katie Aselton tries much too hard at times, particularly during an off-putting first act that smacks of desperation. She tolerates the over-acting and breathlessly exaggerated line deliveries that suggest she and the cast don’t entirely trust Madeline Walter and Paul Welsh’s script.

 

"Aunt Rita" (Diane Keaton, center), encouraged by the younger self within her old body,
attempts to make the most of a group exercise session

Matters aren’t helped when the flow constantly is interrupted by Leo Birenberg’s overstated score and a paralyzingly loud assortment of raucous pop tunes. Or by the fact that Walter and Welsh open their story with a tiresome dog-pee incident. (Isn’t it time to retire this sight gag for eternity?)

Things improve as the tone settles down, and the story establishes its identity. By the final act, the actors have settled into their roles; the characters have grown on us, and the conclusion — although blatantly obvious throughout — is rather sweet.

 

Fledgling author Mack (Elizabeth Lail), with one published book under her belt, struggles — under the “guidance” of her smug and condescending agent (Patti Harrison, thoroughly obnoxious) — to generate “content” for a social media realm of influencers and “likes.” And she wonders: Is this really writing? (Answer: Of course not.)

 

The situation is worsened by Mack’s inherent nature; she’s an “old soul” in a young body, having been raised by a grandmother who encouraged her interest in retro clothes and genteel manners. None of this is appropriate behavior or attire for the wedding plans being made for longtime best friend Carla (Taylour Paige), who has arranged a “gal pal” weekend Palm Springs retreat with party-hearty posse buddies Sunita (Aimee Carrero) and Ali (Addie Weyrich).

 

Aselton obviously encouraged Carrero and Weyrich to be as aggressively unpleasant as possible: a challenge they embrace with enthusiasm. One wonders: Are they supposed to be funny? If so, they miss by a mile.

 

Worn down by too much drinking and clubbing, Mack opts out of a flash concert, choosing instead to investigate the offer of spiritual relaxation in a tent set up in an otherwise vacant lot. (You gotta just roll with this.) Much like Doctor Who’s TARDIS, this tent is much larger on the inside; Mack cheerfully parts with her credit card in order to embrace her true inner self in a “regression pod” that looks suspiciously like a recycled tanning booth. (You really gotta just roll with this.)

 

After screaming her desire to become the 70-year-old she knows resides inside her, Mack gets her wish; when she emerges, fresh-faced Lail has been replaced by Diane Keaton.

 

Although disorientation and hysteria seem a reasonable first response, Keaton wildly overplays these early scenes, to a degree that’s embarrassing. 

Ma Rainey's Black Bottom: Absolutely unforgettable

Ma Rainey's Black Bottom (2020) • View trailer

Five stars. Rated R, for profanity, sexual candor and violence

By Derrick Bang • Published in The Davis Enterprise, 2.5.21  

August Wilson’s plays are not for the faint of heart.

 

Even acknowledging that, Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom is acutely harrowing: a cry of rage whose 1982 stage debut was almost six decades removed from its 1927 setting, and — sadly — just as relevant today, almost a full century after the events depicted within.

 

At first, the other combo members — from left, in the rear, Toledo (Glynn Turman),
Slow Drag (Michael Potts) and Cutler (Colman Domingo) — are amused by the
arrogance and swagger of the much younger Levee (Chadwick Boseman). But he'll
soon wind them up far beyond patience and endurance.

Wilson’s play is the second in what would become his 10-play Pittsburgh Cycle. It’s the third chronologically, following Gem of the Ocean (set in the 1900s) and Joe Turner’s Come and Gone (1910s).

 

Director George C. Wolfe and scripter Ruben Santiago-Hudson have “opened up” this Netflix film adaptation a bit, tweaked the narrative chronology here and there, and amplified a key climactic metaphor (the latter a powerful enhancement). But rest assured: This remains Wilson’s play, and its frustrated anger and impotent despair are delivered via stunning work from stars Viola Davis and Chadwick Boseman (the latter’s final film, prior to his untimely death last August).

 

Only rarely is a film able to deliver the intensity of live performances by charismatic actors, who literally suck the air out of the room when they saunter onto a stage.

 

This is one of those occasions.

 

A brief prologue establishes legendary singer Ma Rainey’s enormous popularity — deservedly dubbed “The Mother of the Blues” — among fans in her native Columbus, Ga. We then cut to Chicago, during the sweltering summer of 1927, where Ma has agreed to interrupt her current tour long enough to cut a record for the flyspeck Hot Rhythms label.

 

(Ma is the sole character in Wilson’s 10-play cycle who is based on a real person. She also was an unapologetically “out” lesbian, who in her song “Prove It On Me,” crooned “Went out last night with a crowd of my friends/Must have been women, ’cause I don’t like men.”)

 

Her band arrives first: pianist Toledo (Glynn Turman, who has played the role on stage), bassist Slow Drag (Michael Potts) and trombonist Cutler (Colman Domingo). Cornet player Levee (Boseman) is a bit late, having been distracted into purchasing a pair of flashy yellow shoes spotted in a shop window.

 

We’ve already seen — in the aforementioned prologue — that Levee has a high opinion of his musical chops, and has a tendency to upstage Ma (to her visual displeasure).

 

Once assembled, the four band members are confronted by the two white men supervising the recording session: exploitative, penny-pinching studio owner Sturdyvant (Jonny Coyne); and Ma’s manager Irvin (Jeremy Shamos). Both want to know where the hell Ma is; Irvin does his best to calm Sturdyvant’s mounting anger.