The Luckiest Man in America: A quirky, fact-based morality tale

The Luckiest Man in America (2024) • View trailer

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

Available via: Amazon Prime and other VOD options

By Derrick Bang

This is an excellent thematic companion to 1994’s Quiz Show.

 

But while that earlier game show scandal drama is a handsomely mounted major studio production, this new film from director/co-scripter Samir Oliveros is cheekily retro and unapologetically low-budget ... which adds to its sense of period authenticity.

 

While fellow contestant Ed Long (Brian Geraghty, left) watches attentively, Michael Larson
(Paul Walter Hauser) prepares for his firt spin of the "Big Board" on the TV game show
Press Your Luck.

Modest production values aside, Oliveros nonetheless gets the most from a strong cast, as this jaw-dropping saga unfolds. And although he and co-writers Mattie Briggs and Amanda Freedman carefully insist that some details have been “massaged” for dramatic intensity, much of what unfolds here — including the names of all key participants — goes down just as it happened.

Following a brief first act, events take place during a single day of taping for Press Your Luck, a CBS game show that ran from 1983 to 1986 ... and likely would be entirely forgotten today, were it not for what happened on May 19, 1984.

 

Shy, withdrawn, down-on-his-luck ice cream truck driver Michael Larson (Paul Walter Hauser), a hapless social misfit, sneaks into Press Your Luck auditions. He cheekily claims somebody else’s appointment slot, gets caught and ejected ... but not before winning over executive producer Bill Carruthers (David Strathairn), who suspects the guy would make “good television.”

 

Michael has a great back-story. He admits driving across the entire country in his ice cream truck, and hopes to win enough cash to impress his estranged wife and young daughter.

 

Casting director Chuck (Shamier Anderson) is dubious. Something doesn’t seem right about the guy.

 

Carruthers nonetheless books Michael for the next day’s taping. As requested, he arrives wearing a suit jacket and tie ... making him even more comical, atop baggy shorts (which won’t be visible during taping). The obviously nervous and twitchy Michael is ushered onto the set by Sylvia (Maisie Williams), a kind-hearted production assistant who nonetheless eyes him warily.

 

Michael takes the middle “hot seat” between co-contestants Ed Long (Brian Geraghty) and Janie Litras (Patti Harrison): the former a minister, the latter a dental assistant.

 

Walton Goggins is note-perfect as smarmy show host Peter Tomarken, whose occasional off-color jokes — sometimes at the expense of contestants — delight the studio audience.

 

(Tomarken is a product of that still less-enlightened time. Remember how Richard Dawson always kissed every female contestants on Family Feud? Yuck!)

Spirit Untamed: Hobbled horse

Spirit Untamed (2021) • View trailer

Two stars. Rated PG, and needlessly, for mild peril

By Derrick Bang • Published in The Davis Enterprise, 6.4.21

Although little girls probably will embrace this film, debuting today at movie theaters, the rest of the viewing demographic will be unimpressed.

 

When her beloved horse is snatched by a heartless wrangler, Lucky (far left) enlists the
help of best friends Pru (center) and Abigail, as they pursue the nasty desperado.

Unlike the first film in this franchise — 2002’s Spirit, Stallion of the Cimarron, which is a lush, hand-drawn production with genuine heart — this new entry is soulless, coldly calculated product. The simplistic script — by Aury Wallington, Kristin Hahn and Katherine Nolfi — does little beyond re-booting the origin story from Wallington’s 2017-19 TV series offshoot, Spirit Riding Free.

 Scant effort is made to individualize most of the primary characters, who aren’t much more than stereotypical tics and hiccups. Goodness, the villain of the piece — voiced by Walton Goggins — isn’t even granted a name.

 

Co-directors Elaine Bogan and Ennio Torresan bring nothing to the party.

 

Even the CGI animation is flat and uninspired. The entire production has the bland, lazy, slapdash and cloyingly sweet atmosphere of something that was rushed to market, with minimal concern for quality. It’s an overlong TV episode with delusions of grandeur: not quite My Little Pony territory, but darn close.

 

Young Lucky Prescott (Isabela Merced) never knew her mother, Milagro Navarro, a famous horse-riding stunt performer from Miradero, a small town (this from the press notes) “on the edge of the wide-open frontier.” Ergo, figure mid-19th century American West. Although Lucky has grown up on the more “civilized” East Coast, she has her mother’s rebellious streak and love of danger.

 

This greatly concerns her Aunt Cora (Julianne Moore), who decides to move them back to Miradero, where Lucky’s father, Jim (Jake Gyllenhaal), may have better luck controlling the girl.

 

Although initially out of place in this raucous railroad town, Lucky soon becomes best buds with Abigail Stone (McKenna Grace) and Pru Granger (Marsai Martin). Each is bonded to a horse — Boomerang and Chica Linda, respectively — which proves useful when Lucky becomes infatuated with a newly captured wild Mustang she dubs Spirit.

 

This Mustang also catches the eye of a heartless horse wrangler (Goggins), who hopes to capture both Spirit and the extensive herd that he led in the wild. The girls, in turn, are determined to stop him.

 

That’s it for plot. 

Words on Bathroom Walls: Profound thoughts

Words on Bathroom Walls (2020) • View trailer 

Four stars. Rated PG-13, for dramatic intensity, sexual candor and brief profanity

By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 9.11.20 

Films concerning mental illness generally rely on actors to convey the disease’s twitchy instability, erratic behavior and the often heartbreaking frustration that comes from self-awareness: Mary Stuart Masterson (1993’s Benny & Joon) and Bradley Cooper (2012’s Silver Linings Playbook) come to mind.

 

More than anything else, Adam (Charlie Plummer) wants to lead a "normal" life ...
which means that he insists on keeping  his mental instability secret from Maya
(Taylor Russell).

Our sense of such characters remains mostly external; we rarely experience the unreality of their shattered senses. Skillful authors can depict that in a novel, but it’s much harder to convey visually, without the result becoming silly … or, even worse, trivialized.

 

Director Thor Freudenthal and scripter Nick Naveda deftly avoid such pitfalls, with their sensitive, shattering — and, at times, even chilling — adaptation of Julia Walton’s 2017 novel. Thanks also to a strong cast, this saga of teenage schizophrenia is illuminating, sobering and, yes, heartwarming.

 

That said, the book’s fans will note that while Naveda retains the essential plot points, he has taken serious liberties with details. Numerous characters have been dropped, and key events have been altered. (Rather crucially, the significance of the book’s title has been tampered with.) It’s perhaps safer to say that this film is inspired by Walton’s novel, rather than faithfully adapted from it.

 

Much the way Walton presents her story as a series of journal entries, Adam (Charlie Plummer) narrates his saga during a series of sessions with an off-camera psychiatrist (never revealed). He’s a standard-issue high school kid with a doting single mother (Molly Parker, as Beth); the two of them have become a “team” after being abandoned by his father.

 

Charlie’s a bit on the nerdish end: mildly unkempt, with long, straggly hair that frequently obscures his eyes. Partly in an effort to cheer up his mother, following the breakup, he experimented with cooking, and has developed considerable culinary talents; he dreams of becoming a chef in a posh restaurant.

 

But Charlie has become increasingly dogged by often terrifying illusions, always triggered by black mists and a growling, disembodied voice emanating from open doorways. He and his mother pursue various drugs and therapies, none of which slows his frightening slide into mental instability.

 

Ant-Man and the Wasp: Diminutive delight

Ant-Man and the Wasp (2018) • View trailer 
3.5 stars. Rated PG-13, for sci-fi action violence
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 7.6.18

OK, this character is growing on me.

If only a bit.

With FBI agents and criminal mercenaries determined to snatch her father's technology,
Hope (Evangeline Lilly) prepares for battle as the Wasp, while Scott (Paul Rudd)
reluctantly suits up as Ant-Man.

2015’s Ant-Man was a train wreck, due to its insufferably smug tone and an over-reliance on Three Stooges-style farce: a rare miscalculation in the carefully plotted Marvel Universe franchise.

This sequel, having nowhere to go but up, wisely executed a course correction. Star Paul Rudd is less haughty, and therefore more sympathetic; co-star Evangeline Lilly’s considerably expanded role is a welcome change; the characters’ size-shifting abilities are put to much better use; returning director Peyton Reed toned down the gratuitous slapstick; and — definitely a relief — the core plot is grounded in a manner wholly removed from the universe-shattering consequences of recent Marvel entries.

The villains here have sensible real-world motives: greed and self-preservation.

Best of all, the script — fine-tuned by no fewer than five credited writers, along with (no doubt) more behind the scenes — blends the obligatory action with plenty of larkish banter, all well delivered at a slow-burn tempo.

Points, as well, to whoever thought to reference 1954’s Them!

All this said, there’s still a sense that The Powers That Be don’t quite know what to do with this character: that he’s a second-string joke not granted the respect that his abilities should demand. Again, this may be down to Rudd — a credited co-scripter — who rarely looks like he’s taking any of this seriously.

The same could be said of Chris Pratt’s handling of Peter Quill, in the adjacent Guardians of the Galaxy series … but Pratt has a better acting range, and is a helluva lot more charming.

Anyway…

The “busted” Scott Lang (Rudd) remains under house arrest, thanks to his illegal alliance with Captain America, in 2016’s Civil War. Scott is a mere three days away from being freed from the ankle monitor that prevents outer-world quality time with beloved daughter Cassie (cute-as-a-button Abby Ryder Fortson). Happily, relations with ex-wife Maggie (Judy Greer) and her new companion Paxton (Bobby Cannavale) have improved; they’re now sympathetic to Scott’s plight.

Tomb Raider: Stylish thrills, chills and spills

Tomb Raider (2018) • View trailer 
Four stars. Rated PG-13, for violence, dramatic intensity and breif profanity
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 3.16.18

Most big-screen adaptations of video games have been an eye-rolling waste of time, but Lara Croft always had an advantage: She was created, back in 1996, as the kick-ass female answer to Indiana Jones ... and we all know how well that franchise turned out.

Having run afoul of some young Hong Kong thugs determined to rob her, Lara (Alicia
Vikander) evades pursuit in the most flamboyant manner at hand.

Lara is similarly alive and well, in her newest cinema outing. Alicia Vikander is perfect for the part — radiating intelligence, spunk, resourcefulness and the never-say-die stamina of the Energizer Bunny — and this film should please both fans and mainstream newcomers. Norwegian director Roar Uthaug has delivered a rip-snortin’ adventure with just enough back-story and character development to mildly stretch the acting chops of a cast that treats this popcorn nonsense with respect.

Indeed, it’s marvelous to note that the current generation of upper-echelon Hollywood talent is willing to swing between serious fare and light-hearted thrills. Jennifer Lawrence continues to honor her X-Men and Hunger Games roots; Viola Davis popped up in Suicide Squad; Eddie Redmayne has embraced the Harry Potter franchise; and now Vikander has become the new Lara Croft. They’re all Oscar winners, and more power to them.

Just as every generation seems to need a new and youthful Spider-Man, Lara has been re-imagined not quite a generation after Angelina Jolie first donned the boots, shorts and tank top back in 2001 and ’03. Vikander adds a playful sparkle to the role — Jolie, good as she was, always felt a bit too grim — and this film’s script touches all the essential franchise ingredients.

We must remember that Lara is a tragic heroine, and Vikander deftly handles that duality. Lara’s cheerful exterior can’t quite mask the pain behind her eyes; as this story opens, her beloved father, Lord Richard Croft (Dominic West), has been missing for seven years. He had a habit of swanning off on unspecified “missions” that had little to do with the stuffy corporate stuff typical of his public face; he never returned from the last one.

Refusing to believe him dead, resisting entreaties from Croft Holdings solicitor Yaffe (Derek Jacobi) and business executive Ana Miller (Kristin Scott Thomas) to accept the corporate control that would make her financially secure, Lara instead lives hand-to-mouth as an underpaid East London bike courier. This position certainly sharpens her reflexes; it also leads to the film’s first way-cool action sequence, in the form of a captivating bicycle race assembled slickly by editors Stuart Baird, Tom Harrison-Read and Michael Tronick.

The Hateful Eight: Insufficiently nasty

The Hateful Eight (2015) • View trailer 
Three stars. Rated R, for strong bloody violence, gore, profanity, graphic nudity and racist behavior
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 12.31.15

Quentin Tarantino’s best films are highlighted by deliciously snarky dialog, scene-stealing — and sometimes career-reviving — performances by delectable character actors, and twisty scripts that build tension to the screaming point.

Every time somebody enters Minnie's Haberdashery, those already inside — in this case,
John Ruth (Kurt Russell, left), Daisy Domergue (Jennifer Jason Leigh) and a wincing
Sandy Smithers (Bruce Dern) — have to yell for the door to be nailed shut, lest the
blizzard blow it open again.

The Hateful Eight gets two out of three.

Tarantino’s tough-talkin’ homage to classic Westerns — complete with an awesome new orchestral score from 87-year-old Ennio Morricone (The Good, the Bad and the Ugly), his first Western score in 40 years — simply doesn’t have enough story to justify its butt-numbing 182-minute length. The set-up is rich with potential, and it screams for the multiple back-story treatment that made Kill Bill so engaging ... but no; aside from two brief flashbacks, we and the cast are stuck in the same claustrophobic cabin for three interminable hours.

Granted, the actors do their best to hold our attention. Ultimately, though, the posturing and narrow-eyed ’tude can’t make up for a script that doesn’t kick into gear until after the intermission (roughly 100 minutes in).

Tarantino makes us wait much too long for the good stuff, and by then things are rather anticlimactic.

And yes, I’m fully aware that the “good stuff” is the enfant terrible filmmaker’s gleeful dollops of blood and gore. But even here, it feels like Tarantino is only half-trying; having teased us with a cabin laden with hammers, shovels, iron spikes and all sorts of other implements of potential mayhem, he settles for gunfire. Which, tasteless as it sounds, is quite disappointing.

As he did with Kill Bill, Tarantino divides this saga into chapters, starting with “Last Stage to Red Rock.” The setting is post-Civil War Wyoming, with a six-horse stagecoach doing its best to outrun an approaching blizzard. The driver is forced to halt after coming upon former Union soldier-turned-bounty hunter Marquis Warren (Samuel L. Jackson), perched in the middle of the road atop three of his sanctioned kills.

Warren’s horse has given out on him; he’s hoping for a lift to Red Rock. But that’s a problem; the stage has been chartered exclusively by fellow bounty hunter John “The Hangman” Ruth (Kurt Russell), who is handcuffed to his prisoner, Daisy Domergue (Jennifer Jason Leigh), and escorting her to a date with the hangman at Red Rock.

The wisely suspicious Ruth views any strangers as either a) somebody trying to steal his bounty; or b) somebody trying to rescue Daisy. But it turns out that Warren and Ruth know each other, if only vaguely; the requested ride is granted, if grudgingly.

American Ultra: In their dreams

American Ultra (2015) • View trailer 
Two stars. Rated R, for profanity, drug use and strong bloody violence
By Derrick Bang

I knew we were in trouble, before this movie even started.

Allow me to explain:

After an unfortunate encounter with some homicidal maniacs, Mike (Jesse Eisenberg) and
Phoebe (Kristen Stewart) are apprehended by the local law. Sadly, small-town cops won't
be much good in the melees that are about to follow...

Frequent filmgoers will have noticed, since time immemorial, that the studio logo always is the first thing on the screen. Some of the former titans have vanished over the years, but the familiar logos for 20th Century Fox, Warner Bros. and Universal Pictures — to cite just a few — remain ubiquitous.

During the past few decades, however, we’ve been subjected to pre-movie “logo creep,” first due to an ever-expanding roster of so-called mini-studios — Roadside Attractions, Lionsgate, Focus Features and A24 leap to mind, among many others — and, not to be outdone, director/actor production companies (Tom Hanks’ Playtone, James Cameron’s Lightstorm Entertainment, Ridley Scott and Tony Scott’s Scott Free, Chris Columbus’ 1492 Pictures and Adam Sandler’s Happy Madison, to cite just a few).

Each one has its own logo, all of which get displayed — in some contractually determined hierarchy — before a movie begins. And then, just to stroke egos even further, the same companies are cited at the top of the opening credits. (Warner Bros. and Roadside Attractions present ... a BBC Films production ... of a Happy Madison film ... or whatever.)

All of which has led sage filmgoers to two observations:

1) The quality of a film often is inversely related to the number of pre-credits logos; and

2) The quality of said logos absolutely determines the merit of the film in question.

In other words, crappy logos = crappy film.

American Ultra is preceded by four logos, two for companies I’d never before encountered, both of said logos apparently created by 4-year-olds. At which point I turned to Constant Companion and muttered, sotto voce, “Houston, we have a problem.”

Actually, this film’s entire attribution chain is much, much worse, and worth repeating, in sum:

“Lionsgate presents / Palmstar Media Capital and Kevin Frankers present / in association with FilmNation Entertainment, a Likely Story / PalmStar Entertainment / Circle of Confusion production in association with Merced Media Partners / Tadmore Entertainment / The Bridge Finance Company AG, a Nima Nourizadeh film.”

Circle of confusion, indeed.