The Wrecking Crew: Aptly titled

The Wrecking Crew (2026) • View trailer

Three stars (out of five); rated R, for strong, bloody violence, relentless profanity, drug use and sexual content

Available via: Amazon Prime

By Derrick Bang 

Star charisma and actors who don’t take themselves too seriously can compensate for eye-rolling material, which is why last year’s Minecraft Movie was so popular, with its fan-favorite pairing of Jason Momoa and Jack Black.

 

James (Dave Bautista, left) and Jonny (Jason Momoa) ponder a document that suggests
a link between a local developer and a shady company dubbed Hayashi Imports.

The same is true of this mostly larkish crime thriller, with its equally successful team-up by Momoa and Dave Bautista.

That “mostly” is warranted, though, because at times Jonathan Tropper’s original screenplay veers into appallingly graphic violence. Director Angel Manuel Soto obviously tries to keep such carnage in a darkly humorous vein, but severed limbs and split heads — as just two examples — go a bit too far.

 

Hawaiian-born half-brothers James (Bautista) and Jonny Hale (Momoa) haven’t seen or spoken to each other for a decade: an estrangement that hearkens back to childhood grievances and traumas. James, a U.S. Navy SEAL commander, trains cadets at Pearl Harbor; Jonny, who relocated to Oklahoma, is a trouble-prone cop, currently suspended.

 

Their equally estranged father, Walter (Brian L. Keaulana), works as a low-rent private investigator in the islands. The film opens as he’s killed by what local police assume is a hit-and-run driver … although we viewers know better, having watched the ominous blue van approach its planned target during the title credits.

 

Before dying, though, Walter pops a small parcel into a post office box.

 

In Oklahoma, Jonny’s typical day goes south when he’s dumped by girlfriend Valentina (Morena Baccarin), who packs all her stuff and displays impressive stunt-driving skills during her departure. (Take note of that.)

 

Shortly thereafter, Jonny is attacked by three Yakuza thugs who demand the parcel; he has no idea what they’re talking about. The subsequent melee is way over the top, pretty much trashes Jonny’s home, and certainly signals the film’s tone to come.

 

This assault and Walter’s subsequent ceremonial funeral — a lovely touch — bring Jonny to Hawaii, and a prickly reunion with James. They couldn’t be more of a contrast: James is a calm, methodical and responsible family man, whereas Jonny is a vulgar, boorish, profanity-spewing slob.

 

Soto and Tropper overplay this mutual antipathy, which continues far too long into this film. The fault lies primarily with the way Momoa has been directed to handle the role; his relentless, horse’s ass behavior threaten to derail what clearly needs to become a “buddy picture.” Thankfully, all concerned get there … just not quickly enough.

A Private Life: A train wreck

A Private Life (2025) • View trailer

No stars: TURKEY. Rated R, for graphic nudity, sexual content, profanity and brief violence

Available via: Movie theaters

By Derrick Bang • Published in The Davis Enterprise, 2.8.26

This is the most ludicrous, contrived and bone-stupid movie I’ve seen in a long time.

 

French director Rebecca Zlotowski’s eye-rolling mess is a textbook, teachable example of the so-called “idiot plot,” which lurches (and that’s the right word) from one scene to the next, only because each and every character behaves like a complete idiot at all times.

 

Determined to learn more about the books her suspected murderer has been reading,
Dr. Lilian Steiner (Jodie Foster) distracts a librarian in order to steal the card with the
person's check-out record.

This also is yet another example of a longstanding cinematic truism: With very rare exception, a film that begins in a psychiatrist’s office is guaranteed to be a stinker. 

Zlotowski’s misfire supposedly is a “black comedy mystery thriller,” but that’s wishful thinking. The script — by Zlotowski, Anne Berest and Gaëlle Macé — is incomprehensible.

 

I cannot imagine what prompted Jodie Foster to sign onto this turkey.

 

She stars as Dr. Lilian Steiner, a Jewish-American psychiatrist who sees patients in her well-appointed Parisian home. We meet two: 

 

• Pierre Hallan (Noam Morgensztern), whose years of sessions have been an effort to quit smoking. He angrily terminates their ongoing arrangement, claiming that a hypnotist “cured” him in 20 minutes, and threatens to sue, to recover the money he wasted on his unsuccessful therapy.

 

• Paula Cohen-Solal (Virginie Efira), who has missed her three most recent sessions. To Lilian’s dismay, she learns — from Paula’s daughter, Valérie (Luàna Bajrami) — that Paula recently committed suicide. Most of the scenes we subsequently spend with Paula are flashbacks of her numerous therapy sessions.

 

At Valérie’s invitation, Lilian attends the subsequent shemira, but Paula’s enraged husband Simon (Mathieu Amalric) — who apparently blames her — demands that she leave.

 

Lilian is stricken with persistent and uncontrollable tears. She first sees her ophthalmologist ex-husband, Gabriel (Daniel Auteuil), who is unable to help. Against her better judgment, she visits the hypnotist — Sophie Guillemin, as Jessica Grangé — which is when this film goes completely off the rails (for the first of many times).

 

Lilian instantly succumbs to an outlandish trance, involving white, linen-swept stairs and doors, one of the latter opening into a vision of her as a male orchestra cellist performing in Nazi-occupied Paris; Paula, a fellow musician, is “his” pregnant mistress. The conductor is Simon, who brandishes a pistol.

 

Shelter: Another solid Jason Statham thriller

Shelter (2026) • View trailer

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

Available via: Movie theaters

By Derrick Bang • Published in The Davis Enterprise, 2.1.26

Check your dictionary for the word “laconic,” and you’ll find a photo of Jason Statham.

 

He has perfected the role of Hard-Bitten Loner, a guy whose penetrating, steely eyed gaze invariably is accompanied by a scowl that (and only Statham can pull this off) forever seems on the verge of softening into a thin, mocking smile.

 

Fleeing both local police and a stop-at-nothing assassin, Mason (Jason Statham) and
Jesse (Bodhi Rae Breathnach) scramble to find a working vehicle, as a means of escape.

His newest action thriller is a solid piece of spyjinks, thanks to Ward Parry’s intriguing script, Matthew Newman’s rat-a-tat editing, and director Ric Roman Waugh’s taut direction. This puppy moves.

But not immediately. Things begin quietly.

 

Mason (Statham) lives an isolated existence on a tiny, rocky lighthouse island off Scotland’s Outer Hebrides. His only companion is a soft-eyed dog with no name. Mason passes the time by gazing out to sea from the top of his lighthouse, playing chess against himself, consuming constant meals of porridge … and often drinking himself to sleep.

 

Supplies are delivered, on a regular basis, by a similarly grizzled fellow (Michael Shaeffer) who brings his small fishing vessel as close as possible; he then sends his niece, Jesse (Bodhi Rae Breathnach), to shore in a rowboat. This ritual apparently has been unchanged for a long time; she drops off a crate filled with provisions, collects the now-empty previous crate, and returns to her uncle.

 

This time, however, she impulsively leaves a small, gift-wrapped package atop the newly delivered crate.

 

It remains unopened, when she returns the next time. She confronts Mason; he closes the door in her face.

 

Alas, she doesn’t make it back to her uncle’s boat this time. The sea has turned rough, thanks to an approaching storm; Mason watches, in horror, as both boats are swallowed by waves. He manages to rescue Jesse, but her uncle drowns. She’s injured, with a badly sprained ankle.

 

Jesse tearfully reveals that her uncle was her sole family; she has lost everything. As the next few days pass, Mason — despite himself — cannot maintain his gruff reserve.

 

Meanwhile…

 

In London, MI6 head Stefen Manafort (Bill Nighy) is grilled by an oversight committee, regarding his deployment of an all-encompassing AI surveillance network — Total Human Engagement Analytics, or THEA — which scoops up data from every possible source: the ubiquitous street cameras, car cameras, smart phones and anything else in the “connectivity of everything.”

 

Manafort blandly assures the committee chair that THEA has allowed MI6 to enhance the elimination of potential terrorist activity; she sternly counters that surreptitiously harvesting the data of every British citizen is, well, illegal. (He clearly couldn’t care less.)

The Rip: Quite disappointing

The Rip (2026) • View trailer

2.5 stars (out of five). Rated R, for violence and gobs o' profanity

Available via: Netflix

By Derrick Bang • Published in The Davis Enterprise, 1.25.26

Matt Damon and Ben Affleck have appeared together in more than a dozen films, since their small supporting roles in 1992’s School Ties. 

 

After climbing into an attic that is suspiciously clean and empty, narcotics cops J.D.
(Ben Affleck, left) and Dane (Matt Damon) notice that a back wall appears to be a
"false front."

They most often have been part of an ensemble cast, or one has starred while the other took a smaller supporting role, as in 2023’s Air. Learning that they’d share equal starring roles in a crime thriller helmed by action director Joe Carnahan therefore sounded promising … although his résumé is wildly uneven, to say the least. Hits such as Narc and The A-Team share space with junk such as Battle Ready and Shadow Force.

Carnahan and co-scripter Michael McGrale clearly borrowed a note from Howard Hawks’ 1959 classic, Rio Bravo — remade, in an urban setting, by John Carpenter in 1976’s Assault on Precinct 13 — and that also seemed like good news.

 

Alas, all that potential is sabotaged by the most relentless barrage of F-bombs I’ve ever endured in a mainstream film. Every character succumbs to this nonsense, at times unleashing a torrent within a single sentence. It’s inane, distracting and a glaring example of uninspired screenwriting. We barely get a sense of these people as individuals, because they’re little more than profanity-spewing caricatures.

 

Ahem.

 

Things begin viciously, as Miami-Dade Police Capt. Jackie Valez (Lina Esco) is brutally murdered, late at night, by two masked thugs … but not before she sends a text. To somebody.

 

In the aftermath, the members of her special unit — the Tactical Narcotics Team — are grilled by higher-ups who’ve heard rumors of crooked cops robbing drug houses. These silly interrogations don’t get the story off to a good start, since both Lt. Dane Dumars (Damon) — Valez’s second in command — and Detective Sgt. J.D. Byrne (Affleck), along with the visiting Feds, lose their tempers in twin displays of unrestrained overacting.

 

As an added wrinkle, one of the Feds — Del (Scott Adkins) — is J.D.’s brother.

 

The team later regroups to assess the situation; the other members are Mike Ro (Steven Yeun), Numa Baptiste (Teyana Taylor) and Lolo Salazar (Catalina Sandino Moreno). The latter handles their drug- and cash-sniffing beagle, Wilbur. DEA colleague Matty Nix (Kyle Chandler) drops by briefly to hassle them; it’s difficult to tell if it’s good-natured ribbing, or genuine suspicion.

 

In a nod to Robert Mitchum’s character in 1955’s Night of the Hunter, Dane has two sets of letters tattooed on his hands: AWTGG and WAAAWB.

No Other Choice: A searing, timely statement

No Other Choice (2025) • View trailer

Four stars (out of five). Rated R, for violence, profanity, macabre tableaus and sexual content

Available via: Movie theaters

By Derrick Bang • Published in The Davis Enterprise, 1.18.26

Socie-economic satire doesn’t come more savage — or relevant — than this audacious saga.

 

South Korean director Park Chan-wook’s new film is a heady blend of drama, real-world touchpoints, burlesque and — sometimes quite abruptly — macabre dark humor. Its arrival now is felicitously timely, at a moment when worldwide jobs in all social strata are being replaced by AI, leaving veritable armies of displaced and disgruntled people in its wake.

 

Having finally worked up the courage to confront his first target, Man-su (Lee Byung-hun,
left) is startled when the pathetic Beom-mo (Lee Sung-min) fails to take him seriously.

Man-su (Lee Byung-hun) is introduced in his garden, smiling at the pending arrival of autumn. He’s happily married to Mi-ri (Son Yejin), and a doting father to teenage stepson Si-one (Woo Seung Kim) and younger daughter Ri-one (So Yul Choi). The little girl is a cello prodigy, but neurodivergent and withdrawn, and never performs for her parents.

(Choi is a genuine cello talent. It shows.)

 

As a longstanding and highly respected employee of the papermaking company Solar — recipient, among other honors, of the “Pulp Man of the Year” award — Man-su is well-paid, and was able to purchase the beloved home in which he grew up. He has added an adjacent greenhouse, where he frequently pursues his hobby of bonsai crafting.

 

Life is good.

 

Until, suddenly, it isn’t. An American multinational buys Solar and abruptly fires much of the company workforce, including Man-su.

 

Although he vows to regain similar paper industry employment within three months, he has an inherent flaw. During interviews, he has no good response when asked to admit his “prime weakness” (an intriguing question that all business hiring entities should consider).

 

The additional, obvious problem is that he’s merely one of many similarly highly qualified former supervisors vying for the same rapidly dwindling job openings in this shrinking industry.

The Mastermind: A dull, tedious slog

The Mastermind (2025) • View trailer

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

Available via: Amazon Prime and other video-on-demand options

By Derrick Bang 

In addition to the flowery words of praise emanating from numerous critics, The New York Times recently named this one of 2025’s Top 10 films.

 

That clearly warranted a look-see.

 

Fully aware that the art heist he's planning is far outside his area of expertise, James
(Josh O'Connor) carefully considers every possible detail.

Having done so, I can’t imagine what all these people have been smoking.

Although I generally respect indie filmmakers who weave compelling stories about recognizably ordinary people — a welcome relief from most of the noisy, soulless blockbusters churned out by major studios these days — writer/director Kelly Reichardt’s ironically titled character study brings new meaning to dull, colorless and tedious.

 

“Colorless” is particularly apt. Cinematographer Christopher Blauvelt’s washed-out palette must’ve been intentional, but the result merely enhances this film’s drab, lifeless qualities.

 

There’s a point at which measured stillness approaches meaningless, intolerable immobility, and Reichardt crosses that threshold far too many times.

 

At the risk of succumbing to the obvious pun, this film is like watching paint dry.

 

The setting is Framingham, Massachusetts, in 1970. The story begins in a local art museum, where James Mooney (a somnambulant Josh O’Connor), an unemployed carpenter and art school dropout, carefully examines four modernist Arthur Dove paintings hung in one gallery. Museum attendance is sparce; a lone guard sits, head down, sleeping at his post. (Is he supposed to be a joke?)

 

We eventually get a sense, based on his later comments during a family dinner, that James wants to make something special of his life. How he lands on becoming an art thief is left unexplained. Has he done this before? Who put him up to this particular assignment? Who’s the fence? How did he get to know the dodgy friends who participate in this venture? 

 

Don’t wait for any answers; they never come.

 

Given the year, it’s conceivable that James, his wife Terri (Alana Haim) and their two adolescent sons — Carl (Sterling Thompson) and Tommy (Jasper Thompson) — could have a house and get by solely on her salary. James apparently has supplemented by sponging off his well-to-do parents; his mother Sarah (Hope Davis) is a soft touch, but his father Bill (Bill Camp) — a circuit court judge — is losing patience with James’ ongoing failure to launch.

 

So: an art heist, in order to make quick cash. Why not?

 

Marty Supreme: An exhilarating ride

Marty Supreme (2025) • View trailer

Four stars (out of five). Rated R, for relentless profanity, sexual content, violence and brief nudity

Available via: Movie theaters

By Derrick Bang • Published in The Davis Enterprise, 1.11.26

Timothée Chalamet isn’t merely an impressively nuanced actor; he’s also an astonishing chameleon.

 

Marty (Timothée Chalamet, far right) and longtime friend and fellow hustler Wally
(Tyler Okonma, far left) size up the potential victims in a neighborhood bowling
alley with table tennis options.

He all but vanishes into the persona of this madcap film’s title character, a larger-than-life figure whose aggressive personality fills every moment of this 149-minute drama. Director Josh Safdie’s flamboyant style echoes 2024’s similarly dog-nuts Anora, blending breathtaking sports action with freakishly burlesque sidebar sequences.

Events begin in 1952, in Lower East Side New York, where 23-year-old Marty Mauser (Chalamet) works as a clerk in a shoe store owned by his Uncle Murray (music journalist Larry “Ratso” Sloman). Marty excels at his work — as he tastelessly boasts, he could “sell shoes to amputees” — but it’s a job he didn’t choose, and a drudge-laden life that feels stifling and pre-ordained.

 

We’ve scarcely taken in his character, when he has a back-room quickie with a “customer” — Rachel (Odessa A’zion) — who turns out to be a longtime friend and neighbor. The title credits then unspool as his sperm swim up her reproductive tract, and implant themselves into an egg.

 

(Hey, I said Safdie’s approach was outrageous.)

 

Table tennis has become Marty’s escape from a work-a-day world that expects him to stay in his lane. He excels at his sport; he’s ruthless, powerful and blessed with a hustler’s ability to gauge an opponent’s strengths and weaknesses. He speaks constantly of attending and conquering the upcoming world championships in Wembley … but lacks the funds to get there.

 

Trouble is, table tennis isn’t taken seriously in the States in the 1950s. That opinion certainly isn’t shared by those who play each other for cash in a nearby table tennis parlor, where Marty and longtime friend and fellow hustler Wally (Tyler Okonma) frequently fleece unsuspecting marks.

 

Marty is a force of nature. He doesn’t walk; he struts. He doesn’t chat; he dominates every conversation. Statements, proclamations and determined assertions spew from his mouth in a torrent. He believes not only that he’s the best at this sport, but that the world owes him a similar faith in this claim.

 

Less charitably, Marty is arrogant, boorish, rude and quick to take advantage of anybody — or anything — to get what he wants.

 

Not a nice or likable guy. 

 

Do we admire him? Good question.