Glass Onion: Layers of delight

Glass Onion (2022) • View trailer

Four stars (out of five). Rated PG-13, for strong language, violence, sexual candor and drug content

Available via: Netflix

By Derrick Bang • Published in The Davis Enterprise, 12.30.22

Rian Johnson reminded me how much I miss well-crafted murder mysteries.

 

Consider a few classics: Sleuth, The Last of Sheila, Deathtrap, Gosford Park and The Usual Suspects. Each is a blend of twisty plotting and mildly snarky attitude.

 

Tech billionaire Miles Bron (Edward Norton, center) and several of his guests — from
left, Claire (Kathryn Hahn), Whiskey (Madelyn Cline), Lionel (Leslie Odom Jr.) and
Birdie (Kate Hudson) — are quite surprised by the identity of their gathering's
newest arrival.

The writer/director garnered well-deserved admiration for 2019’s Knives Out, which — among its many other delights — gave star Daniel Craig an opportunity to craft a memorable character far removed from a certain shaken-not-stirred secret agent.

We all wondered, when Craig’s second outing as sharp-eyed sleuth Benoit Blanc neared arrival, if Johnson could pull it off a second time. So many filmmakers have run afoul of the sophomore curse.

 

Well, not this one.

 

Glass Onion is just as clever — and engaging — as its predecessor. Although driven by a tantalizing whodunit and whydunit, those features almost take second place to the fact that this film is pure fun. At a time when numerous recent releases have run far too long in the hands of self-indulgent directors, this one earns its 139 minutes. Goodness, I wanted it to keep going.

 

Johnson’s fondness for the genre is obvious, and his new film is a loving — and cheekily updated — riff on Agatha Christie’s And Then There Were None.

 

The story begins as identical, elaborately carved wooden boxes are delivered to scientist Lionel Toussaint (Leslie Odom Jr.), Connecticut Gov. Claire Debella (Kathryn Hahn), fashion designer Birdie Jay (Kate Hudson) and macho streaming celebrity Duke Cody (Dave Bautista). Editor Bob Ducsay’s sleek split-screen montage reflects the fact that these are (of course!) large puzzle boxes, which the quartet ultimately solves via phone collaboration.

 

Inside: an invitation to a murder mystery weekend hosted by longtime friend and tech billionaire Miles Bron (Edward Norton), at his private island in Greece. His estate’s stand-out feature: a massive, glass-enclosed conservatory shaped like an onion.

 

Elsewhere, the recipient of a fifth box extracts her invitation via hilarious old-school methodology. (Whatever works, right?) She turns out to be Cassandra “Andi” Brand (Janelle Monáe), co-founder and former CEO of Bron’s tech company Alpha, unfairly ousted — not long ago — via some acrimonious legal maneuvering.

 

Everybody — most particularly Bron — is astonished when Blanc turns up, identical invitation in hand. The detective, unswervingly polite to the core, is embarrassed by having unwittingly crashed the party; Bron sets him at ease. After all, the cunningly conceived weekend will be far more successful if he’s able to outfox the world-famous Benoit Blanc.

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.

Guillermo del Toro's Pinocchio: A truly unique vision

Guillermo del Toro's Pinocchio (2022) • View trailer

Four stars (out of five). Rated PG, and much too generously, despite considerable violence, dark thematic elements, peril and rude humor

Available via: Netflix

By Derrick Bang

Although there’s much to admire in this handsomely mounted, stop-motion version of Carlo Collodi’s oft-filmed 1883 children’s novel, I’m reluctant to recommend it … in great part, because the intended target audience is a mystery.

 

Having broken a promise to attend school, Pinocchio is delighted by the acclaim he
receives as the new star of Count Volpe's marionette show.

Del Toro’s relentlessly morbid and very loose adaptation definitely isn’t for children, who certainly won’t understand the updated shift to war-era Fascist Italy, and likely will be terrified by this setting. Nor can I picture mainstream adults wandering into what superficially appears to be a children’s film.

Unsuspecting parents who gather the kiddies for what they assume will be a family-friendly holiday flick, are apt to be horrified.

 

Even del Toro hedges this particular bet. “It’s not necessarily made for children,” he admitted, in a recent Los Angeles Times interview, “but children can watch it.”

 

Seriously?

 

I think not.

 

(Del Toro is fond of placing his dark fantasies against the backdrop of real-world horrors; both The Devil’s Backboneand Pan’s Labyrinth are set during the Spanish Civil War.)

 

Granted, the surrealistic writer/director has a legion of fans, and lovers of this painstaking animation style certainly will embrace this outré fantasy; perhaps, combined, they’ll be sufficient. And, in fairness, co-director Mark Gustafson’s stop-motion work is stunning; whatever else can be said about this film, it exhibits a true sense of wonder.

 

Pinocchio’s appearance here — rough-hewn, spindly, unfinished (missing one ear), a true marionette — is inspired by artist Gris Grimly’s illustrated 2002 edition of Collodi’s book.

 

And, backed by fine voice talent, del Toro and Gustafson elicit an impressive range of emotions from these characters.

 

But my goodness, this film is bleak. And macabre. And sad.

 

A lengthy prologue introduces wood-carver Geppetto (voiced by David Bradley) and his young son, Carlo (Alfie Tempest). The old man dotes on the boy, who — a model child — is equally devoted to his father: trustworthy, obedient, eager to learn. Alas, his life is cut short by a wartime tragedy.

 

Geppetto is heartbroken, overwhelmed by grief; his work suffers, leaving unfinished a large wooden effigy of Jesus in the local church, much to the chagrin of the village priest (Burn Gorman). Time passes; finally, in a fit of drunken rage one night, Geppetto makes a “replacement son” and then falls asleep.

 

A large, feather-winged, luminous blue wood sprite (Tilda Swinton) appears; taking pity on Geppetto, she grants life to the hastily carved little puppet. She then charges his “development” to the erudite and touchingly noble Sebastian J. Cricket (Ewan McGregor, who also narrates this tale).

 

Avatar: The Way of Water — Waterlogged

Avatar: The Way of Water (2022) • View trailer

Three stars (out of five). Rated PG-13, for strong violence, dramatic intensity, partial nudity and occasional profanity

Available via: Movie theaters

By Derrick Bang • Published in The Davis Enterprise, 12.23.22

Well, it happens to the best of us.

 

James Cameron has run out of ideas.

 

Realizing that their presence puts the entire Na'vi clan in peril, Jake (Sam Worthington,
far right) insists that his family — from left, Kiri (Sigourney Weaver), Neytiri (Zoe
Saldaña), Neteyam (Jamie Flatters) and Lo'ak (Britain Dalton) — must leave their
home, and move far away, to another part of Pandora.

There’s no shortage of opulent, eye-popping imagination in this long-overdue sequel to his 2009 hit; this is sci-fi/fantasy world-building on a truly monumental scale. Every frame could be extracted and admired, for the meticulous detail and all the “little bits” that you’ll likely overlook during first viewing.

That said, sitting through this semi-slog a second time, won’t ever make my to-do list.

 

Writer/director Cameron, with a scripting assist from Rick Jaffa, Amanda Silver, Josh Friedman and Shane Salerno, has basically recycled the first film’s plot, along with — thanks to cloning — the exact same primary villain: Col. Miles Quaritch (Stephen Lang). He and his elite team of kill-crazy mercenaries have been transformed into “recombinants” : artificial 9-foot-tall avatars embedded with the memories of the humans whose DNA was used to create them.

 

The character template has broadened a bit, and the setting has shifted from the forest-dwelling Omatikaya Na’vi clan to the ocean realm of the Metkayina clan. But the conflict is identical: Earth’s nasty-ass Resources Development Administration (RDA) returns in force, this time determined to colonize all of Pandora, as the new home for humanity.

 

“Earth is about to become inhabitable,” RDA’s Gen. Francis Ardmore (Edie Falco, appropriately callous) intones, “so Pandora’s natives must be … tamed.”

 

And, as if this bit of déjà vu all over again weren’t enough, Cameron’s climactic third act includes a re-tread of Titanic’s ultimate fate … except, instead of a sinking ocean liner, our heroes wind up scrambling about the shifting decks of a 400-foot-long attack vessel, as it slowly slips beneath the sea. Heck, we even get the same “climb this way … now this way” scramble involving two key characters.

 

All that said, this still could have been a reasonably engaging 150-minute film … were it not expanded into an insufferably self-indulgent 192 minutes. Cameron clearly didn’t trust his three co-editors.

 

The second act, in particular, accomplishes little beyond filling time. So many tight close-ups of slow, thoughtful takes; so many half-baked lines delivered with measured, melodramatic intensity.

 

Empire of Light: Radiant

Empire of Light (2022) • View trailer

Five stars (out of five). Rated R, for profanity, sexual content, dramatic intensity and violence

Available via: Movie theaters

By Derrick Bang • Published in The Davis Enterprise, 12.23.22

Writer/director Sam Mendes’ handsomely mounted, intensely intimate character study is enchanting on so many levels, it’s difficult to know where to begin.

 

In the long-deserted upper level of their majestic cinema palace, Hilary (Olivia Colman)
watches, transfixed, as Stephen (Micheal Ward) gently tends to a pigeon with an
injured wing.

First and foremost, this is a loving valentine to the transformational magic of old-style film palaces: perhaps also a sad farewell to a manner of moviegoing likely to disappear within the next decade.

We’re also reminded, ever so gently, of the healing power of art in general — music, poetry, film itself — and the connective warmth of community, however unusual the “family unit” might be.

 

And this poignant story’s emotional impact comes from the powerhouse starring performance by Olivia Colman, whose bravura work here may be the high point of an already astonishing acting career. (I’ve said this before, about Colman’s work … and, somehow, she always tops herself.)

 

The setting is an English coastal town, where Hilary (Colman) is the shift manager of the Empire, a fading palatial cinema house that still looks quite fancy — to a point — while nonetheless being a shadow of its glory days. 

 

(Filming took place in Margate, a town on the northern shore of Kent, where production designer Mark Tildesley discovered Dreamland: a former cinema and ballroom, with a majestic art deco exterior attached to a seaside fun fair. His transformation of that venue, for this film, is breathtaking.)

 

It’s Christmas Eve, 1980; Hilary arrives for the day’s shift, unlocking doors and cabinets, turning on lights. The rest of the crew soon follows: notably projectionist Norman (Toby Jones), junior manager Neil (Tom Brooke) and 18-year-old worker-bee Janine (Hannah Onslow).

 

Everybody answers to supervising manager Mr. Ellis (Colin Firth), prone to outbursts of temper, and soon revealed as a tight-lipped bully who uses and abuses people. (Firth, a chameleon who could embrace any role, is thoroughly convincing as an unapologetic bastard.)

 

Business is light, despite the allure of top-drawer, second-run fare on the theater’s two screens; we sense that a long time has passed, since the Empire enjoyed anything approaching a full house.

 

Despite her obviously capable skills, Hilary is quiet, withdrawn and oddly muted. It’s as if her eyes have become motion detectors: dark and inert at rest, erupting suddenly with life — and a smile that feels forced, existing only because it’s expected — only when somebody interacts with her.

The Swimmers: Medal-worthy

The Swimmers (2022) • View trailer

Four stars (out of five). Rated PG-13, for dramatic intensity, occasionaly profanity, violence and sexual assault

Available via: Netflix

By Derrick Bang • Published in The Davis Enterprise, 12.9.22

Some people are born with a level of grit, determination, strength and focus that the rest of us can’t even comprehend, let alone emulate.

 

Following railroad tracks to their next destination, and mindful of avoiding soldiers who
would arrest them — or worse — this small group of refugees hopes for the best:
from left, in foreground, Bilal (Elmi Rashid Elmi), Sara (Nathalie Issa), Shada
(Nahel Tzegai, with infant), Yusra (Manal Issa) and Emad (James Krishna Floyd).

Director Sally El Hosaini’s depiction of what Syrian sisters Sara and Yusra Mardini endured, while pursuing their version of the impossible dream, is compelling and impressively inspirational. El Hosaini and co-scripter Jack Thorne had no need to lard actual events with fictionalized melodramatic touches; the truth — adapted from Yusra Mardini’s 2018 autobiography, Butterfly: From Refugee to Olympian — is sufficiently astonishing.

This is one of the rare films that can change hearts and minds, by compartmentalizing a real-world crisis: in this case, the massive refugee crisis that resulted when the 2011 Arab Spring protests ultimately prompted Syrian President Bashar al-Assad to brutally crack down on his own citizens.

 

This saga follows that war’s impact on one family, along with some key sidebar relatives and friends.

 

Events begin quietly during Yusra’s 13th birthday party, a cheerfully lively event orchestrated by her parents, Ezzat (Ali Suliman) and Mervat (Kinda Alloush). Ezzat, a former champion swimmer, has become a demanding coach to Yusra and her older sister, Sara; he toasts Yusra’s sporting abilities while Sara wanders into another room and watches a television news report on government protests elsewhere in Damascus.

 

Flash-forward four years. Sara and Yusra (now played by real-life sisters Manal and Nathalie Issa) revel at an outdoor penthouse nightclub where their cousin Nizar (Ahmed Malek) is DJing. They dance blithely, apparently oblivious to the bombs raining down in the distance: a bizarrely callous, modern-day version of fiddling while Rome burns.

 

The dynamic between these sisters is complex; they clearly love and are devoted to each other, but tension is palpable. Sara has become a wild child: reckless, headstrong, unwilling to respect authority. She also  has abandoned her swimming training. Manal Issa gives her a mocking, defiant gaze, as if daring the world to get in her way.

 

Yusra is quieter, cautious and nurturing: forever trying to protect her older sister from her worst instincts. Yusra has maintained her swim training, fixated on one day competing in the Olympics. Nathalie Issa’s expression is frequently troubled, her eyes wide and worried, her posture suggesting vulnerability.

Santa Camp: Far more than mere ho-ho-ho

Santa Camp (2022) • View trailer

Four stars (out of five). Rated TV-MA, for profanity and occasional sexual candor

Available via: HBO Max

By Derrick Bang

It was bad enough when ultra-conservative American Christians were confronted with the notion that Jesus, as a Middle Eastern Jew, almost certainly would have had olive skin, brown to black hair, and brown eyes.

 

Despite his big heart and can-do spirit, Chris (center) can't
help feeling out of place amid a sea of lily-white
Santas and Mrs. Clauses.

No surprise: They rejected this suggestion.

(I’ve always felt that composer Alfred Burt’s poignant seasonal song, 1951’s “Some Children See Him,” states the case quite eloquently.)

 

But broadening the appearance of Santa Claus? 

 

That’s an even tougher sell in this country.

 

Nick Sweeney’s delightful documentary would have been a charmer had he solely detailed the traditional activities of the annual “Santa Camp” that takes place each August in the New Hampshire woods: a two-day “crash course” devoted to helping professional Santas, Mrs. Clauses and elves learn the tricks of their trades, in order to become the best possible version of the characters who populate malls and department stores every year.

 

He also opens with a hilarious title credits montage, which will be familiar to any parent.

 

But Sweeney’s film dovetailed with the New England Santa Society’s decision that this would be no ordinary year, after a pre-event discussion that revolved around the increasingly obvious possibility that the Jolly Red Elf might have a “diversity problem.”

 

This wasn’t an overnight decision. As Sweeney depicts in brief archive footage, the Mall of America faced considerable wrath when retired Army captain Larry Jefferson became the venue’s first Black Santa, back in 2016. The online rants were bad enough, but they were encouraged by the racist, bloviating talking heads at (where else?) Fox News.

 

Which continues to this day, spearheaded in great part by television journalist Megyn Kelly’s stubborn declaration that Santa “must be white.”

 

Although casual myth-making generally credits the American Santa to England’s Father Christmas and the Dutch figure of Sinterklass, actual history traces the legend back to the monk St. Nicholas, born roughly around 280 A.D. in — wait for it — Patara, near Myrna in modern-day Turkey. (Care to guess what color his skin likely would have been?)

 

The “whiteness” of our American Santa results from two much more recent sources: political cartoonist Thomas Nast, whose January 1863 illustration for Harper’s Weekly established the mold; and Coca-Cola execs, who in 1931 hired illustrator Haddon Sundblom to paint Santa for Christmas advertisements. Drawing inspiration from Clement Clark Moore’s 1822 poem, commonly known as “Twas the Night Before Christmas,” Sundblom firmly established Santa as a warm, happy, elderly white guy with rosy cheeks, a full beard, twinkling eyes and laugh lines.

The Fabelmans: Spielberg bares his soul

The Fabelmans (2022) • View trailer

4.5 stars (out of five). Rated PG-13, for dramatic intensity, occasional mild profanity, brief violence and fleeting drug use

Available via: Movie theaters

By Derrick Bang

Most films never attempt the breathtaking impact of a truly transformative moment; a lucky few manage one, perhaps two.

 

This film has many.

 

The magic, transformational moment: As his parents (Paul Dano and Michelle Williams)
watch, young Sammy (Mateo Zoryon Francis-DeFord) is blown away by his first
big-screen movie experience.

Steven Spielberg’s semi-autobiographical ode to the relentless drive of artistic passion is gorgeously lensed throughout by cinematographer Janusz Kaminski, who won Academy Awards while working with Spielberg on Schindler’s Listand Saving Private Ryan. This affectionate big-screen love letter isn’t merely laden with a sense of wonder; it’s about that sense of wonder, which can render those so afflicted helpless in its grip.

Along the way, this quietly compelling story — co-written by Spielberg and Tony Kushner (Angels in America) — is a moving coming-of-age saga: poignant, whimsical, occasionally laugh-out-loud hilarious, and (aren’t they always?) heartbreaking. It’s also a classic American narrative about heading west to find new fortune and freedom.

 

As for Spielberg’s insistence that it’s merely semi-autobiographical … well, it’s actually far more accurate than most big-screen films claiming to be wholly biographical.

 

Events begin in snowy, stormy New Jersey in 1952. Young Sammy Fabelman (Mateo Zoryon Francis-DeFord) is about to be taken to his first movie by parents Burt (Paul Dano) and Mitzi (Michelle Williams). The boy is frightened by the notion of confronting “giant people” — a concern no doubt influenced by anticipatory descriptions from his excessively technical father (about whom, more in a moment) — but his mother assures him the experience will be magical.

 

The film in question is The Greatest Show on Earth, and we eavesdrop as the boy’s eyes go wide during the climactic train wreck (which is a stunning sequence even today, and must’ve blown the minds of patrons at the time).

 

It’s Christmastime, and Burt makes a weak joke about having trouble finding their house, as they return home after the movie. “It’s the dark one,” Sammy grouses, disappointed by their lack of holiday lights.

 

He also has been dithering about what he wants for Hanukkah, but inspiration suddenly strikes. Over the course of the celebration’s eight days — in a charming montage — he receives the individual cars, transformer and locomotive of a Lionel train set.

Strange World: Very strange film

Strange World (2022) • View trailer

Two stars (out of five). Rated PG, and too generously, for dramatic intensity and relentless peril

Available via: Movie theaters

By Derrick Bang

This film’s title couldn’t be more apt.

 

Writer/co-director Qui Nguyen must’ve been smoking the good stuff when he concocted this psychedelic fever dream of an animated fantasy, and I’m amazed Disney was willing to release it. The chaotic, so-called story is a random mess that demands far too much patience from viewers, before finally sorta-kinda delivering a mildly clever ecological message.

 

Jaeger (far left), his son Searcher (center) and grandson Ethan, attempt to bond over
an elaborate card game, while faithful pooch Legend and the blobby blue Splat
participate in their own way.

Getting there, however, is a tedious assault on the senses.

One must be careful, particularly with fantasy, to establish a firm set of rules … and then follow them. If reality — as we know it — is to be warped, events must emerge in a manner that remains comprehensible.

 

But Nguyen and co-director Don Hall throw far too much stuff on the screen, and their core character story element — the often fractious relationship that results, when fathers expect too much of their sons — gets lost in this cacophonous assault on the senses.

 

We get tired of all the stuff and nonsense, long before the (supposedly) happy ending.

 

In an effort to make sense of the senseless…

 

Brawny, laugh-in-the-face-of-danger Jaeger Clade (voiced by Dennis Quaid) has long been an exploratory hero in the hamlet of Avalonia, a pre-industrial community surrounded on all sides by an extremely tall mountain range. His previous exploits notwithstanding, Jaeger is determined to discover what’s beyond those mountains.

 

All of his death-defying expeditions have been made alongside his son Searcher (Jake Gyllenhaal), a teenager when we first meet him. Alas, Jaeger is blind to the fact that Searcher is a reluctant companion at best. The story begins with Jaeger’s latest effort to summit the mountains, which goes awry when Searcher is distracted by an odd, lime-green plant with small spherical “fruit pods” that give off an electric charge when touched.

 

Searcher wants to return to Avalonia with this plant, believing it could become an important power source. Jaeger stubbornly insists on pushing ahead … by himself.

 

Flash-forward 25 years.

 

Searcher has become a successful farmer of pando, the name he has given to the plant that now covers massive acres of his land. He has a wife, Meridian (Gabrielle Union); they have a 16-year-old son, Ethan (Jaboukie Young-White).

 

Jaeger has been missing the entire time: presumed dead, and honored with a statue in the town square.

 

She Said: Impressively inspiring

She Said (2022) • View trailer

Five stars (out of five). Rated R, for profanity and explicit sexual candor

Available via: Movie theaters

By Derrick Bang • Published in The Davis Enterprise, 11.18.22

We assume, when one of the victims finally agrees to share her story with New York Times investigative journalists Megan Twohey (Carey Mulligan) and Jodi Kantor (Zoe Kazan), that this will be the most harrowing moment of director Maria Schrader’s richly compelling and superbly acted drama.

 

Investigative journalists Jodi Kantor (Zoe Kazan, far left) and Megan Twohey (Carey
Mulligan), along with assistant managing editor Rebecca Corbett (Patricia Clarkson,
far right), listen with admiration and delight as executive editor Dean Baquet
(Andre Braugher) crisply puts an irate phone caller in his place.

The speaker: nervous, soft-spoken, embarrassed and ashamed, the words emerging haltingly amid tears and choked-off syllables, as she so vividly recalls what happened to her in the privacy of Harvey Weinstein’s hotel suite.

The listener: appalled, silent, eyes growing wider by the second.

 

We viewers: equally stone-silent, sickened and enraged.

 

The story moves on; we exhale shakily, thinking OK, the worst is over.

 

But no: Twohey and Kantor soon reach another victim, sit quietly as another — mercilessly similar — confession emerges, this time made even more intense by the performances, and the way Schrader cuts back and forth between framed one-shots of the two actresses.

 

And then another. Even more awful, in part because of the repetition, the familiarity, the by-now recognized patterns of an apex sexual predator.

 

This is smart and savvy filmmaking. She Said deserves place of pride alongside its all-time best cousins: All the President’s Men and Spotlight.

 

When done persuasively — and Schrader’s film is very persuasive — nothing beats a well-constructed investigative journalism drama. They’re part mystery (just how deep and widespread IS this story?), part puzzle (how does one finesse details, acknowledgments and confessions from people unwilling or unable to talk?) and part building suspense and rage-fueled anticipation (what will it take to nail this bastard?).

 

Rebecca Lenkiewicz’s sharp script is based on Twohey, Kantor and Rebecca Corbett’s months-long New York Times investigation into the shocking behavior of Weinstein — and the wink-wink-nudge-nudge Hollywood attitude that tolerated and even conspired to maintain it — and their subsequent 2019 book, She Said: Breaking the Sexual Harassment Story That Helped Ignite a Movement.

 

This film is rigorously authentic: Names are named — to an often surprising degree — dialogue is lifted from transcripts, progress unfolds as it occurred (if, perhaps, accelerated a bit to accommodate a two-hour film).

Enola Holmes 2: The game's still afoot!

Enola Holmes 2 (2022) • View trailer

Four stars (out of five). Rated PG-13, for dramatic intensity, violence and bloody images

Available via: Netflix

By Derrick Bang

I concluded my review of this film’s 2020 predecessor by expressing the hope that it would be popular enough to generate a sequel.

 

My wish has been granted.

 

Enola Holmes (Millie Bobby Brown), justifiably pleased with herself, after deducing one
of the puzzles on her older brother Sherlock's "clue board," favors us viewers with a
smile of satisfaction.

Enola Holmes 2 is every bit as stylish, witty and entertaining as the young heroine’s first on-screen escapade. Almost all the major stars have stepped back into their characters; director Harry Bradbeer and writer Jack Thorne also have returned. The one holdout is Sherlock Holmes’ older brother Mycroft, and he isn’t missed; Sam Claflin made him too much of a boorish crank in the previous entry.

Unlike that first film, this one isn’t based on one of author Nancy Springer’s Enola Holmes books; Bradbeer and Thorne have concocted an original tale that feels right in this young heroine’s wheelhouse. Better yet, this adventure places these fictitious characters within an actual 1888 major event (and, unless you’re a scholar of 19th century British history, you’re not likely to see it coming, until revealed within the end credits).

 

Following the successful resolution of her first case, now a bit older and wiser, Enola (Millie Bobby Brown) has optimistically set up her own private detective agency. Alas, all the adverts in the city cannot stop the look of dismay that crosses the face of would-be clients, when they realize Enola is (horrors!) a young woman.

 

Worse yet, on the few occasions she’s able to retain somebody long enough to explain that she did, after all, solve a high-profile case, the response is invariably something along the lines of “Didn’t Sherlock Holmes actually solve that?”

 

Disappointed beyond words, Enola prepares to close things down. Cue the last-minute arrival of young Bessie (Serrana Su-Ling Bliss, cute as a button), a penniless “matchstick girl” who works atrocious hours in a match-making factory with her sister Sarah (Hannah Dodd) and scores of other orphaned girls. Sarah has gone missing; Bessie hopes Enola will be able to find her.

 

With Bessie’s help, Enola poses as a new matchstick worker. She meets Mae (Abbie Hern), one of the older matchstick girls; and quickly runs afoul of the factory’s foreboding foreman, Mr. Crouch (Lee Boardman, appropriately ill-tempered). Employing quick wits and a handy diversion, Enola sneaks upstairs and sees factory owner Henry Lyon (David Westhead) in a meeting with Treasury Minister Lord Charles McIntyre (Tim McMullan) and his secretary, Mira Troy (Sharon Duncan-Brewster).

 

A high-ranking Cabinet official, discussing something with the owner of a grubby matchstick factory?

 

Odd, that.