Killers of the Flower Moon: Unforgettable

Killers of the Flower Moon (2023) • View trailer

Five stars (out of five). Rated R, for violence, grisly images and profanity

Available via: Movie theaters

By Derrick Bang • Published in The Davis Enterprise, 10.27.23

This is a masterpiece. 

 

It’s the pinnacle of director Martin Scorsese’s career … which, obviously, needed no further burnishing. But there you go: 81 years old, and more visionary than ever.

 

William Hale (Robert De Niro, center) beams on the day his nephew, Ernest Burkhart
(Leonardo DiCaprio) marries Osage woman Mollie Kyle (Lily Gladstone) ... but
Hale's delight has very little to do with genuine affection.

I was reminded, while thoroughly engaged during this film’s (admittedly intimidating) 206-minute running time, of Roger Ebert’s Second Law of Motion Pictures: “No good movie is too long.”

True that. (But an intermission would have been nice.)

 

In adapting journalist David Grann’s 2017 nonfiction book of the same title, Scorsese and co-scripter Eric Roth have aimed a much-needed spotlight — particularly during these tempestuous times of revisionist classroom instruction — on a mostly forgotten slice of American history every bit as heinous as the two-day 1921 race massacre in the Greenwood district of Tulsa, Okla. (which this film briefly references).

 

Scorsese’s film is bookended by Osage cultural rituals, the first a melancholy “pipe ceremony” as the elders mourn the forced assimilation of their children into white American society. It’s the early 20th century, and a sudden silver lining erupts against this sad tableau: Oil is discovered on the Oklahoma reservation, located northwest of Tulsa. (Yep, Tulsa. Again.)

 

Within half a generation, members of the Osage community are, per capita, the world’s wealthiest individuals. They have automobiles, fancy clothes, plenty of glam … and servants. White servants. (Imagine how well that goes down.)

 

Even so, as per U.S. government-mandated reservation law, white “guardians” must manage each individual’s money. (Imagine how well that goes down.)

 

The story proper begins in 1919, as Ernest Burkhart (Leonardo DiCaprio) returns from WWI service, where he’s reunited with his brother Byron (Scott Shepherd) and uncle William Hale (Robert De Niro). The latter has an extensive cattle ranch on reservation land — no oil operations — and has, over time, been embraced as a staunch friend and benefactor to the Osage, speaking their language and participating in all important rituals.

 

Ernest’s initial “interview” with his uncle is revealing. Under Hale’s cheerful, fatherly probing, the younger man bashfully acknowledges his primary interests in money, whiskey and women. DiCaprio is sublime here, as Ernest radiates embarrassment over his limited intelligence; he’s quite unsophisticated, lacking the worldly wisdom that should have resulted from his war service. Unable to handle heavy labor due to a war injury, he gratefully agrees to serve as a chauffeur.

 

Five Nights at Freddy's: Four nights too many

Five Nights at Freddy's (2023) • View trailer

Two stars (out of five). Rated PG-13, and too generously, despite strong violent content, bloody images, gore and profanity

Available via: Movie theaters

By Derrick Bang

Since establishing itself as a purveyor of low-budget horror films in the early 21st century, Blumhouse Productions’ occasional hits — 2017’s Get Out, 2022’s M3gan and 2007’s Paranormal Activity come to mind — have been offset by scores of tedious and downright stupid entries that rely mostly on gore to scare up two quick weeks’ worth of business.

 

Five Nights at Freddy’s definitely belongs in the latter category.

 

Looking more like the vagrants he was hired to keep out of a long-shuttered family arcade
and pizzaria, Mike (Josh Hutcherson) finds Vanessa's knowledge of the place to be ...
rather unsettling.

Films based on video games are a dubious proposition to begin with, and director Emma Tammi’s uninspired work here is well matched by the contrived and ludicrous script she cobbled together with five (!) co-writers, including original game creator Scott Cawthon.

The result is driven less by logic and more by a desire to satisfy the cult-like following that has blossomed since the (frankly boring) game’s 2014 debut, and a subsequent series of best-selling horror novels. (Seriously? The mind doth boggle.)

 

Although Tammi’s film gets points for a reasonably unsettling first act, it’s sabotaged by an increasingly stupid back-story wedged into these events. Horror films almost always fail when the writer(s) attempt to explain the unexplained; consider the power of the original Halloween’s conclusion, when the “boogeyman’s” disappearance and apparent invulnerability were left as a disturbing mystery.

 

So.

 

Following a rash act that would have put him in jail for assault and battery in the real world, woebegone Mike Schmidt (a listless Josh Hutcherson, his career sliding further into the toilet each year) once again is out of work. That’s bad timing; bills are due, and his bitchy Aunt Jane (Mary Stuart Masterson) wants him declared an unfit guardian of his younger sister Abby (Piper Rubio), in order to take over and collect the monthly support checks.

 

Mike has long been haunted by a childhood tragedy, when — briefly left in charge of younger brother Garrett (Lucas Grant), during a family camping trip — he failed to prevent the little boy from being kidnapped. Assisted by sleeping pills and sensory reminders of that incident, Mike keeps trying to “dream” additional details that might identify the kidnapper.

 

(Question No. 1: Abby, not yet born when the tragedy occurred, appears to be at least 20 years younger than Mike. Since Mike later explains that his mother died years ago, and that his father “split because he couldn’t handle it,” when, precisely, did the little girl come along?)

 

Abby admittedly is a troubled  and antisocial child, who eschews eating and conversation, and prefers sleeping in a makeshift floor tent rather than within the comfort of her bed. But she isn’t “impaired,” a kind social worker insists, merely trying to work her way through stuff.

 

Thanks to an unusually helpful job placement counselor — Matthew Lillard, as the oddly sinister Steve Raglan — Mike secures a new job as nighttime security officer at the decrepit remnants of Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza, once a popular game and pizzeria emporium in the mold of Chuck E. Cheese. The place has fallen into disrepair following its closure years ago, but — Raglan explains — the owner can’t bear to tear it down. Ergo, a security guard is needed to prevent vandals from trashing the place.

The Burial: We totally dig it!

The Burial (2023) • View trailer

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

Available via: Amazon Prime

By Derrick Bang • Published in The Davis Enterprise, 10.20.23

You can’t beat a well-mounted underdog saga … particularly one that boasts veteran scene-stealers such as Tommy Lee Jones and Jamie Foxx, and is based on actual events.

 

In this case, rather unusual actual events.

 

When their case takes an unexpected turn for the worst, Jeremiah O'Keefe (Tommy Lee
Jones, left) wonders if he did the right thing, even with shrewd attorney Willie Gary
(Jamie Foxx) at his side.

Biloxi-based entrepreneur Jeremiah “Jerry” O’Keefe was in the “funeral business” his entire life, continuing a family tradition that dated back to the end of the Civil War. By the time he reached comfortable old age, O’Keefe owned eight Mississippi-based funeral parlors, along with a parallel funeral insurance business.

But the approach of the 21st century found O’Keefe in financial difficulty for reasons beyond his control. In an effort to raise funds, he agreed to sell three of his funeral homes to Canadian businessman Ray Loewen, who headed a consortium that owned an increasingly large number of Canadian and American funeral parlors.

 

Loewen’s preferred tactic: He’d purchase available funeral homes in a given region, undercut smaller competitors until they went out of business, and then scoop up their operations at fire sale prices.

 

In O’Keefe’s case, Loewen simply stalled on signing and honoring their contract, waiting for the Biloxi businessman to go bankrupt. O’Keefe, justifiably outraged, got a lawyer.

 

But not just any lawyer…

 

What subsequently went down has become a thoroughly engaging legal duel in the capable hands of director Maggie Betts, who also co-wrote the script with Doug Wright, based on journalist Jonathan Harr’s equally absorbing October 1999 New Yorker article. But this isn’t merely a depiction of courtroom theatrics; Betts and Wright spend the lengthy first act introducing and developing the primary players, all well portrayed, so that we sympathize with everybody.

 

Except for Loewen. Bill Camp makes him an arrogant, unapologetic swine: an amoral skunk we want brought to his knees. Camp is the ideal villain.

 

On the surface, Jones’ O’Keefe is an amiable fellow: a doting husband and father of 13 children (!), and grandfather to 43. (We glance in awe at his wife, Annette, played with similar devotion by Pamela Reed.) But Jones’ bearing and expression also display the steel of a long-successful businessman, decorated World War II fighter ace, and former two-term mayor of Biloxi. This isn’t a man to take lightly.

 

And, let it be said, Jones is a longtime master of the cut-them-dead withering gaze.

The Pigeon Tunnel: Too narrow

The Pigeon Tunnel (2023) • View trailer

Three stars (out of five). Rated PG-13, for occasional violence and profanity

Available via: Apple TV+

By Derrick Bang

It’s difficult to imagine anybody more intelligent and erudite than author John Le Carré, whose interviews over the years — since his breakout success with 1963’s The Spy Who Came in from the Cold — were as fascinating, thoughtful and densely packed as his subsequent novels.

 

John Le Carré is relaxed, candid and philosophical when discussing his life and writing
career, and how both were shaped by two key individuals during his childhood and
early espionage service.

No surprise, then, that celebrated documentarian Errol Morris would view Le Carré as a prize jewel … particularly since this film was completed very shortly before the famed espionage author died, in December 2020.

Morris’ style is unconventional, to say the least. This film is less a documentary and more a feature-length interview, with Morris’ off-camera questions and commentary guiding and prodding Le Carré into a recitation of his life … but only those portions that concern how David John Moore Cornwell — his birth name — morphed into best-selling author John Le Carré.

 

This is emphasized during the film’s opening moments, where it becomes clear that Morris and Le Carré have agreed to venture solely into specific areas of the latter’s life. Within that limitation, the author is remarkably candid … but he strays no further.

 

Morris intercuts Le Carré’s facetime — seated comfortably behind a desk — with vintage photographs and newsreel footage, clips from big-screen and television adaptations of the author’s novels, and dramatized re-creations of key moments in his younger life. (The latter are this film’s least successful elements.)

 

Unfortunately, Morris’ outré style frequently distracts. Le Carré often is pictured in only one section of a screen “shattered” into multiple frames, the others containing bizarre images that flicker in and out of focus. Although it could be argued that this symbolizes the minute-by-minute ambiguity and paranoia of a career spy — which Cornwell was, as an MI5 officer from 1958 to ’64 — it further slows the film’s already unhurried pacing.

 

The title’s significance is twofold. On an obvious note, it’s both the title of Le Carré’s 2016 autobiographical work, The Pigeon Tunnel: Stories from My Life; and also the “working title” with which he started almost every novel. 

 

On a metaphorical level, it references an incident from David’s childhood, when his father took him on a business trip to France, where they stayed in a hotel that offered guests a rather unusual sport. Pigeons were bred on the hotel roof, and — at a specified time — shoved into a long dark tunnel. The birds would fly toward the lighted exit at the far end, emerging into the sky directly in front of gun-toting (and presumably well-liquored) male guests who’d blow them into bloodied feathers.

 

(One cannot help being sickened by this revolting “sport.”)

The Caine Mutiny Court-Martial: Riveting courtroom theatrics

The Caine Mutiny Court-Martial (2023) • View trailer

Four stars (out of five). Not rated, and suitable for all ages

Available via: Paramount+

By Derrick Bang • Published in The Davis Enterprise, 10.13.23

The Caine Mutiny Court-Martial — based on Herman Wouk’s 1951 novel, The Caine Mutiny — has been an actor’s showcase ever since he adapted it for the stage two years later.

 

Given its ongoing popularity as a live theater production, it’s surprising that no big-screen version has been mounted since director Edward Dmytryk’s powerhouse with Humphrey Bogart, José Ferrer, Van Johnson and Fred MacMurray. But scripters Stanley Roberts and Michael Blankfort strayed significantly from Wouk’s source material in that 1954 film; director/adaptor William Friedkin has gone back to basics with this new version.

 

Lt. Stephen Maryk (Jack Lacey, left) is understandably unhappy upon learning that his
defense attorney, Lt. Barney Greenwald (Jason Clarke), believes him guilty.

Indeed, his vision is just this side of a filmed stage play, with only three sets: a courtroom, the hallway outside it, and a gathering that takes place elsewhere during the story’s epilogue.

That certainly doesn’t diminish the power of Friedkin’s adaptation. Wouk’s dialogue still crackles with intensity; the story remains riveting; and cinematographer Michael Grady adds considerable tension with inventive camera angles and shrewd, well employed close-ups.

 

And, yes; the acting is exceptional.

 

Wouk’s original took place in a World War II setting; Friedkin’s sole major change moves the story to the present day, setting the action in the aftermath of a mutiny that takes place during the USS Caine’s mine-sweeping operation in the Persian Gulf. Lt. Stephen Maryk (Jack Lacy) is on trial for “improperly” relieving Capt. Philip Francis Queeg (Kiefer Sutherland) of duty during a dangerous typhoon.

 

Maryk did so because he believed Queeg’s actions during the storm put the ship in peril. Maryk took command, citing Article 184 of Navy Regulations, and steered the Caine north — directly into the storm — instead of south, as Queeg had demanded. The ship and crew survived, apparently validating Maryk’s decision … but that didn’t save him from the consequences of his actions.

 

In another nod to modern times, the courtroom prosecuting attorney has been gender-shifted; Monica Raymund gives a crackerjack performance as Lt. Commander Challee. Eyes blazing, posture combative, armed with impressive legal and naval knowledge, clearly whip-smart and sharply perceptive, she’s a true force of nature.

 

Maryk’s defense attorney — Lt. Barney Greenwald (Jason Clarke) — doesn’t even want the assignment. As he admits to an ashen-faced Maryk, prior to the start of trial, he believes his client guilty, and would much rather act as prosecutor. But Greenwald understands the importance of a fair trial, and recognizes his duty to mount the best possible defense.

 

Even so, Greenwald’s initial ambivalence does not go unnoticed by Capt. Blakely (Lance Reddick), chief judge of the court-martial. In the forcefully clipped, severe tone for which Reddick has become famous, he gives Maryk the opportunity for fresh counsel. (Reddick gets more out of a frown, than most actors get out of pages of dialogue.)

Instinct prompts the defendant to stick with Greenwald.

Past Lives: What might have been?

Past Lives (2023) • View trailer

Four stars (out of five). Rated PG-13, and too harshly, for fleeting profanity

Available via: Amazon Prime and other streaming services

By Derrick Bang • Published in The Davis Enterprise, 10.6.23

All of us have paths not taken — mostly insignificant, a few consequential — that prompt occasional curiosity and speculation.

 

But some folks obsess over an emotionally weighty What If, to the point that it interferes with their ability to focus on the alternative happiness that has been achieved.

 

What might they be thinking? Nora (Greta Lee), flanked by Hae Sung (Teo Yoo, left)
and Arthur (John Magaro) contemplates the life choices that have led to this moment.

Writer/director Celine Song’s gentle drama opens on a provocative tableau: three people — two men, with a woman between them — sitting quietly at one end of a bar. Two are Korean, one American. Nobody says anything; the woman’s expression changes — not quite readably — as she glances from one companion to the other. Flirty? Wary? Satisfied? Indecisive?

We hear an off-camera couple try to suss out the dynamic (a game we’ve all played, while people-watching). Who is the woman with? Are the Koreans siblings? Are the guys with each other? Is somebody being dumped?

 

Therein lies a tale…

 

We jump back 24 years, to Seoul, and meet 12-year-old chums Na Young (Moon Seung-ah) and Hae Sung (Leem Seung-min), as they head home after a day at school. She’s in tears, having come in second to Hae Sung, on a class paper. He turns this back on her, pointing out that he usually has come in second behind her, and besides; shouldn’t she be happy for his success?

 

After all, they’re inseparable besties. 

 

Even so, she aspires to greatness: She wants to win a Nobel Prize.

 

Sadly, events are about to separate them. Nora’s parents are emigrating the family to New York. Na Young will be given a new “American” name — Nora — and her sister will become Michelle.

 

But before this occurs, Na Young and Hae Sung’s mothers arrange for the two to have a “date” … perhaps more “play date,” but — as cinematographer Shabier Kirchner’s playful tableaus reveal — love clearly is in the air, at a 12-year-old level that’s deeper than a simple crush.

 

Their final parting is telling, due to the way Song and Kirchner frame the moment: After a perfunctory “Bye” from Hae Sung, Na Young charges up the steep street to her home, without looking back; he watches for a moment, before sadly heading along the level side street to his home.

 

Ambition vs. devotion.

 

She Came to Me: A beguiling rom-com

She Came to Me (2023) • View trailer

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

Available via: Movie theaters

By Derrick Bang

Folks who enjoy quirky dramedies populated by whimsically eccentric characters will love this one.

 

Against his better judgment, Steven (Peter Dinklage) — accompanied by his dog, Levi —
accepts an invitation to tour the tugboat owned by Katrina (Marisa Tomei). Her casual
handling of an axe,  however, gives him pause...

Writer/director Rebecca Miller’s delightful mélange of dysfunctional marriages, romantic angst, artistic frustration and — most importantly — true love, is powered by captivating performances from her three stars, along with solid work by four equally appealing supporting characters. 

The Brooklyn setting, framed so lovingly by cinematographer Sam Levy, also counts as an additional character. Goodness, but New York has personality.

 

Celebrated opera composer Steven Lauddem (Peter Dinklage) has been suffering a years-long writer’s block: not a good thing, with a commission due in mere weeks. He doesn’t want to be seen in public, fearing inevitable questions about how his newest work is going; he doesn’t even want to get out of bed in the morning.

 

His wife — and former therapist — Patricia (Anne Hathaway), hoping to break the cycle, tosses him out of their tony brownstone one day, ordering him to “get lost,” in a metaphorical sense. Take a long walk. Go somewhere different. Seesomething different. Accompanied by their adorable French bulldog, Levi, Steven obligingly lets the pooch determine their path.

 

Patricia, it turns out, badly needs help herself. What initially seems a reasonable preference for cleanliness is revealed as a mania far beyond obsessive/compulsive, with a heaping helping of lapsed Catholic guilt thrown in. Surfaces must be scrubbed thoroughly, before and after use. Sexual intimacy is rigorously limited to a scheduled once per week. (One pales at the thought of how Steven accommodates this.)

 

Although it seems inconceivable that Patricia would tolerate a dog in their home — she handles Levi’s leash with paper towels — losing him would be a shame; he has just as much presence and individuality as his two-legged co-stars. Indeed, at times Miller draws unexpectedly thoughtful gazes from him.

 

Meanwhile…

 

We also meet teenagers Julian (Evan Ellison) and Tereza (Harlow Jane), swooningly in love, and newly consummating their relationship; Polaroid snapshots are taken, to commemorate the moment. (Do today’s teens and twentysomethings still do this? If so, it’s rather sweet.)

 

Julian is Patricia’s son by a previous marriage; Stephen has done his best to be a good stepfather. Tereza was an “accident” that derailed the life of her then teenaged mother, Magdalena Joanna Kulig); she subsequently married Trey (Brian d’Arcy James), who obligingly adopted the girl.

 

The nerdy Trey is excitably passionate about everything he does, from his job as a court stenographer to his avocation as a Civil War reenactor. James makes him bossy and authoritarian: an attitude tolerated by Magdalena, but which frequently prompts rolled eyes from Tereza.

The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar, and other Roald Dahl Tales: Sadly uneven

The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar, and other Roald Dahl Tales (2023) • View trailer

3.5 stars (out of five). Rated PG, and much too generously, for creepy images and concepts

Available via: Netflix

By Derrick Bang

I cannot imagine a more perfect artistic collaboration, and blend of sensibilities, than Wes Anderson and Roald Dahl.

 

The fact that this joint effort by filmmaker and author has long been posthumous — Dahl died in 1990 — matters not a jot.

 

While Henry Sugar (Benedict Cumberbatch) relates part of his tale to a policeman
(Ralph Fiennes), both men briefly "break the fourth wall" and stare at the viewer, in
order to emphasize a point.

Dahl certainly has been well-loved on the big screen, with adaptations — sometimes more than once — of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, The Witches, James and the Giant Peach and Matilda. Anderson also delivered a terrific stop-motion version of Fantastic Mr. Fox in 2009.

Dahl was a highly visible presence of television during his lifetime, mostly due to the UK’s Tales of the Unexpected. This series adapted 26 of his short stories over the course of its nine-season run from 1979 to ’87; these morbid little tales — patently adult, and often with twist endings — blended dark humor with murder, infidelity, blackmail and all manner of other beastly behavior.

 

Few people remember the first TV series Dahl hosted, the U.S.-produced Way Out, which ran a mere half-season in 1961, following Rod Serling’s Twilight Zone in CBS’ 10 p.m. Friday slot. Dahl’s unapologetically macabre horror series was far too gruesome for that era’s viewers, and was canceled shortly after airing its 13th episode, “Soft Focus,” the notorious climax of which scared the hell out of everybody (and still packs a punch to this day).

 

The current quartet of adaptations — “The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar,” “The Swan,” “The Rat Catcher” and “Poison” — debuted on Netflix one per day, late last week. They also draw from Dahl’s adult-oriented short stories.

 

As is Anderson’s habit, his approach is — shall we say — unusual.

 

Recognizing that Dahl’s precise and marvelous prose style is responsible for much of the atmospheric magic in his stories, Anderson has these stories narrated — retaining as much text as possible — by Dahl himself (played with appropriate eccentricity by Ralph Fiennes), and also by the characters within the tale.

 

Fiennes’ surroundings are impressively authentic: seated within a nook of Dahl’s re-created “Gipsy House,” his desk laden with many of the totems and ephemera that were part of the author’s actual working environment. (One must marvel at Anderson’s rigorous attention to detail.)

 

“Henry Sugar,” starring Benedict Cumberbatch as the title character, is the longest of these pieces, at 37 minutes. It concerns a bored and self-centered aristocrat who, as a result of a book he steals, painstakingly develops the talent to see through objects. What he ultimately does with this gift proves unexpected.