The Choral: Makes beautiful music

The Choral (2025) • View trailer

Four stars (out of five); rated R, for profanity and sexual candor

Available via: Apple TV+ and other VOD options

By Derrick Bang • Published in The Davis Enterprise, 4.5.26

During an impressive partnership/friendship that goes back to 1994, director Nicholas Hytner and writer Alan Bennett have collaborated on four films: The Madness of King George, The History Boys, The Lady in the Van and this new one ... along with far more stage productions.

 

Ellis (Taylor Uttley, center left), Lofty (Oliver Briscombe, center right) and Mitch (Shaun
Thomas, far right) listen soberly as Clyde (Jacob Dudman) describes his war experience.

Both are BAFTA, Olivier and Tony Award winners, and their films are beloved by viewers and critics alike. The films are quintessentially British, depicting well-crafted characters who often just try to get by, while facing some sort of challenge, amid events beyond their control.

The Choral is no different. This period charmer was essentially lost earlier this year, amid the post-holiday crush of Academy Award contenders: another lamentably unsung film scarcely granted theatrical release before being shuttled to the purgatory of streaming services.

 

Because, honestly, how is one supposed to find such a film, amid the cacophony of streaming titles ... unless somebody calls attention to it?

 

Consider this such a call.

 

The year is 1916, the setting the small (fictitious), working-class Yorkshire mill town of Ramsden. The war with Germany has raged for two years, during which time the initially patriotic fervor has been replaced by resignation, worry and sorrow. Too many lives have been lost, with — as everybody now realizes — no end in sight.

 

The story opens as telegram boy Lofty (Oliver Briscombe) delivers the worst kind of news to families desperate for their boys’ safe return. He’s accompanied by best mate Ellis (Taylor Uttley), tagging alongside on his bicycle. Lofty is solemn and kind, well aware of the grim news he bears; Ellis is more lighthearted and jokey. But both exchange a telling glance each time a door opens to a woman who crumples upon seeing what Lofty holds.

 

Both boys are 17. Although the British army was all-volunteer during the war’s initial 18 months, earlier this year an Act of Parliament mandated conscription at age 18. Both boys thus are fully aware of what soon awaits them.

 

Alderman Bernard Duxbury (Roger Allam), who owns the mill, also is chairman of the local Choral Society. The group traditionally mounts an annual performance of J.S. Bach’s The St. Matthew Passion. But the war has drastically reduced the choral’s male section — and Duxbury’s work force — which, at one point, prompts a grim warning, “No mill, no music.”

 

Duxbury lost his only son to the war; his wife, Margaret (Eunice Roberts), has retreated into wordless grief, unwilling to abandon her black clothing. But Duxbury, carrying on, recognizes that encouraging the choral’s remaining singers and musicians to produce a concert far beyond their means grants purpose and camaraderie.

The King's Man: A royal good time!

The King's Man (2021) • View trailer

Four stars (out of five). Rated R, for strong, bloody violence, profanity and sexual candor

Available via: Movie theaters

By Derrick Bang • Published in The Davis Enterprise, 12.24.21

Fans of this series are apt to be mighty surprised — happily, one hopes — by this third entry’s unexpected shift in tone and style.

 

En route to Russia in a private train, Orlando (Ralph Fiennes, far left) shares what he
knows about Grigori Rasputin, while, from left, Shola (Djimon Hounsou),
Conrad (Harris Dickinson) and Polly (Gemma Arterton) listen attentively.

Whereas 2014’s Kingsman: The Secret Service and 2017’s Kingsman: Golden Circle are deranged, profane and gleefully over-the-top comic book burlesques, this new entry is only mildly naughty. It’s more accurately a sly bit of alternate history, with director/co-scripter Matthew Vaughn — and co-writer Karl Gajdusek — setting their cheeky Kingsman origin story against the very real horrors of World War I.

The tone is more akin to a Golden Age classic such as 1939’s Gunga Din … albeit with dollops of 21st century hyper-violence.

 

Key events are rigorously accurate: from the triggering assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand, which set the Triple Alliance (Germany, Austria-Hungary and Italy) against the Triple Entente (France, Russia and Britain); to the ghastly horrors of trench warfare that claimed the lives of an estimated 9 million soldiers.

 

Other films have depicted the latter more authentically — director Sam Mendes’ 1917 immediately comes to mind — but Vaughn, Gajdusek and production designer Darren Gilford convincingly establish a similarly grim tableau. One sequence, achieved with some clever CGI, is particularly effective: a bit of time-lapse legerdemain that reveals the impact of two years’ of war, as a pastoral Western European landscape transforms into a barren wasteland laden with mutilated corpses.

 

But this comes a bit later. The conceit of Vaughn and Gajdusek’s script is that this nation-shattering abattoir was orchestrated clandestinely, behind the scenes, by a nefarious cabal whose many members include Russia’s mad monk, Grigori Rasputin (Rhys Ifans). Their leader, known only as The Shepherd — he remains unseen, as with the early 1960s machinations of James Bond’s Ernst Stavro Blofeld — is motivated by an enraged hatred of England, for its centuries-old repression of Scotland.

 

Meanwhile…

 

Following a brief 1902 prologue set during South Africa’s Boer War, during which we meet Orlando, the Duke of Oxford (Ralph Fiennes), and his young son Conrad (Alexander Shaw), the story flashes forward a dozen years. Fiennes excels at this sort of refined, crisply authoritative figure; Orlando is unapologetically aristocratic but also mindful of his station, and the need to behave honorably for the common good.

 

As a result of events during that prologue, he’s also a devoted pacifist: a philosophy that increasingly puts him at odds with the impetuous Conrad (now played by Harris Dickinson), who — like so many young men of his era — wishes to prove his bravery in “glorious battle.”

Tolkien: Not entirely Hobbit-forming

Tolkien (2019) • View trailer 
Three stars. Rated PG-13, for war violence
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 5.10.19

Aside from outliers such as Ernest Hemingway and Stephen King, most writers lead rather ordinary lives.

And what they do — crafting humble words into mesmerizing stories, generally in isolation — is hardly the stuff of engaging cinema.

Surrounded by the notes and illutrations that he feverishly sketches while playfully
creating entirely new languages, John Tolkien (Nicholas Hoult) nonetheless cannot shake
the feeling of not really belonging in his highbrow Oxford surroundings.

That said, John Ronald Reuel Tolkien’s back-story is more provocative than most.

Director Dome Karukoski’s Tolkien hits the myriad heartbreaking high points of Tolkien’s youth and young adulthood, and star Nicholas Hoult persuasively conveys the curiosity, intelligence, facility with languages, and almost magical gift for storytelling that later would inform his literary career.

David Gleeson and Stephen Beresford’s sensitive script clearly is well-intentioned, and Karukoski’s touch is sincere.

And yet…

The pace is dreadfully slow, and the decision to employ Tolkien’s horrific World War I experiences as a framing device is questionable, to say the least. We’re apparently expected to recognize that this is the devastating Battle of the Somme; context for this portion of the film is utterly absent. Every so often, Karukoski drags us back for another grim interlude, as Tolkien wanders through the body-strewn trenches in a daze, under the watchful gaze of a young private (Craig Roberts) who worries that his companion is about to drop dead.

The apparent point of these sequences is that the disoriented Tolkien — suffering from an acute case of debilitating trench fever — hallucinates the battle carnage into symbolic smoke- and shadow-laden warriors and monsters that later will inform the mythic creatures he concocts for The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings.

Well … no.

It’s a clumsy, contrived device that simply becomes tedious as the film proceeds. It’s also superfluous; we’ve already seen that young Tolkien was inspired by his mother, Mabel (Laura Donnelly), who — as a means of distracting her two young sons from their “impecunious” existence — excels at spinning fantastical narrative adventures with the aid of a slowly spinning shadow lamp festooned with magical patterns. This sequence is far more magical — and persuasively credible — than the repeated bounces back to the trenches.

Colette: A not entirely satisfying quest for identity

Colette (2018) • View trailer 
3.5 stars. Rated R, for nudity and sexuality
By Derrick Bang

Dick Francis’ fans were astonished to discover, in late 1999, that all the novels by the former champion jockey-turned-thriller author had received “substantial input” from his wife, Mary.

When Sidonie-Gabrielle Colette (Keira Knightley) balks at her husband's demand that
she "ghost" another novel that he can publish under his own name, he locks her in the
study until she begins to produce.

Depending on opinion, said input ranged from research and editing to full-on ghost-writing. I favor the latter theory: Francis’ lone solo effort following Mary’s death on September 9, 2000 — 2006’s Under Orders — was substantially weaker than all that had come before. No surprise, then, that his final four books were collaborations with his son, Felix.

I’ve often thought about Mary Francis, working in absolute secrecy on 38 novels and a baker’s dozen of short stories, over a period of almost four decades. Did she regret being absent from the spotlight that so illuminated her famous husband? Was she amused to know the truth?

Such thoughts resonated anew while watching director/co-scripter Wash Westmoreland’s biographical depiction of Sidonie-Gabrielle Colette, the French novelist known solely by her last name. Her most popular novel, 1944’s Gigi, was made into a French film five years later, and transformed into a 1951 stage production starring newcomer Audrey Hepburn — chosen by Colette herself — and then, of course, the Academy Award-winning 1958 Hollywood musical with Leslie Caron.

But all that came much, much later. Westmoreland’s film — co-scripted by Richard Glatzer and Rebecca Lenkiewicz — focuses on the roughly two decades Colette was married to Henry Gauthier-Villars, during which time she produced her first four novels … all of which were published under her husband’s name.

And therein lies the tale.

Colette depicts the creation of the young author as her own entity and (more or less) emancipated woman, although it could be argued that Westmoreland is equally obsessed with her budding bisexuality. The film’s second half spends considerable time with enthusiastic bedroom coupling and Colette’s blossoming relationship with the scandalously “butch” Mathilde de Morny, Marquise de Belbeuf, affectionately known as “Missy.”

(In the press notes, Westmoreland waxes enthusiastically about his “progressive casting philosophy” of hiring trans actors for cisgender roles. Methinks his focus is a bit skewed.)

Even so, we never lose sight of the growing degree to which Colette wishes to control her own literary destiny, and free herself from the invisibility of uncredited authorship.

In this regard — actually, in all respects — the film’s strongest asset is the gifted starring performance by Keira Knightley. She smoothly navigates the transition from naïve country girl to an accomplished sophisticate wholly at ease among the snooty, avant-garde intellectuals with whom her husband socialized. 

Suffragette: Solid emancipation drama

Suffragette (2015) • View trailer 
Four stars. Rated PG-13, for dramatic intensity and fleeting nudity
By Derrick Bang 

Had Carey Mulligan been born in a different time and place, she likely would have become popular among painters or photographers eager to explore the complexities of her amazingly expressive features.

After being arrested a second time, Maud (Carey Mulligan) is presented with a tempting
offer by Inspector Steed (Brendan Gleeson). He'll make the charges against her melt
away ... if she'll become his spy.

Her capacity for forlorn resignation — for tolerant anguish, and acceptance of a fate that she understands is unjust — is particularly acute. I imagine her becoming the face of Dorothea Lange’s iconic, Depression-era photo, Migrant Mother.

Mulligan has demonstrated this capacity for quietly compliant sorrow in several films, most notably 2010’s haunting Never Let Me Go, likely to remain one of the bleakest — and most cautionary — science fiction parables ever made. What makes her work in such parts so memorably heartbreaking, of course, is the perceptive intelligence that’s always present behind her melancholy gaze.

She once again displays such emotional intensity in yet another of this season’s cinematic depictions of our turbulent past: the desperate, early 20th century nadir of the British women’s emancipation movement, in director Sarah Gavron’s Suffragette. Scripter Abi Morgan — who won a well-deserved Emmy Award for her compelling Cold War-era miniseries, The Hour — has surrounded Mulligan’s composite “typical working-class character” with actual historical figures, to persuasively portray what it must have been like for the agitators determined to win not only the right to vote, but a greater measure of control over their own lives.

And dignity. Definitely dignity.

I never cease to be amazed — becoming immersed in real-life stories of this nature — by mankind’s ability to exceed even my lowest opinion of their behavior.

In this particular case, of course, the emphasize is on mankind.

The setting is London in 1912, where Maud Watts (Mulligan) and her husband, Sonny (Ben Whishaw), work onerous, back-breaking — and highly dangerous — hours in a laundry. The shop is run by Norman (Geoff Bell), a slimy, lecherous brute who could have stepped right out of a Dickens novel, and whose interest in Maud feels decidedly unhealthy: a dynamic that Sonny obviously notices, but apparently chooses to ignore.

Maud’s world shifts slightly when, heading home one day, she finds herself in the midst of a vandalizing protest by members of the Women’s Society and Political Union (WSPU). Shop windows are smashed; the perpetrators melt back into the crowd before the police arrive ... but not before Maud recognizes one of them, Violet (Anne-Marie Duff), as a co-worker.

Mr. Holmes: Far from elementary

Mr. Holmes (2015) • View trailer 
Four stars. Rated PG, for disturbing images and dramatic intensity
By Derrick Bang

Some stage actors spend their entire careers hoping to play Shakespeare’s Hamlet or Arthur Miller’s Willy Loman. When it comes to great literary characters, however, the ne plus ultra appears to be Sherlock Holmes.

Sherlock Holmes (Ian McKellen, left) is delighted when his housekeeper's young son,
Roger (Milo Parker), expresses interest in the great detective's beloved hives of honeybees.
The boy, in turn, senses that sharing this hobby will help his much older friend forget, if
only for brief times, the unpleasant frustrations of advancing age.

How else to explain the scores of individuals who’ve taken a crack at the world’s most famous consulting detective? When Guinness World Records honored Holmes as the most portrayed literary human character in film and TV, three years ago, he had been depicted 254 times by more than 75 actors.

That list now includes the venerable Ian McKellen, starring in director Bill Condon’s adaptation of Mitch Cullin’s 2005 Holmes pastiche, A Slight Trick of the Mind.

Arthur Conan Doyle purists may be dismayed by this handling of their beloved detective, for this is not the hard-charging rationalist depicted with authoritative panache by Basil Rathbone, Jeremy Brett, Benedict Cumberbatch and many others. McKellen instead gives us a frail, almost feeble Holmes, long removed from his illustrious career, vulnerable to the ravages of time, advanced age and self-doubt.

Condon’s film has an atmosphere of despondent finality about it: a tone similar to that employed by Richard Lester in 1976’s equally melancholy Robin and Marian, wherein Sean Connery’s exhausted and aging Robin Hood is poised at the similar precipice of mortality.

But even if this Holmes is a shadow of his former vigorous self, McKellen’s twinkling eyes and insightful gaze (at the detective’s better moments) remind us that the zealous pursuer of clues may be deeply buried within this dilapidated frame ... but he’s still there.

The time is 1947, and the 93-year-old Holmes is long retired, having moved to a quiet farmland home along the Sussex coast, in order to tend to his bees (as per Doyle’s projection of where the detective would wind up, late in life). Meals and other modest needs are handled by a live-in housekeeper, Mrs. Munro (Laura Linney), and her young son, Roger (Milo Parker).

Her husband, the boy’s father, was killed in the war.

Scripter Jeffrey Hatcher retains the structure of Cullin’s book, which cross-cuts between three narratives. The first and most extensive, set in the “present” of 1947, finds the increasingly lonely Holmes bonding with young Roger, who in turn admires the great detective as a father figure. Roger’s mother, all too aware of Holmes’ age, worries that this might not be advisable for a boy who already has lost his real father.

Winter's Tale: A crisp, sparkling fantasy

Winter's Tale (2014) • View trailer 
Four stars. Rating: PG-13, for violence and sensuality
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 2.14.14

Fans of Neil Gaiman’s novels, particularly Neverwhere and Stardust, will adore this film.

Director/scripter Akiva Goldsman’s luxuriously romantic fantasy offers the same mythic qualities: a setting that’s familiar yet not quite of this world; an incandescent yet oddly witty love story; and mortal characters — of a sort — caught within a timeless duel between agents of good and evil.

Despite having broken into her home with the intent of stealing its valuables, Peter
(Colin Farrell) finds his plans thwarted after meeting Beverly (Jessica Brown Findlay).
Her response, to this uninvited stranger? Why, to offer him a cup of tea, of course!

It’s such an odd concoction that one false move — a single line of dialogue too precious, delivered with perhaps too much smug arrogance — and the entire narrative would collapse under the weight of its own contrivance. And yet Goldsman unerringly walks that fine line, delivering a warm, gently humorous and richly poignant adaptation of Mark Helprin’s massive 1983 novel.

Indeed, the first miracle is that Goldsman has captured this huge book’s essence in a film that runs a mere 118 minutes. But perhaps we shouldn’t be surprised, given his Academy Award victory for adapting A Beautiful Mind, and his obvious fondness for historical dramas (Cinderella Man) and speculative fiction (The Da Vinci Code, I Am Legend).

Even so, this film’s mere existence represents a second miracle: a most unexpected roll of the dice by Warner Bros. Helprin’s captivating epic is the sort of story that rarely works on the big screen.

The American public is notoriously reluctant to embrace intelligent, adult-oriented fantasy, preferring instead the empty calories of popcorn sci-fi action flicks. Granted, Gaiman is doing his best to help reverse that trend, and Goldsman’s captivating work here could help a great deal.

I frankly hesitate to describe this plot to even a minor degree, because while not a mystery per se, Winter’s Tale derives much of its charm from the many revelations — major and minor — that emerge along the way. Indeed, even the casting offers surprises, all of them pleasant.

Our most unusual protagonist is Peter Lake (Colin Farrell), an orphan with an unusual origin, having arrived in late 19th century New York under quite unlikely circumstances. This is, in fact, the film’s core test: One must accept this startling, almost biblical introduction as a foreshadowing of the storytelling style to come. Having allowed this near-impossible weave of otherworldly thread, the resulting tapestry will be much easier to snuggle into.

Peter grows up poor and uneducated — a skilled thief who also possesses “a way with machines” — and lives on the streets until taken under the wing of a Fagin-like protector, Pearly Soames (Russell Crowe). We catch up with these two in 1916, with Peter on the run after some sort of falling out; the furious Soames and his men are hell-bent on cornering and then killing their prey ... slowly and painfully.

1911 Revolution: Tedious history lesson

1911: Revolution (2011) • View trailer for 1911: Revolution
2.5 stars. Rating: R, for war violence
By Derrick Bang


Although quite emphatically a nation-changing war drama writ large, 1911: Revolution is advertised with star Jackie Chan’s dignified image dominating all poster art. Additionally, much is being made of the fact that this is his 100th movie.

Having witnessed and survived another failed uprising by revolutionary forces
overwhelmed by the superior weaponry of the corrupt Qing dynasty's so-called
New Army, military strategist Huang Xing (Jackie Chan) and his wife, Xu
Zhonghan (Lee Bing Bing) contemplate the horrific loss of life and wonder
what the next step possibly could be.

This sets up certain expectations, particularly in this country, where Chan is known for his balletic Hong Kong martial-arts flicks and his more recent American action comedies. Indeed, Chan is his own cinematic sub-genre; he’s as unique to martial-arts movies as Fred Astaire was to dance films in the 1930s and ’40s.

And, like Astaire, Chan has turned to more serious roles as he has aged. To his credit, he handles such parts reasonably well ... but fans need to understand that 1911: Revolution is not graced with his signature athletic prowess. (Well, he gets one quick skirmish; I guess he couldn’t help himself.)

Chan and Li Zhang share directing credits on this film, the latter debuting in that role after a successful career as a cinematographer on historical dramas such as The Banquet and the two-part Red Cliff series. Zhang’s attempted transition is clumsy, to say the least.

Although 1911: Revolution clearly is a labor of love, with a huge cast and an ambitious historical tapestry, Zhang’s style is simply wrong. This is a very serious story — the 1911 Xinhai Revolution, which led to the fall of the 250-year-old Qing Dynasty and the (sadly brief) rise of the first Republic of China — but the tone here is operatic, the performances baroque and often overstated.

The realistically grim battlefield sequences are at odds with the maneuvering and deal-making taking place behind closed doors, particularly all machinations involving the Qing Empress Dowager Longyu (Joan Chen) and her imperial court ministers. These characters are so exaggerated — with over-the-top “acting” designed for the back row of the second balcony — that they’re essentially held up as figures of ridicule.

(Longyu speaks for emperor-to-be Puyi, still a young child during these events; to put this into cinematic context, Puyi is the title character of Bernardo Bertolucci’s 1987 Oscar favorite, The Last Emperor.)

Longyu and her ministers were corrupt and despicable, to be sure, but they were no less dangerous; mocking them undercuts the difficulties that faced Sun Yat-sen (Winston Chao), as he attempted to plead China’s potential as an emerging republic to doubtful investors in Europe and the United States. Similarly, Longyu and her ministers are responsible for the thousands of lives lost as various early Chinese uprisings sputtered and died after facing the Qing court’s massive New Army.