Downton Abbey: The Grand Finale — Going out in style

Downton Abbey: The Grand Finale (2025) • View trailer

4.5 stars (out of five). Rated PG, for no particular reason

Available via: Movie theaters

By Derrick Bang • Published in The Davis Enterprise, 9.21.25

Trust Julian Fellowes to strike gold again.

 

The creator and primary writer behind Downton Abbey has overseen an impressive and always engaging run since the television serial debuted back in September 2010. Six series — encompassing 52 episodes — and three big-screen films later, Fellowes has lost none of his narrative magic.

 

The Downton clan — from left, Lady Edith (Laura Carmichael), Lord Grandtham (Hugh
Bonneville), Lady Mary (Michelle Dockery), Tom Branson (Allen Leech), Cora Grantham
(Elizabeth McGovern) and Bertie Hexham (Harry Hadden-Paton) — pause during
dinner, to ponder some uncomfortable decisions.

This (truly?) final installment brings everybody back to their beloved Yorkshire country estate, along with sequences set in traditionally British high spots such as the Royal Ascot racetrack and a sumptuous formal London ball. (Entertaining as it was, the previous film — A New Era — found everybody a bit out of place, in the south of France.) 

Even so, I worried that the absence of Maggie Smith’s Dowager Countess Violet Crawley would leave a gaping hole in the many carefully crafted relationship dynamics, which Fellowes established over so many years. 

 

Happily, she’s very much in evidence, and not merely via the handsome portrait displayed prominently in the estate’s grand hall. The Dowager Countess’ spirit also is present, and her marvelously tart one-liners have been taken up by Penelope Wilton’s Lady Isobel Merton, who delivers them with equal genteel frostiness.

 

The year is 1930, and the Crawleys — Lord Grantham (Hugh Bonneville), Lady Cora Grantham (Elizabeth McGovern), Lady Edith Hexham (Laura Carmichael) and her husband, Lord Hexham (Harry Hadden-Paton) — have just enjoyed a performance of Noël Coward’s operetta, Bitter Sweet. They’re in posh orchestral seats, of course, while Mr. Bates (Brendan Coyle), his pregnant wife Anna (Joanne Froggatt) and Miss Baxter (Raquel Cassidy) watch from an upper balcony.

 

A backstage visit grants additional exposure to Coward (Arty Froushan, who truly nails the role), star Guy Dexter (Dominic West) and his valet/companion, Thomas Barrow (Robert James-Collier), former Downton junior footman-turned-butler.

 

Coward ultimately plays a significant role in the film’s third act, and his presence also allows for carefully placed and thematically significant songs, including “I’ll See You Again,” “The Stately Homes of England” and “Poor Little Rich Girl.” The first is from the operetta, while the latter two are clever, Coward-esque songs by soundtrack composer John Lunn, who has been with the series from the beginning. (And yes, his iconic title theme is suitably placed.)

 

A running plot line from the first two big-screen films continues to stress the Crawleys: the increasing financial difficulty of maintaining Downton, along with their lifestyle, amid the socio-economic changes taking place during this period between wars. To that end, the family has placed great hope in an inheritance due Cora, following the death of her mother; her “black sheep” brother — Harold (Paul Giamatti), not seen since the TV show’s fourth season — arrives to share these details, accompanied by financial advisor Gus Sambrook (Alessandro Nivola).

 

But that issue is torpedoed abruptly, by the public revelation of Lady Mary’s (Michelle Dockery) divorce from her husband, Henry Talbot. This makes her persona non grata at Lady Petersfield’s Ball — the highlight of the social calendar — where Mary is ordered to leave, because in their aristocratic circle she immediately shifts from society darling to shamed outcast. (Additionally a pity, because we don’t get to see much of the sumptuous gown in which costume designer Anna Robbins garbed her, for this scene.)

 

One Life: A stunning Holocaust story

One Life (2024) • View trailer

4.5 stars (out of five). Rated PG, for dramatic intensity

Available via: Movie theaters

By Derrick Bang • Published in The Davis Enterprise, 3.15.24

Save one life, save the entire world.

 

Until this moment, it’s safe to assume that London stockbroker Nicholas “Nicky” Winton was unknown, here in the States, notwithstanding the 2014 publication of If It’s Not Impossible by his daughter, Barbara Winton.

 

In London, Nicholas "Nicky" Winton (Johnny Flynn) awaits the arrival of a train 
carrying a very special set of passengers.

And yet Oskar Schindler and Winton are revered for the same reason, and director James Hawes’ One Life is an equally moving spiritual cousin of 1993’s Schindler’s List.

There’s no indication of the miracle Winton orchestrated, as Hawes’ film opens. It’s 1988, and an elderly Nicky (Anthony Hopkins) has retired to a lovely countryside home that he shares with his wife, Grete (Lena Olin). He’s at loose ends, but she’s at wit’s end; Nicky’s lifetime of humanitarian work is catalogued in mountains of boxes that have taken over several rooms; there’s no space for them to enjoy the grandchild that their daughter and son-in-law soon will add to the family.

 

Of particular note: the contents of a battered brown suitcase, which rests inside a lower desk drawer.

 

Nicky’s malaise goes deeper. He’s deeply troubled by something that has haunted him for a very long time; Hopkins conveys all this via posture, a weary gaze, and an aura of regret that enshrouds him like a cloak.

 

We then flash back to December 1938, as young Nicky (Johnny Flynn) abruptly cancels a skiing holiday after receiving a telephone request for help from Doreen Warriner (Romola Garai) and Trevor Chadwick (Alex Sharp). They’re in Prague, helping refugees who’ve fled persecution from Austria and Germany, into Czechoslovakia’s Sudetenland.

 

Nicky hastily travels to Prague, where he’s stunned by the magnitude of the crisis. The streets are filled with homeless people and families; food and shelter are scarce, and the cruel bite of winter has just begun. Most particularly, he’s appalled by the huge number of children in such a state: particularly vulnerable little bodies unlikely to survive the upcoming months of brutal weather.

 

Hawes doesn’t dwell on this misery, but cinematographer Zac Nicholson’s tracking shot pauses at key moments, highlighting forlorn individuals who establish the magnitude of this crisis.

 

Nicky impulsively insists that something must be done, which initially exasperates Doreen and Trevor, who gently scoff at Nicky’s naïvete. He’s a posh London stockbroker with virtually no experience in such matters; what could he possibly do, that boots-on-the-ground crisis workers haven’t been able to achieve?

The Crime Is Mine: A frothy period romp

The Crime Is Mine (2023) • View trailer

Four stars (out of five). Unrated, equivalent to PG-13 for sexual candor and brief nudity 

Available via: Amazon Prime and other VOD options

By Derrick Bang

This is way too much fun.

 

Director François Ozon’s frothy period farce is many things: an homage to 1930s Hollywood screwball comedies, and a canny nod to the tempestuous cinema transition from silents to talkies, along with a cheeky soupçon of contemporary gender issues.

 

Crafty attorney Pauline Mauléon (Rebecca Marder, right) isn't about to let best friend
Madeleine Verdier (Nadia Tereszkiewicz) be convicted of a crime she didn't
commit ... or did she?

Oh, and it’s also a murder mystery.

The result is joyously entertaining, thanks both to a sharp script by Ozon and Philippe Piazzo — adapting Georges Berr and Louis Verneuil’s 1934 play, Mon Crime — and effervescent performances by the entire cast. Traces of the original stage production are evident (which must’ve been a hoot, back in the day), but the presentation never feels cramped; Ozon, production designer Jean Rabasse and cinematographer Manual Dacosse “open up” the story in a manner that’s far more cinema than theater.

 

The setting is Paris, the year 1935. Struggling actress Madeleine Verdier (Nadia Tereszkeiwicz) and best friend Pauline Mauléon (Rebecca Marder), an unemployed lawyer, share a cramped flat and owe 3,000 francs in five months’ back rent. Their oafish landlord, Pistole (Franck De Lapersonne), seems willing to take it out in trade, but — harumph! — Madeleine and Pauline aren’t that sort of gals.

 

While Pauline verbally jousts with Pistole, Madeleine is in trouble elsewhere; we see her hastily depart the lavish estate of famed theater producer Montferrand (Jean-Christophe Bouvet). She’s disheveled and clearly distraught. Upon returning to their flat, she tearfully explains that Montferrand offered her a bit part only if she’d become his mistress; we she refused, he tried to rape her, and she fled.

 

Madeleine’s longtime boyfriend André Bonnard (Édouart Sulpice) shows up — he’s heir to the Bonnard Tire corporation — but is scarcely a comfort. 400,000 francs in debt, thanks to bad luck at the horse track, the only “solution” offered by his father (André Dussollier) is an arranged marriage with Berthe Courteil, which — conveniently — will pump millions of francs into the ailing Bonnard factory operation.

 

But that’s okay, André insists, to the shattered Madeleine; we’ll still see each other for at least one meal per day ... as my mistress. (The cad! The bounder!)

 

Enter police Inspector Brun (Régis Laspalés), who arrives with the news that Montferrand has been found dead, murdered by a single gunshot ... and isn’t it rather suspicious, that Madeleine owns a gun with one chamber fired? 

 

Mais non, the young woman insists. But then, after an unsatisfied Brun departs, Pauline takes her friend aside ... and a plan is hatched.

The Boys in the Boat: A riveting historical sports saga

The Boys in the Boat (2023) • View trailer

Four stars (out of five). Rated PG-13, for occasional profanity

Available via: Movie theaters

By Derrick Bang

Some people have levels of strength, grit and determination that challenge credibility, and can only be called heroic.

 

That certainly was true of the 1936 University of Washington junior varsity rowing team, which became the subject of Daniel James Brown’s 2013 best-seller, on which this film is based. (The book also prompted a 2017 episode of PBS’ American Experience, “The Boys of ’36.”)

Director George Clooney clearly has a soft spot for period sports stories — his 2008 dramedy, Leatherheads, is seriously underrated — and he has a clear winner here. Although both book and film focus on scrappy Joe Rantz (played here by Callum Turner), scripter Mark L. Smith has narrowed the window to the 1935-36 academic year.

 

Clooney opens with a sweet prologue that echoes the similar “bookending” that Steven Spielberg employed in 1998’s Saving Private Ryan. We then flash back to the mid-1930s, with the United States mired in the Great Depression. 

 

Joe, on his own since age 14, finished high school and somehow managed to get enrolled at the University of Washington. He’s an attentive student, despite living in the remnants of a car, studying by the light of a lantern, and frequently going hungry. Employment has been spotty, and not quite enough to maintain tuition fees.

 

As this saga begins, he’s given a 14-day notice to pay the balance, or face expulsion.

 

Best friend Roger Morris (Sam Strike), equally poor and struggling, learns of potential salvation: obtaining a spot on the university rowing team, which would include food, lodging and enough money to handle tuition.

 

But Joe and Roger are hardly unique; they’re among literally hundreds of young men who show up for tryouts. Coach Al Ulbrickson (Joel Edgerton, note-perfect) and Assistant Coach Tom Bolles (James Wolk) calmly explain that the odds are heartbreaking; the one team opening has only eight spots, plus an alternate.

 

Edgerton masterfully handles Ulbrickson’s initial warning, as he catalogues the degree to which the human body simply wasn’t designed for the amount of punishment inflicted by this sport; it’s a superbly scripted speech, delivered with gently implacable emotion. 

 

Ulbrickson has his own share of troubles. His rowing teams have performed poorly during recent years, and their continuing losses to Cal (UC Berkeley’s) team are particularly galling. He’s given to understand that if things don’t improve, funding may be eliminated.

 

Munich — The Edge of War: Persuasive period espionage

Munich — The Edge of War (2021) • View trailer

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

Available via: Netflix

By Derrick Bang

British journalist-turned-novelist Robert Harris has written numerous works of suspenseful historical fiction, several of which have been transformed into equally tension-laden films; 2001’s Enigma and 2010’s The Ghost Writer immediately come to mind.

 

British Prime Minister Neville Chamerlain (Jeremy Irons, seated) goes over newspaper
reports of German activities with his aide and translator, Hugh Legat (George MacKay).

Director Christian Schwochow and scripter Ben Power have done an equally fine job with their adaptation of Munich. Their handling of this World War II-based nail-biter, thanks in great part to the way cinematographer Frank Lamm frames many of his shots, has the retro atmosphere of classic 1960s Cold War thrillers such as The Spy Who Came In from the Cold and The Ipcress File.

The result so cunningly blurs the line between fact and fiction, that it’s often difficult to determine which is which.

 

This story also has extremely disturbing parallels to current real-world events, which evoke Spanish philosopher George Santayana’s timeless quote: “Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it.”

 

A brief prologue, set in 1932, introduces reserved Brit Hugh Legat (George MacKay) and passionate German Paul von Hartman (Jannis Niewöhner), who’ve bonded during their university years at Oxford. Both clearly love the impish Lenya (Liv Lisa Fries), although she’s probably too free-spirited for the buttoned-down Hugh.

 

Events shift to the autumn of 1938. Hugh has become a civil servant attached to British Prime Minister Neville Chamberlain (Jeremy Irons), in offices also occupied by the latter’s principal private secretary, Sir Osmund Cleverly (Mark Lewis Jones); Permanent Under-Secretary for Foreign Affairs Sir Alexander Cadogan (Nicholas Farrell); and senior government official Sir Horace Wilson (Alex Jennings).

 

(All, with the exception of Legat, are key historical figures.)

 

Paul has become a German diplomat and clandestine anti-Nazi. He and Hugh haven’t spoken or seen each other during the past several years (for reasons revealed in a later flashback).

 

Tension is high, because Adolf Hitler has mobilized forces at the Czech border, with the intention of claiming the Sudetenland, a region with 3 million Germans. Should this take place, the British and French will be forced to unite and defend the Czechs, plunging Europe into war.

 

With the horrors of World War I still fresh in every British citizen’s mind, this is not a desirable outcome.

Nightmare Alley: Not worth a visit

Nightmare Alley (2021) • View trailer

Three stars (out of five). Rated R, for strong, bloody violence, sexual content, nudity and profanity

Available via: Movie theaters

By Derrick Bang • Published in The Davis Enterprise, 12.17.21

Mid-20th century touring carnivals, by their very nature, seem … well … sordid.

 

Squalid. Uneasily unpleasant, as if something nasty is happening in the tent around the corner.

 

Although Molly (Rooney Mara) is instinctively wary around charismatic carnival newcomer
Stan (Bradley Cooper), his charm and aw-shucks persistence eventually wear her down.
Which isn't good news...

No surprise, such an environment proved alluring to director Guillermo del Toro.

Nightmare Alley began life as a 1946 novel by William Lindsay Gresham (who, rather disturbingly, in 1962 committed suicide — via sleeping pills — in the same hotel room where he had written the first draft). Dashing Hollywood star Tyrone Power, looking for something meatier than the romantic and adventure roles for which he had become famous, persuaded 20th Century Fox’s Darryl F. Zanuck to buy the rights for him.

 

The resulting film was rushed into production and hit theaters the following year; alas, nobody wanted to see Power play such a morally tainted character, and the movie also endured considerable bad publicity — and moral outrage — due to the story’s squalid elements (quite strong, for the time).

 

History has been much kinder; it’s now regarded as one of the era’s finest film noir entries … a reputation del Toro’s remake hasn’t a chance of attaining.

 

Granted, this new adaptation looks terrific; production designer Tamara Deverell and cinematographer Dan Lausten persuasively establish the late Depression era, down to the grime and foulness; and an atmosphere of impending dread hovers over the carnival setting like a shroud.

 

The performances are uniformly strong, and the characters are riveting, with most of them displaying various shades of corruption. It’s also nice to see del Toro and co-scripter Kim Morgan retain Gresham’s grim conclusion. (The 1947 version “softened” the ending, which is that film’s sole flaw.)

 

Alas, del Toro’s pacing is lethargic and ponderous to a degree that ruins everything.

 

The Los Angeles Times recently ran an article titled “Are movies too long?,” and this one’s a poster child for a resounding yes. The 1947 version knew when to get off the stage; it’s a just-right 111 minutes. Del Toro’s remake is a butt-numbing 150 minutes, with nothing to show for such expansion. Indeed, the additional length actually works against the story’s atmosphere and suspense.

 

That’s a shame, because all concerned otherwise do their best, and the classic elements are in place. Every true noirrequires a louse; a very, very, very bad gal; a second, usually trusting and naïve woman whose virtue will be compromised; and assorted sidebar characters of dubious moral quality.

12 Mighty Orphans: Touchdown!

12 Mighty Orphans (2021) • View trailer

Four stars. Rated PG-13, for violence, profanity and suggestive references

Available via: Movie theaters

By Derrick Bang • Published in The Davis Enterprise, 6.18.21

This seems to be the season for inspirational, fact-based underdog stories, and we’ve got another good one.

 

Indeed, I’m surprised it took so long for this astonishing saga to hit the big screen.

 

As a meager few spectators watch, coach Rusty Russell (Luke Wilson, left),
Doc Hall (Martin Sheen, right) and a dispirited Snoggs (Jacob Lofland) contemplate
the disaster unfolding on the football field.

Director Ty Roberts’ heartfelt adaptation of author/sportswriter Jim Dent’s mesmerizing 2008 nonfiction book may be the ultimate underdog saga, given its Depression-era setting.

Events begin when Rusty Russell (Luke Wilson), his wife Juanita (Vinessa Shaw) and their little daughter Betty (Josie Fink) drive onto the grounds of the Fort Worth Masonic Widows and Orphans Home. Rusty has just become the institution’s head football coach: a significant step down from his previous successful position at Temple High School, and a decision made even stranger by the fact that Fort Worth Masonic doesn’t have a football team.

 

Heck, it doesn’t even have a football field: merely an open stretch of gravel, rocks and grass occupied by scrawny goats.

 

(The actual Russell had a good reason for this apparently rash and impulsive decision: a crucial detail poorly hinted at, in the otherwise solid script by Roberts, Lane Garrison and Kevin Meyer. Brief and vague flashbacks to Russell’s WWI trench experience aren’t sufficient.)

 

The challenge seems insurmountable, given that most of the older boys — the few with any potential, only 12 of whom qualify — are as scrawny as the aforementioned goats. They’re also an unkempt, ill-mannered and under-education bunch, with a tendency to quarrel and fight each other. That’s particularly true of the newest arrival, Hardy Brown (Jake Austin Walker), delivered — his clothes ominously covered in fresh blood — by the local sheriff.

 

Most of the other boys go by nicknames: Snoggs (Jacob Lofland), Wheatie (Slade Monroe), Fairbanks (Levi Dylan) and so forth.

 

Their belligerence and uncooperative natures aside, the enormity of Rusty’s endeavor becomes clear when the field is cleared for the first practice. He expected the absence of anything resembling uniforms, but the boys don’t even have shoes. Nor is there a football, so Juanita and Betty improvise a substitute.

 

Despite all this, Rusty remains hopeful; he senses an inner spirit, a yearning for pride, waiting to be nurtured. He understands that those who have nothing, and are given an opportunity to amount to something, will fight like hell to embrace and retain it.

 

The Dig: A captivating excavation

The Dig (2021) • View trailer

Four stars. Rated PG-13, and much too harshly, for brief sensuality and fleeting partial nudity

By Derrick Bang • Published in The Davis Enterprise, 2.26.21

Director Simon Stone’s well-seasoned character drama, available via Netflix, is a thoroughly absorbing slice of old-style British filmmaking: a fascinating, fact-based story inhabited by engaging characters, set in England’s luxuriously verdant countryside.

 

After a harrowing reminder that amateur excavation can be quite dangerous, Edith Pretty
(Carey Mulligan) makes sure that archaeologist Basil Brown (Ralph Fiennes) has
suffered no more than a terrible fright.

The countryside in question is Suffolk, the year 1939: just as Britain is battening down the hatches in anticipation of war with Germany. Odd, then, that widowed aristocratic landowner Edith Pretty (Carey Mulligan) chooses this moment to investigate the large barrows (burial mounds) that dot her 526-acre Sutton Hoo estate (but, well, the actual Pretty did just that).

 

Such mounds were prevalent throughout much of the United Kingdom at this point in time, and it was accepted wisdom that — if they contained anything at all — the contents likely would date back to the Viking era. Edith has no reason to expect otherwise, but even Viking artifacts would be worthy of museum preservation.

 

She hires local archaeologist/excavator Basil Brown (Ralph Fiennes) to investigate; after surveying the various mounds, he settles on a particularly large one. The digging is arduous, painstaking and slow, even with the help of a few estate workers. As the days and weeks pass, with Edith and her adolescent son Robert (Archie Barnes) taking an active interest — and since Basil is living on the estate — he becomes a welcome part of the family.

 

That’s no small thing, since the working-class Basil is akin to a servant himself. But Edith clearly gives no thought to that sort of thing: a deliberate contrast to the way Basil is regarded as “lesser” by his archaeological peers, since he’s self-taught after having left school at age 12.

 

Nothing is quite as condescending as British class snobbery, and Fiennes does a marvelous job of imbuing Basil with quiet dignity and patient resolve, when confronted by it. His deepening bond with Edith and Robert notwithstanding, he also tends toward obsession, ignoring frequent letters from his wife, May (Monica Dolan).

 

Basil becomes convinced that these Sutton Hoo barrows might pre-date the Viking era (eighth to 11th century): in fact, might be Anglo-Saxon (as early as the fifth century). Naturally, his disdainful colleagues dismiss this notion.

 

Then Basil finds some iron rivets. A ship’s iron rivets. (Bear in mind, we’re well inland.) Only figures of immense merit — such as kings — were buried with their ships.

Mank: A true dazzler

Mank (2020) • View trailer

Five stars. Rated R, for profanity and sexual candor

By Derrick Bang • Published in The Davis Enterprise, 1.8.21

Director David Fincher’s Mank is a magnificent experience in all manner of ways, starting with Gary Oldman’s mesmerizing portrayal of celebrated journalist, author and screenwriter Herman J. Mankiewicz.

 

Screenwriter Herman J. Mankiewicz (Gary Oldman) and actress Marion Davies
(Amanda Seyfried) meet over a shared cigarette; they'll soon bond over their
tempestuous fealty to William Randolph Hearst.

It’s also a bravura, often breathtaking display of cinematic art. Fincher, cinematographer Erik Messerschmidt and editor Kirk Baxter have meticulously replicated the style, atmosphere and very essence of the film — Citizen Kane — whose creation drives this narrative. The sharply sculpted screenplay — by Fincher’s late father, Jack — even mimics the non-linear storytelling style that was so innovative in Orson Welles’ classic.

 

The saga is rigorously period-authentic, and (mostly) historically accurate. Jack Fincher conflates a few key events — and meddles a bit with chronology — to heighten dramatic tension, but his characterization of key players is (often dismayingly) dead-on.

 

Perhaps Jack Fincher’s most audacious stroke is his revival of a controversy that film scholars have deemed long settled: the question of who actually wrote, and/or contributed the most, to the script of Citizen Kane. Fincher pere et fil clearly imply that Mankiewicz deserves the lion’s share of credit, whereas actual evidence weighs far more heavily in Welles’ favor. 

 

Ah, but even here, Fincher’s script is cheekily ambiguous … because their Mankiewicz clearly isn’t the most reliable narrator of — or participant in — his own life.

 

(In the movie world, stubborn skeptics are akin to those who insist that Shakespeare’s plays actually were written by Francis Bacon. For the record, though, Welles and Mankiewicz shared the screenplay Academy Award, the sole victory among Kane’s nine Oscar nominations.)

 

Fincher opens his film in early 1940, as Mankiewicz is deposited at an isolated ranch in Victorville, California, roughly 90 miles from the hedonistic Hollywood environment that exacerbates his worst tendencies. He’s left with secretary Rita Alexander (Lily Collins), longtime friend and writing associate John Houseman (Sam Troughton), and a nurse (Monika Gossmann) to care for a badly broken leg sustained in a recent driving accident.

 

Mankiewicz’s assignment from Welles: to come up with the initial draft of a screenplay depicting the imperious career of a combustible newspaper mogul who — wink, wink, nudge, nudge — isn’t really based on William Randolph Hearst. Except that of course it is.

The Highwaymen: Old dogs on the hunt

The Highwaymen (2019) • View trailer 
Four stars. Rated R, for strong violence and bloody images
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 4.5.19

Some actors are inherently captivating, even when their characters are engaged in activities that aren’t otherwise cinematically interesting.

Having detected a possible pattern to Bonnie and Clyde's movements, Many Gault
(Woody Harrelson, left) and Frank Hamer (Kevin Costner) hope to be on hand,
the next time the outlaws strike.

That’s definitely true of Kevin Costner and Woody Harrelson, who make an art form of quiet, contemplative brooding in director John Lee Hancock’s The Highwaymen. Both are note-perfect as — respectively — Texas Rangers Frank Hamer and Maney Gault, brought out of retirement in early 1934, in order to hunt down Clyde Barrow and Bonnie Parker.

John Fusco’s thoughtful, fact-based screenplay does much to undo the historical damage wrought by 1967’s pop culture-oriented Bonnie and Clyde. At the same time, Fusco slyly acknowledges the dangerous “cult of celebrity” that made the outlaws attractive to people beaten down by Depression-era poverty, who naively — stupidly — believed that two kill-crazy sociopaths were “looking out for the common folks.”

(That dynamic similarly blinds the percentage of today’s American public that continues to worship at the altar of a narcissist who repeatedly worsens their lives.)

Although Bonnie and Clyde’s increasingly violent crime spree had continued for two years — in part — due to overwhelmed small-town police departments not yet able to coordinate effectively with each other, the challenge of catching the outlaws was exacerbated by civilians disinclined to help. But that sentiment began to shift after Jan. 16, 1934, when the gang freed a quartet of inmates from Texas’ Eastham Prison Farm, shooting two guards in the process. (One died two weeks later.)

This was the last straw for Texas Gov. Miriam Amanda Wallace “Ma” Ferguson (an appropriately feisty Kathy Bates), and it’s where Hancock’s film begins. Despite opposition from Bureau of Investigation agents — soon to become the FBI — Ferguson lets her Department of Corrections chief (John Carroll Lynch, as Lee Simmons) seek out Hamer, long respected as a dedicated and dogged law enforcement officer.

Despite that, he’d been forced into retirement after Ferguson disbanded the Texas Rangers the previous year (political revenge, after the agency had backed her election opponent). We meet Hamer on a typical morning, as he putters silently around the lovely home shared with wife Gladys (Kim Dickens). We get a sense that she’s constantly busy with volunteer work, whereas Costner’s resigned, slightly aimless expression speaks volumes about a man who has lost his purpose in life.

Even so, Hamer is disinclined to accept Simmons’ request, in part due to a reluctant recognition of age-related limitations, and also by way of respecting Gladys’ legitimate fear over the assignment’s obvious dangers. The die is cast when Bonnie and Clyde are involved in another violent confrontation in Missouri.

Papillon: Doesn't fly quite as high as its predecessor

Papillon (2017) • View trailer 
3.5 stars. Rated R, for strong bloody violence, nudity, profanity, dramatic intensity and sexual content
By Derrick Bang

Prison dramas, a cinematic staple since 1932’s I Am a Fugitive from a Chain Gang, have long attracted big-name stars: Alec Guinness and William Holden (The Bridge Over the River Kwai,), Paul Newman (Cool Hand Luke), Daniel Day-Lewis (In the Name of the Father) and Steve McQueen and Dustin Hoffman (Papillon).

Although initially worried that he might be making a deal with a different sort of devil,
Louis Dega (Rami Malek, left) agrees to accept protection from Henri "Papillon"
Charrière (Charlie Hunnam), in exchange for using some of his artfully concealed cash
to help finance a potential escape attempt.

More recent examples have increasingly depicted a level of brutality that never would have been possible during Hollywood’s golden age — 2014 Unbroken comes to mind — but, at their core, the best examples have endured because of their memorable character dynamics. That’s certainly true of the McQueen/Hoffman pairing in 1973’s Papillon, which remains a classic.

Mounting a remake of that film requires considerable chutzpah, since it’s akin to taking a fresh look at, say, Citizen Kane or Casablanca.

That said, director Michael Noer’s new handling of Papillon is a worthy effort, thanks mostly to the riveting performances from — and crackling chemistry between — stars Charlie Hunnam and Rami Malek. While likely to remain in its 1973 predecessor’s shadow, Noer’s film deserves a chance to acquaint newcomers with this thoroughly gripping saga.

Aaron Guzilowski’s screenplay is adapted from the two memoirs — Papillon and Banco— written by Henri Charrière, the man who supposedly lived these events. (His nickname, “Papillon,” referred to the butterfly tattoo on his chest.) That disclaimer is more necessary today than it was in 1973, because ongoing research suggests that the events in Charrière’s books were endured by multiple individuals, and not just him alone … and that he also may not be the most reliable of narrators.

But the key details are undeniable: Charrière/Papillon was a Parisian safecracker and thief who ran afoul of an underworld gangster, and in return was framed for murder, and sentenced in 1931 to “life” in French Guiana’s notoriously harsh St-Laurent-du-Maroni prison camp: an isolated setting from which escape was “impossible.”

Since Charrière did not complete the sentence that was extended repeatedly due to his “bad behavior,” and given the existence of his two books — published in 1970 and ’73, respectively — we know immediately that “impossible” was an overstatement. Even so, the suspense derives from how things went down. The possibility that Charrière may have exaggerated details scarcely matters; Noer, Guzikowski and their two stars deliver a gripping, wincingly grim drama.

Maudie: Portrait of an unlikely artist

Maudie (2016) • View trailer 
Four stars. Rated PG-13, for dramatic intensity and brief sexuality
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 7.14.17

Film, despite the potential of its myriad elements, rarely delivers the intensity of a powerful stage performance.

Everett (Ethan Hawke) can't understand why Maudie (Sally Hawkins) puts so much
painstaking — and painful — effort into her delicate watercolor paintings. As far as he's
concerned, they only interfere with her primary purpose: to feed him on time.

There’s something electrifying about being in the presence of a truly charismatic actor: one who slides wholly into a role with an authoritative snap that crushes any thought of looking elsewhere. Every move, gesture and sentence are riveting; we’re simply spellbound.

You don’t very often get that from a film performance.

Here’s one.

Sally Hawkins’ title role in Maudie is the stuff of cinematic legend: not merely a role that should bring her an Academy Award, but one destined to be remembered for a long, long time. It’s a delicately crafted, sensitively delivered characterization that transcends the term “acting,” and becomes something truly wondrous.

That said, this Canadian/Irish co-production doesn’t make it easy on Stateside viewers unfamiliar with Maud Lewis, a humble 20th century Nova Scotia woman who — unexpectedly, astonishingly — became one of Canada’s most famous folk artists. Director Aisling Walsh and scripter Sherry White dump us — without title credits, preamble or any sort of back-story — into the drab, day-to-day frustration of Maudie’s thirtysomething routine.

It’s the mid-1930s. Maudie lives with her Aunt Ida (Gabrielle Rose) in the tiny community of Digby: a “kept” existence arranged by her condescending brother Charles (Zachary Bennett), her only sibling. He calls her “Sister,” unwilling to grant her even the small dignity of her own name. Both their parents are dead; Charles arrives one morning to inform Maudie that he has sold the family home — without bothering to consult her — to settle outstanding debts.

He dumps her meager belongings, including a set of paintbrushes, and departs. Hastily.

He’s ashamed and embarrassed by her, and believes that she cannot care for herself. Maudie suffers the debilitating after-effects of childhood rheumatoid arthritis, which has left her body wracked with pain and twisted at odd angles.