Finally Dawn: It can't come quickly enough

Finally Dawn (2023) • View trailer

Three stars (out of five). Not rated, but equivalent to a mild R, for debauched behavior and drug use

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

By Derrick Bang • Published in The Davis Enterprise, 7.27.25 

Italian writer/director Saverio Costanzo’s period drama is a wickedly uneasy character piece, until the story’s key character succumbs — in the third act — to a regrettable case of The Stupids.

 

Bad enough that Mimosa (Rebecca Antonaci, far left) is in over her head at this lavish
party; what she doesn't realize is that her companions — from left, Josephine (Lily James),
Sean (Joe Keery) and Rufus (Willem Dafoe) — may not have her best interests at heart.

That aside, the acting is solid throughout, and this piece also is an affectionate nod to Italy’s post-World War II filmmaking period, when Rome became know as “Hollywood on the Tiber.” The city attracted many international productions — particularly from the United States — to its famed Cinecittà studios.

Costanzo opens on a grim, black-and-white sequence toward the end of the war. This 5-minute prologue turns out to be a film, The Sacrifice, being watched in a crowded movie theater by two sisters — vivacious, gorgeous Iris (Sofia Panizzi) and younger, mousy Mimosa (Rebecca Antonaci) — and their mother Elvira (Carmen Pommella). After the film concludes, they debate the merits of lush Hollywood artifice as opposed to Italian cinema’s then-rising neorealism.

 

Everybody agrees about the allure of the film’s Italian star, Alida Valli (Alba Rohrwacher) and her American co-star, Sean Lockwood (Joe Keery).

 

As the trio departs the theater, they’re intercepted by a smarmy talent scout seeking extras for a sword-and-sandal epic current being filmed at Cinecittà; drawn by Iris’ allure, he insists that she try out. Elvira and her husband Rinaldo (Enzo Casertano) give their permission, and the two young women duly present themselves at the studio the following day, with Mimosa acting as chaperone after their mother is left at the gate.

 

As a sidebar, Elvira and Rinaldo apparently expect Iris to marry well, given her good looks and personality, whereas they’ve “arranged” for Mimosa to wed a working-class policeman. (We meet him briefly. It’s a fate worse than death.)

 

Iris nails the audition, despite being asked to remove her sweater; the more prim Mimosa balks at that request and thus is dismissed. While subsequently searching for her sister, Mimosa wanders the lot. She first stumbles into a screening room, where studio execs watch footage for a news documentary about the recent discovery of a dead aspiring young actress, Wilma Montesi, on the Capocotta beach adjacent to a lavish estate owned by Ugo Montagna, who had hosted a party the previous evening.

 

(Costanzo is referencing the actual murder of 21-year-old Montesi, which places this film’s events in 1953.)

Tokyo Cowboy: Round it up!

Tokyo Cowboy (2023) • View trailer

Four stars (out of five). Rated PG, for fleeting mild profanity

Available via: Amazon Prime and other VOD options

By Derrick Bang

I’ve been waiting for this one since last summer.

 

Despite its distributor’s claims of theatrical release, Tokyo Cowboy never made it to the Northern California market, and evidence suggests only a few film festival appearances. Streaming options also took longer than usual, but patience has been rewarded.

 

Having thus far failed to impress anybody at the Lazy River Ranch, Hideki (Arata Iura)
is surprised when Javier (Goya Robles) offers a genuine sign of friendship.

It does not disappoint.

Scripters Dave Boyle and Ayako Fujitani have concocted a marvelous premise that revolves around a hopeless culture clash: a quiet, slow-burn dramedy that is — by turns — aggravating, frustrating, and gently amusing. It also speaks volumes about how wildly contrasting people must forge a common bond ... and be willing to do so.

 

On top of which, a great moral: Sometimes true happiness can be found only when we’re brave enough to step outside our comfort zone.

 

Marc Marriott — in a sparkling feature directorial debut — maintains just the right tone, and elicits delicately shaded performances from everybody, even those in fleeting supporting roles.

 

Hideki Sakai (Arata Iura) has built a career as a Japanese corporate turnaround artist employed by Miki Holdings Ltd.: confident that he has the “secret sauce” to recharge any stagnant brand. He’s introduced as his company takes over the Matsuyama Handmade Chocolate company, where employees are shown carefully crafting candy delicacies made from the finest chocolate.

 

The elderly Mr. Matsuyama (Masashi Arifuku), lacking grandchildren to inherit his business, reluctantly relinquishes control as Hideki assures him that the company will be well chaperoned.

 

Uh-huh.

 

Within days, the cocoa is out-sourced to one of Miki’s holdings in Brazil, the product menu is slimmed down, artisan employees are replaced by a production line, the word “Handmade” is removed from the company name, and its previously attractive logo is replaced by an ugly blend of sharp lines and blobby colors  ... all of which cuts front-end expenses by 15 percent. 

 

(At what cost to the taste of the final product? That question has a delectably slow build and a great payoff.)

 

Miki’s corporate President Miwa (Ryô Iwamatsu) is pleased.

Woman of the Hour: Riveting and chilling

Woman of the Hour (2023) • View trailer

Four stars (out of five). Not rated, but akin to R for violence, dramatic intensity, leering sexuality and profanity

Available via: Netflix

By Derrick Bang • Published in The Davis Enterprise, 10.27.24

Screenwriter Ian McDonald’s savvy script for this true crime thriller made the 2017 Top 10 Hollywood “Black List” of as-yet unproduced motion picture screenplays. I’m amazed it took this long to get turned into a film, and impressed by the skill with which Anna Kendrick did so: definitely one of the best, most assured directorial debuts in recent memory.

 

Dating Game host Ed Burke (Tony Hale) and contestant Sheryl Bradshaw (Anna Kendrick)
have no idea that one of her three potential suitors is a serial killer.

The hook that powers this story is a shocking eyebrow lift: On September 13, 1978, on a seemingly average episode of the titillating daytime TV series The Dating Game, nobody had any idea that one of the three male contestants, who fielded bachelorette Cheryl Bradshaw’s deliberately silly (and scripted) questions, was a serial killer and convicted sex offender who already had served a stretch in prison.

It was a simpler time. No background checks were conducted; contestants — of both sexes — were chosen solely on the basis of appearance and personality. (The mind doth boggle ... and a 5-minute clip from that episode is viewable via YouTube.)

 

Kendrick and McDonald structure their film cleverly, opening with a 1977 prologue that takes place in the wide open spaces of Wyoming. A sweetly bashful young woman named Sarah (Kelley Jakle) has allowed herself to be driven to this remote spot, in order to be photographed by Rodney Alcala (Daniel Zovatto).

 

He frames her, lovingly, for several shots ... and everything feels wrong. His smile and words of encouragement are too smarmy; his posture is coiled, like a snake waiting to strike. Poor Sarah is oblivious.

 

The inevitable is awful, and although Kendrick and cinematographer Zach Kuperstein don’t dwell on it exploitatively, the sequence continues long enough to reveal the horrible way that the actual Alcala cruelly toyed with some of his victims, like a cat torturing a mouse.

 

We then leap to 1978 Hollywood, where aspiring actress Sheryl Bradshaw (Kendrick) is auditioning for a bargain-basement role offered by a pair of slimy casting directors (Matty Finochio and Geoff Gustafson). The encounter is embarrassing and dehumanizing; Kendrick’s frozen smile and wounded gaze speak volumes.

 

As becomes clear, when Sheryl later commiserates with neighbor and best (only?) friend Terry (Pete Holmes), she has been struggling with this goal for awhile, with no success. She even has an agent, who eventually gets Sheryl booked onto The Dating Game: a great way to get noticed, she’s promised.

 

Sheryl’s prep and participation in this sexist excuse for daytime entertainment becomes this film’s narrative center: a single-day experience periodically interrupted as the film jumps back and forth in time, to track a few of Rodney’s other ... um ... activities.

The Long Game: Hole in one!

The Long Game (2024) • View trailer

Four stars (out of five). Rated PG, for mild profanity, racial slurs and brief rude material

Available via: Netflix and other streaming services

By Derrick Bang • Published in The Davis Enterprise, 7.28.24

We’ve enjoyed an impressive run of fact-based sports sagas during the past year — Nyad, The Boys in the Boat and Young Woman and the Sea leap to mind — but in terms of amazing actual events, this one’s the best.

 

As JB (Jay Hernandez, standing center) quietly waits, a clearly surprised Frank
(Dennis Quaid) absorbs the passion that these boys possess, for the game of golf...
and then agrees to coach their fledgling high school team.

Director Julio Quintana’s well mounted drama ticks all the boxes: engaging characters, well played by a strong cast; a story that focuses equally on relationships, racism and distressing history; and a reminder that passion, when properly applied, can move mountains.

And — oh, yes — it’s also about golf: defined so superbly in 2000’s The Legend of Bagger Vance as “a game that cannot be won, only played.”

 

Quintana and co-scripters Paco Farias and Jennifer C. Stetson based their story on Humberto G. Garcia’s 2012 nonfiction book, Mustang Miracle ... and they didn’t need to change much. The actual events are cinematic all by themselves.

 

The year is 1956, the setting Del Rio, Texas. World War II veteran JB Pena (Jay Hernandez) and his wife, Lucy (Jaina Lee Ortiz) have just moved into town; he has accepted a job as superintendent of the local (segregated) high school. He also loves to golf, and hopes to become a member of the local San Felipe Country Club.

 

Alas, sponsorship by close friend and war buddy Frank Mitchell (Dennis Quad) isn’t enough to overcome the club’s color barrier, or the patronizing attitudes of Judge Milton Cox (Brett Cullen) and club director Don Glenn (Richard Robichaux), who function as this story’s racist villains. 

 

“I’m afraid there’s just no place for you here,” JB is told.

 

Both Cullen and Robichaux are persuasively snobbish and condescending, to a degree that makes one want to reach into the screen and smack them.

 

Of course, the club’s white members have no trouble hiring Latino high school kids as caddies, as long as they “know their place.” Toe the line, and they might even get a five-cent tip.

 

The Imaginary: Sweet, but slightly flawed

The Imaginary (2023) • View trailer

3.5 stars (out of five). Rated PG, for scary images and dramatic intensity

Available via: Netflix

By Derrick Bang

Despite its often melancholy tone, director Yoshiyuki Momose’s wildly colorful film is a heartfelt valentine to children and their imaginary friends.

 

Amanda and her "imaginary friend," Rudger, enjoy wonderfully colorful adventures
limited solely by what she dreams up.

This is the third film from Tokyo’s Studio Ponoc, founded in 2015 by Yoshiaki Nishimura, former lead producer of Hayao Miyazaki’s Studio Ghibli. The Imaginary follows 2017’s Mary and the Witch’s Flower and 2018’s Modest Heroes, all three boasting the colorfully lush, hand-drawn animation that has long been a hallmark of Studio Ghibli.

And, just as Studio Ghibli dipped into British children’s literature with 2010’s The Secret World of Arrietty — based on Mary Norton’s beloved 1952 novel, The Borrowers — Momose and screenwriter Yoshiaki Nishimura have adapted A.F. Harrold’s popular 2014 British children’s novel, with illustrations by Emily Gravett.

 

That said, Momose does his film no favors with a chaotic prologue likely to overwhelm viewers ... and perhaps even put them off. (Grit your teeth and hang on for five minutes, at which point things will make sense.)

 

Young Amanda (voiced in the American edition by Evie Kiszel) and her mother, Lizzie (Hayley Atwell) live above the Shuffleup Book Shop, a charming little store her parents established in an unspecified English country village. But Lizzie hasn’t been able to make ends meet since her husband’s recent death; job interviews haven’t been promising, and the shop is days from closing.

 

Her father’s absence explains Amanda’s creation of Rudger (Louie Rudge-Buchanan) — please, never “Roger” — an imaginary friend who proudly boasts that he was born “three months, three weeks and three days ago.”  Thanks to an active imagination fueled by the contents of her marvelous attic bedroom — a retreat most of us would have hungered for, at a similar age — Amanda and Rudger share all manner of exciting, colorful and just-dangerous-enough-to-be-thrilling adventures.

 

Rudger is completely real to her, which — and this is the story’s core point — makes him real, although he can be seen only by Amanda. During their flamboyant exploits, all of them opulently realized by Momose and his talented animators, the two frequently chant a mantra:

 

“Whatever happens, never disappear ... protect each other ... and never cry.”

The Old Oak: Solid, true to life, and timely

The Old Oak (2023) • View trailer

Four stars (out of five). Not rated, but R territory for nonstop profanity

Available via: Amazon Prime and other VOD outlets

By Derrick Bang

A reassuring quote, usually incorrectly attributed to St. Augustine, observes that “Hope has two daughters: Anger and Courage. Anger at the way things are, and Courage to see that they do not remain as they are.”

 

Far too many people, these days, have shunned that second daughter.

 

When an unlikely friendship develops between Syrian newcomer Yara (Ebla Mari) and
pub owner TJ (Dave Turner), it's viewed as a betrayal by some of his longtime
neighbors and customers.

The Old Oak is the final entry in director Ken Loach’s unofficial “Northeast Trilogy,” following 2016’s I, Daniel Blakeand 2019’s Sorry We Missed You. At 88 years young, this new film is likely to be his swan song ... although I wouldn’t bet against him. But if it is to be his last hurrah, it’s a lovely note on which to conclude a career that stretches back more than half a century.

This also is the 16th film Loach has made with scripter Paul Laverty: a collaboration that began with 1996’s Carla’s Song. Their oeuvre is dominated by brutally unhappy stories that focus on struggling, working-class individuals driven to — and often beyond — their breaking point. These films are well-crafted statements of rage against real-world systems that seem deliberately designed to crush ordinary folks ... and they’re often quite painful to watch.

 

The Old Oak, however, is a bit different ... although, at first blush, it doesn’t seem that way.

 

The year is 2016, the setting a village in Northeast England: once a thriving mining community, now fallen on hard times. Shops are boarded up, and most former residents have left; many of those who remain are frustrated, depressed, bitter and — yes — angry. The town’s sole remaining gathering spot is its only pub: The Old Oak, run by TJ Ballantyne (Dave Turner).

But even TJ is barely hanging on by his fingertips. The pub’s larger “function space” has been locked for years, due to unrepaired plumbing and electrical issues; the regulars are limited to the smaller space in front of the bar. This sense of slow-motion collapse is conveyed cleverly as the film begins, when TJ — prior to opening one morning — attempts, without success, to straighten the final outdoor letter in the pub’s name.

 

And as far as many of the locals are concerned, things get much worse on this particular day, when a busload of Syrian refugees arrives unexpectedly. Because so many houses have remained empty for so long, they’ve been advertised at fire-sale prices by distant landlords — sometimes based in other countries (!) — who couldn’t care less how this practice destroys the value of the homes owned by the villagers who remain.

 

One such victim is TJ’s boyhood friend Charlie (Trevor Fox), who with his wife did all the right things: They worked hard, raised a family, bought the terraced house they initially rented, and maintained it throughout the years, believing it a secure investment that would fund a happy retirement. Now, through no fault of their own, that carefully nurtured plan has crumbled into dust.

Hit Man: Scores a bullseye

Hit Man (2024) • View trailer

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

Available via: Netflix

By Derrick Bang

This one’s too much fun.

 

Richard Linklater has enjoyed an impressively varied career during his four decades as a self-taught writer/director, covering all manner of genres, styles and approaches. Even his lesser efforts are interesting in some way, and his gems are choice.

 

While posing as an assasin-for-hire named Ron, Gary (Glen Powell) discovers that his
newest "client," Madison (Adria Arjona) is much more complicated than his usual marks.

Hit Man is a ruby.

Linklater and star Glen Powell — rising rapidly into the A-list stratosphere — collaborated on this scripted adaptation of Skip Hollandsworth’s mesmerizing 2001 Texas Monthly non-fiction article. The film’s tone is cheeky from an initial promise that “What you’re about to see is a somewhat true story,” and it gets more audacious by the minute.

 

What’s truly amazing is the degree to which this film’s events are factual ... but do yourself a favor: Watch it first, before looking up Hollandsworth’s magazine piece. (Which, I promise, you’ll definitely want to do.)

 

Many of the true portions come under the heading of You Simply Couldn’t Make Up Stuff Like This.

 

Gary Johnson (Powell) is the epitome of mundane. He teaches philosophy and psychology at the University of New Orleans, where his students snicker over the fact that he drives a Honda Civic. He lives with two cats — named Id and Ego, of course — feeds birds, and carefully spray-waters his houseplants. His reading leans toward Carl Jung; a copy of Memories, Dreams, Reflections rests on his desk.

 

His very appearance is dull, thanks to Juliana Hoffpauir’s crafty costume design and Ally Vickers’ hair styling. Add the baggy jorts and unflattering glasses, and Gary looks like a total dweeb ... which, given Powell’s actual hunky self, is rather astonishing.

 

Gary does have a side hustle: He’s an electronics whiz, and for some time has assisted the New Orleans police with surveillance equipment and cleverly concealed bugs. His frequent partners during such assignments are cops Claudette (stand-up veteran Retta) and Phil (Sanjay Rao), a hilariously understated Mutt ’n’ Jeff duo who trade dry quips.

 

Their frequent targets involve ordinary citizens, who — fed up with a spouse, family member or business partner — want to hire a contract killer to, um, take care of the problem. Permanently. They invariably ask “disreputable types” — topless dancers, bar bouncers, bail bondsmen — for a “reference” ... at which point, said individuals usually contact the cops, who set up a sting. The mark’s lethal desire must be spoken aloud, and money must change hands.

 

Fellow cop Jasper (Austin Amelio) traditionally has played the “hit man” role; he’s smarmy enough to look the part.

The Fall Guy: Rip-snortin' mayhem

The Fall Guy (2024) • View trailer

Four stars (out of five). Rated PG-13, for action violence, drug content and fleeting profanity

Available via: Movie theaters

By Derrick Bang • Published in The Davis Enterprise, 5.17.24

This is way too much fun.

 

Director David Leitch and scripter Drew Pearce dumped their stars into a frothy, tongue-in-cheek action epic that never takes itself seriously ... while simultaneously delivering a heartfelt indictment of Hollywood’s shameful refusal to properly acknowledge the brave, hard-working stuntmen and women — and their support teams — who’ve operated in the shadows since the dawn of cinema.

 

With everything to lose, Cole (Ryan Gosling) makes a last-ditch effort to solve the weird
mystery that plagues his ex's film shoot.

A few have been appropriately recognized, over time: the utterly amazing Yakima Canutt, gender-breaking pioneers Helen Gibson and Evelyn Finley, stuntman-turned-director Hal Needham, and acrobatic stars such as Buster Keaton and Jackie Chan.

Most, though, remain anonymous ... thanks in great part to the Academy of Motion Pictures Arts and Sciences’ ongoing refusal to honor them with an Oscar category.

 

(They’re about to add one for casting directors ... but still not for stunt workers? Shameful.)

 

But I digress.

 

Pearce’s balls-to-the-wall plot, very loosely based on the 1981-86 Lee Majors TV series of the same name, opens as well-respected stuntman Colt Seavers (Ryan Gosling) successfully completes a drop-shot as a stand-in for insufferably self-centered movie star Tom Ryder (Aaron Taylor-Johnson). The latter, egged on by producer/manager Gail Meyer (the hilariously overblown Hannah Waddingham, late of TV’s Ted Lasso), demands a retake; too much of Colt’s face is visible in the shot, spoiling the illusion that Ryder does his own stunts.

 

(This arrogant PR nonsense, notorious among far too many of Hollywood’s insecure “action heroes,” is woefully tolerated even to this day.)

 

The retake ... goes badly.

 

In a sickening sequence that draws horrified gasps even though Leitch keeps it off-camera — and is a disturbing echo of the real-world accident that crippled Daniel Radcliffe’s longtime stunt double, Davis Holmes (sensitively addressed in a poignant 2023 documentary — Colt breaks his back.

 

Flash-forward a year and change. Colt has withdrawn from life and the career he loved so much ... and from the woman, Jody Moreno (Emily Blunt), who also meant so much to him. He now works a dead-end job as a parking attendant; she has parlayed her behind-the-scenes film set responsibilities into a first-time directing assignment on an overblown sci-fi epic dubbed “Metalstorm.” It stars Ryder, of course, with Gail as executive producer.

 

But there’s trouble on the set. Unknown to Jody, Ryder has mysteriously vanished; worse yet, so has his stunt double, Kevin (Ben Gerrard). Gail, knowing that she can stall for a few days by suggesting that Jody focus on second-unit action scenes, reaches out and begs Cole to step in.

 

“Jody wants you,” Gail insists. “She needs you.”

 

Although plagued by doubt and guilt over how he abandoned Jody, Colt cannot resist this plea; could it mean that she has forgiven him?

The Three Musketeers: Milady — Thoroughly enjoyable

The Three Musketeers: Milady (2023) • View trailer

Four stars (out of five). Not rated, and akin to PG-13 for violence

Available via: Amazon Prime and other VOD options

By Derrick Bang

No surprise: The second chapter of French filmmaker Martin Bourboulon’s swashbuckling epic is every bit as entertaining as its predecessor.

 

You'd think he would learn! Milady (Eva Green) once again has D'Artagnan (François Civil)
at her mercy ... although what she intends to do with him, remains an open question.

As director Richard Lester did, back in the 1970s, Bourboulon closed the first half on a (mostly) triumphant note, with the French queen’s reputation preserved, thanks to the heroic efforts of D’Artagnan (François Civil) and his fellow Musketeers; they foiled a nefarious plot by the scheming Cardinal Richelieu (Èric Ruf) and his henchwoman, the malevolent Milady (Eva Green).

Our heroes also thwarted an attempt to assassinate King Louis XIII (Louis Garrel). 

 

But Bourboulon and his co-scripters — Matthieu Delaporte and Alexandre de La Patellière — couldn’t resist adding a nasty cliffhanger. D’Artagnan, warned that his beloved Constance (Lyna Khoudri) was in danger, was just in time to see her snatched and whisked away in a black coach ... after which he was whacked on the head and left to an uncertain fate.

 

This second chapter picks up immediately thereafter, as D’Artagnan regains consciousness in a wood crate shared with a corpse (yuck!). He overcomes his captors and captures the Comte de Chalais (Patrick Mille), a secondary villain whose role expands in this film. D’Artagnan believes that the Comte has Constance in a prison cell, and instead is surprised to find Milady chained within.

 

In a nod to the old proverb — “the enemy of my enemy is my friend” — the subsequent skirmish finds D’Artagnan and Milady fighting as unlikely allies: an uneasy alliance that Bourboulon continues to exploit as the story progresses.

 

Both actors have fun with this prickly dynamic. Although still impetuous and reckless, Civil’s D’Artagnan no longer is as foolish or callow; he doesn’t trust Milady ... but she’s so damn seductive, that his guard frequently drops. Green, in turn, positively delights in her character’s shameless malice; she’s every inch a black widow spider waiting eagerly to ensnare and devour hapless prey.

 

Green’s eyes sparkle with cold, cunning evil: the pluperfect villain we love to hate.

 

(The writers attempt to justify Milady’s behavior by adding references to abusive treatment by men earlier in her life, but that’s an eyebrow-lift. Go with the obvious: She’s bad because she enjoys it.)

 

Wicked Little Letters: Hilariously entertaining

Wicked Little Letters (2023) • View trailer

Four stars (out of five). Rated R, for relentless, breathtaking profanity and vulgarity

Available via: Movie theaters

By Derrick Bang • Published in The Davis Enterprise, 4.5.24

You’ve gotta love the cheeky epigram with which director Thea Sharrock opens her mischievous little film:

 

“This is more true than you’d think.”

 

When the newly arrived Rose (Jessie Buckley, right) first moves into the house
adjacent to where Edith (Olivia Colman) lives with her parents, they get along
reasonably well. Alas, that isn't destined to last...

Indeed, the vast majority of Jonny Sweet’s script is based on actual events ... including a couple of details that you’d swear he fabricated. The biggest shift from reality lies in the multi-racial casting, which makes the story more entertaining for us modern viewers.

The setting is the seaside town of Littlehampton, in the early 1920s. Sharrock and Sweet hit the ground running, with prim and proper Edith Swan (Olivia Colman) in the midst of an escalating feud with vulgar and earthy Rose Gooding (Jessie Buckley). Their hostility is exacerbated by the fact that their front doors are inches from each other, and their row houses have a common wall (which does little to mute the, um, enthusiastic late-night noises that emanate from the bedroom Rose shares with her lover).

 

The close proximity becomes even more uncomfortable due to shared toilets and baths.

 

Edith, last in a massive line of siblings, still lives with her parents, Edward (Timothy Spall) and Victoria (Gemma Jones). The former is a fire-and-brimstone authoritarian and emotional abuser, a role that Spall plays with terrifying ferocity. Whenever Edith fails to toe some behavioral line, she’s sent to her room to copy Biblical passages 200 times.

 

Edith’s mother long ago gave up trying to change this dynamic, and now meekly refuses to intrude. Jones makes the woman so withdrawn, that’s she’s practically insubstantial.

 

Buckley, in great contrast, throws everything into her performance as Rose, a rowdy Irish migrant with a cheerfully foul mouth that unleashes breathtaking profanities, while enjoying life to the fullest: often in the local pub, smoking, drinking and being the life of the party. Buckley is a total hoot: as much a force of nature as her character.

 

But although unschooled, Rose isn’t stupid. She’s also a sharp judge of character.

 

Her boyfriend Bill (Malachi Kirby), calmer and loyal to the core, loves to play his guitar while paying close attention to local doings. Rose’s young daughter Nancy (Alisha Weir) is a sweet adolescent who adores her mother, and has bonded tightly with Bill.

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 2024 Oscar Shorts: (Some) good things in small packages

The 2024 Oscar Shorts (2023) • View trailer

3.5 stars (out of five). Not rated, but akin to PG-13 for subject matter and dramatic intensity

Available via: Movie theaters

By Derrick Bang

With the Academy Award nominations in hand — and predictions and second-guessing increasing by the day — it’s time for one of my favorite traditions: checking out the live-action and animated short subjects.

 

As always, this year’s nominees range between the good, the bad and the baffling. I’ve long been puzzled by the wildly divergent tastes of those who select these nominees; it’s intriguing that the folks who pick the obviously excellent stand-outs also (apparently) find something to admire in entries I wouldn’t consider for a second.

 

But as my father often said, That’s why we have horse races: divergent candidates for every taste.

 

Turning first to the live-action candidates, director Wes Anderson’s handling of Roald Dahl’s “The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar” is the obvious stand-out for bravura creativity. I cannot imagine a more perfect artistic collaboration, and blend of sensibilities, than Anderson and Dahl.

This droll tale stars Benedict Cumberbatch as the title character, 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.

 

Dahl, played by Ralph Fiennes, narrates much of this saga — “Henry Sugar” actually is three stories nested within each other — although Dev Patel’s Dr. Chatterjee occasionally takes over. The staging throughout is theatrical and exaggerated, with backdrops sliding back and forth, sometimes manipulated by visible tech hands. Occasional scenes rely upon vintage rear projection. The result is bravura filmmaking, and totally cool.

 

Danish writer/director Lasse Lyskjaer Noer eschews fancy bells and whistles in “Knight of Fortune,” a quietly poignant study of a recent widower, Karl (Leif Andrée), who is overwhelmed by having to bid his deceased wife farewell, while she lies in state in a morgue room. Seeking any sort of distraction, he agrees when Torben (Jens Jorn Spottag) requests company while paying the final visit to his wife.

Except that things aren’t quite what they seem. Noer’s little story takes an oddly quirky turn — the tone and atmosphere uniquely Scandinavian — en route to a sweet conclusion.