Blink Twice: Once would have been enough

Blink Twice (2024) • View trailer

Three stars (out of five). Rated R, for strong violent content, sexual assault, drug use and frequent profanity

Available via: Movie theaters

By Derrick Bang • Published in The Davis Enterprise, 8.25.24

It remains one of life’s most important lessons, applicable in all manner of circumstances:

 

If something looks and/or sounds too good to be true ... it almost certainly is. Be wary.

 

Tech billionaire Slater King (Channing Tatum) seems unduly concerned that Frida
(Naomi Ackie) has a good time, while cavorting day and night on his private island.
She begins to wonder why he keeps asking...

Director Zoë Kravitz and co-writer E.T. Feigenbaum have concocted an intriguing little thriller around this premise, but — alas — the result would have played better as a one-hour episode of television’s Black Mirror. At 102 minutes, Kravitz’s film wears out its welcome, mostly due to a protracted first act that is much too long.

Apartment mates and BFFs Frida (Naomi Ackie) and Jess (Alia Shawkat) work together as cocktail waitresses for a catering company that’s often hired by upper-echelon clients. Frida has long been intrigued by tech billionaire Slater King (Channing Tatum), who recently reappeared after having dropped out of sight for a year, following bad behavior and a series of scandalous headlines.

 

He has been making the media rounds on an apology tour, and the public seems willing to forgive and forget. Among other things, everybody is fascinated by the fact that he has bought his own private island, where all food is grown and raised in a self-sustaining manner.

 

A bit later, Frida and Jess crash a posh event featuring King; an accident involving high heels brings him to Frida’s rescue. They spend the evening revolving in and out of each other’s orbit, but then King begs off, explaining that he and his friends are heading to his island for a retreat.

 

She watches him depart ... but then he turns around, steps back, and hesitantly asks, “Do you want to come along?”

 

A deliriously giddy Frida and Jess board King’s private jet with his posse: Vic (Christian Slater), the token jerk; Tom (Haley Joel Osment), apparently benign but prone to temper; Cody (Simon Rex), the resident chef; and Lucas (Levon Hawke), who seems far too innocent for this group.

 

These five guys also are accompanied by three other women: Sarah (Adria Arjona), a confident Survivor alum; and party gal Camila (Liz Caribel); and Heather (Trew Mullen), the latter an unapologetic stoner.

 

Upon landing, Frida and Jess are awe-struck by King’s palatial home, the luxurious pool and surrounding grounds, and the always attentive staff. The two gals do find it odd, however, that their private bedrooms already are stocked with clothes that fit them perfectly.

 

(At which point, I glanced at Constant Companion and said, “This is when you’d run for the hills, right?” To which she replied, “Oh, yes.”)

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.

Life of the Party: Out of control

Life of the Party (2018) • View trailer 
2.5 stars. Rated PG-13, for sexual candor, drug content and blue humor
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 5.11.18

This is a mildly amusing, occasionally endearing 30-minute movie.

Unfortunately, it runs 105 minutes.

Deanna (Melissa McCarthy, with paddle) is delighted when her daughter's sorority sisters
enthusiastically accept her as a member.

At its core, this story has a nifty message of empowerment, seizing the day, and making lemonade when life extends only lemons. (Or the other way around, as one of these characters insists.) It’s a solid premise: Unexpectedly divorced, middle-aged woman returns to college in order to earn the degree she was one short year from obtaining. 

That she happens to choose the university where her daughter is beginning her senior year, clearly adds to the comedic potential. Not a bad start.

Unfortunately, star Melissa McCarthy too frequently clutters up the film with her tediously unfunny shtick. Ergo, school’s out.

Just like the aforementioned young woman who mixes up the lemons/lemonade proverb, McCarthy clearly misunderstood one of filmmaking’s golden rules: that less is more. She seems to believe that more is more, when in fact — as becomes blindingly obvious on numerous occasions, as this flick stumbles its way to end of term — more is much, much less.

McCarthy takes a leaden one-liner — or an embarrassing calamity such as flop sweat, or an ancient, been-there-tired-of-that gag such as marijuana-induced giggles — and repeats it until we scream for mercy. Apparently (perceptively) concerned that the bit isn’t that funny to begin with, she beats it into submission, under the misguided assumption that reiteration confers hilarity.

It does not. It confers eye-rolling exasperation.

That’s the frequent reaction to this film. Every time McCarthy and director Ben Falcone bring us to a reasonably happy place — a point where we think, well, maybe this won’t be so awful — she stages another of her seemingly desperate bids for chuckles, thereby bringing everything to a dead stop.

She’s like a little kid: Looka me! Looka me! Looka me!

She and real-life husband Falcone have collaborated on three films now: He directs; she stars; they share scripting credit. Given that their previous partnerships have yielded 2014’s Tammy and 2016’s The Boss — both blindingly gawdawful flops — you’d think Warner Bros. would have thought long and hard, before granting them a third time at bat.

Because while it’s true Life of the Party is somewhat better than those stinkers, that’s damning with awfully faint praise.