Those Who Wish Me Dead: Smolders fitfully

Those Who Wish Me Dead (2021) • View trailer

Three stars. Rated R, for strong violence and considerable profanity

By Derrick Bang

Too soon, too soon.

 

With two horrific fire seasons still fresh in everybody’s memory — and the uneasy potential of a pending third — it’s ill-advised and extremely tasteless to set a survival thriller against the backdrop of deliberately torched forest land.

 

Hannah (Angelina Jolie) and Connor (Finn Little) discover, to their horror, that the most
direct route to town — and safety — has been blocked by an expanding forest fire.

Particularly one as sloppy as Those Who Wish Me Dead, available via HBO Max and movie theaters.

I’m not sure who to blame. Director Taylor Sheridan gave us 2017’s terrific Wind River — which he also wrote — but he’s also the prime mover behind television’s mean-spirited and unrelentingly trashy Yellowstone. 

 

This new film’s primary flaw is its impressively inept screenplay, adapted from Michael Koryta’s well-received 2014 novel. Sheridan co-scripted this adaptation — along with Charles Leavittt and Koryta — so they collectively are at fault.

 

It’s other flaws notwithstanding, this is yet another recent film — following Minari and Together Together — that stops before properly concluding. I can’t figure it out; are these production companies running out of money?

 

In this case, there’s no resolution involving a key villain: ergo, any perceived success our heroes achieve is temporary at best, and therefore pointless. That’s completely unsatisfying … and, I’ll wager, not the way Koryta’s novel ends.

 

It’s also obvious that Koryta’s story has been tweaked and shaped to better showcase the character played by star Angelina Jolie, undoubtedly at her insistence, as a means of demonstrating that she still has bad-ass chops. To her credit, she gets to prove it.

 

She plays Hannah, an elite firefighter — a smokejumper — based amidst a massive swath of Montana forest land. Alas, she’s seriously damaged goods, due a recent fire catastrophe during which she was unable to save three children. Badly traumatized and unable to move beyond her “failure,” she indulges in self-destructive stunts and minor physical mutilation.

 

She spends most of her time in self-imposed isolation, in the solitary confinement of a forest watchtower high above verdant greenery below.

 

Hannah has friends, who care about her deeply: Ethan (Jon Bernthal), a local deputy, who with his wife Allison (Medina Senghore), runs a wilderness survival school.

The Lovers: Not quite together

The Lovers (2017) • View trailer 
Three stars. Rated R, for profanity
By Derrick Bang

Quite a few sharply perceptive observations about human nature are contained within this modest dramedy from writer/director Azazel Jacobs, which manages to be droll and forlorn in equal measure.

Too bad it’s so s-l-o-w.

At home, although relieved to be away from their respective lovers, Mary (Debra Winger)
and Michael (Tracy Letts) lack the energy — or willingness — to engage with each other.

The film opens cleverly, as Michael (Tracy Letts) has what we immediately sense is another in a symphony of tiffs with his hot-tempered lover, Lucy (Melora Walters); elsewhere, Mary (Debra Winger) works hard to allay the bubbling insecurity that afflicts her lover, Robert (Aidan Gillen). One scene later, Michael and Mary slide silently — resignedly — into bed next to each other, and we abruptly realize that they’re the married couple in this roundelay.

This scenario’s arch humor derives from the resignation with which Michael and Mary are conducting their lives, and our certainty that they’ve been doing so for years. We assume that this ennui results from their disenchantment with each other, but that’s not quite right.

No, it’s the exhaustion that results from maintaining the marital charade while essentially leading double lives elsewhere, and the utter chaos into which their lives have been plunged: friends long abandoned; lunches with co-workers forever put off; unpersuasive lies fabricated clumsily; extended work hours, just to keep up, due to the time-consuming nooners and afternoon assignations. It’s all exhausting.

And apparently not much fun. It would seem that one of the reasons to have an affair would be the excitement and novelty of the new: the enthusiasm with which the lover is greeted each day. But if that ever motivated Michael and/or Mary, it’s long past.

Michael has Lucy tagged as “Work” on his smart phone, and we get the joke: It’s not merely to conceal her identity from his wife, but a sly reference to the fact that this extra-marital relationship is work. A lot of work. It seems understandable self-defense when he lies to get out of an evening with the woman about whom he constantly lies to his wife.

Mary, if asked, undoubtedly would admit to being equally frustrated.

King Arthur: Legend of the Sword — A cut below

King Arthur: Legend of the Sword (2017) • View trailer 
Three stars. Rated PG-13, for fantasy action and violence, and brief profanity
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 5.12.17

British director Guy Ritchie has spent the last decade putting his breakneck, heavily stylized spin on pop-culture icons, with diminishing results.

His two takes on Sherlock Holmes were mostly fun, thanks to the sassy pairing of Robert Downey Jr. (Holmes) and Jude Law (Watson); the re-boot of The Man from U.N.C.L.E. ... less so.

The mysterious Mage (Astrid Bergès-Frisbey) watches as Arthur (Charlie Hunnam)
contemplates the powerful sword Excalibur, which unleashes ghastly memories every
time he places both hands on its hilt.

Which brings us to this re-imagined Arthur Pendragon, Camelot and Excalibur: pretty much the only elements of traditional Arthurian legend that have survived in this senses-assaulting treatment by Ritchie and co-scripters David Dobkin, Joby Harold and Lionel Wigram. Their medieval adventure kicks off with a reasonably compelling first act, as the saga’s major players are introduced, but soon goes off the rails and ultimately succumbs to wretched excess during the overwrought finale.

This is King Arthur by way of Lord of the Rings: a magic-laden fantasy that ultimately overpowers its puny mortal characters. When opponents can send mountain-size elephants and coliseum-size serpents against each other, it’s impossible to establish an emotional connection with anything or anybody; Ritchie and his fellow scribes don’t exercise enough care to give us reasonable rules or consistency.

It’s all stuff and nonsense ... and, in Ritchie’s hands, hyper-accelerated and very loud stuff and nonsense.

The film opens with an explosive prologue, the malevolent wizard Mordred having lain waste to nearly all of England. Only well-fortified Camelot remains, but 300-foot siege elephants are poised to make short work of its walls. It’s an awesome sequence, orchestrated with breathtaking verisimilitude by visual effects supervisor Nick Davis, and ferociously paced by Ritchie and editor James Herbert.

All seems lost, but wait! The honorable King Uther Pendragon (Eric Bana) wields the mighty sword Excalibur, which instantaneously turns the tide. (Handy, that.)

Alas, in the aftermath, Uther fails to perceive the perfidy within; his brother Vortigern (Jude Law), secretly coveting the crown, unleashes his own vile magic. (Really, you’d think that Uther would have known that a brother given the name Vortigern couldn’t be anything but evil.)

The king and his wife perish, but not before sending their young son Arthur to safety in a boat: an oft-employed plot point that dates from Moses to Luke Skywalker, by way of Krypton’s Kal-El.

Sing Street: A joyful noise

Sing Street (2016) • View trailer 
Four stars. Rated PG-13, for dramatic candor, profanity, underage smoking and other questionable teen behavior
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 4.29.16

I’m in love.

Much the way the young star of this indie charmer worships the mysterious girl who lives across the street from his school, I adore the filmmaking chops of Irish writer/director John Carney.

Having worked up the courage to chat up the intriguing girl (Lucy Boynton) who often
stands across the street from his school, Conor (Ferdia Walsh-Peelo) concocts an
improbable scheme to get her attention. The problem, then, is making good on his
grandiose claims...

He came to our attention Stateside with 2007’s endearing Once, and its music-laden saga of a Dublin busker and Czech immigrant who meet and then bond over their shared love of songwriting and performing. Stars Glen Hansard and Markéta Irglová fell in love during production, and it showed; nothing could have been sweeter than their Academy Awards performance of the film’s signature tune, “Falling Slowly,” which deservedly galloped home with an Oscar.

Carney detoured with a couple of less successful projects before returning to the music world with 2013’s equally appealing Begin Again, which found washed up, Manhattan-based music exec Mark Ruffalo embracing one last career shot by encouraging the efforts of fledgling singer/songwriter Keira Knightley. As with Once, the action unfolds against a backdrop of catchy, radio-ready new songs: another instant soundtrack hit for delighted fans.

Pleasant as it was, though, a certain something was missing from Begin Again: something that has become obvious with the arrival of Sing Street. As a writer, Carney clearly has the most fun exploring his Irish roots; this new film’s hard-scrabble, working-class Dublin setting affords a rich tapestry of young angst and earthy ensemble dynamics.

Carney sets his story in the 1980s, as a bleak employment depression sends ferryloads of young Irish citizens to London, in the (often vain) hope of landing a steady paycheck. Against this backdrop, 15-year-old Conor (Ferdia Walsh-Peelo) finds life at home increasingly distressing. Parents Robert (Aidan Gillen) and Penny (Maria Doyle Kennedy) are heading for a messy divorce, heedless of the impact the process is having on Conor, his sister Ann (Kelly Thornton) and their older brother Brendan (Jack Reynor).

Financial stress contributes to the trauma, and one immediate change affects Conor personally. To save money, he’s moved from his posh Jesuit private school to an inner-city comprehensive: Synge Street School, laden with cigarette-smoking bullies barely kept under control by mostly ineffectual priests. The one exception is the smugly authoritarian Brother Baxter (Don Wycherley), a tyrannical monster who takes pleasure in humiliating his students.

Barely into his first day, Conor runs afoul of both Brother Baxter and the hulking Barry (Ian Kenny), a vicious older student likely passed from one grade to the next, just so his previous instructors can get rid of him.

Maze Runner — The Scorch Trials: A barren wasteland

Maze Runner: The Scorch Trials (2015) • View trailer 
Two stars. Rated PG-13, for profanity and relentless action violence
By Derrick Bang 

As was the case with last year’s opening entry in this big-screen franchise, this sequel looks great — the special effects are quite impressive — and the acting is solid.

But the storyline remains bonkers-stupid and utterly impenetrable. If last year’s cliff-hanging Maze Runner left us with far more questions than answers, this second installment doesn’t even try to make sense. It’s as if scripter T.S. Nowlin abandoned any effort to parse James Dasher’s complicated source novel, and chose instead to fabricate one superficial chase sequence after another.

Things seem mighty bad, folks ... then again, maybe our heroes should simply stop looking
over the next ridge. Try as he might, Thomas (Dylan O'Briend, second from left) can't stop
leading his friends ‚ from left, Minho (Ki Hong Lee), Newt (Thomas Brodie-Sangster),
Frypan (Dexter Darden) and Teresa (Kaya Scodelario) from one crisis to another.

When our primary protagonist Thomas insists, at one point, that he’s tired of running, I cheerfully agreed: I’m tired of watching him run.

Him and everybody else in this preposterous, kitchen-sink excuse for a sci-fi thriller.

We’d ordinarily be inclined to blame Dasher, since his book logically serves as the source material. But Nowlin’s screenplay bears scant resemblance to Dasher’s novel, perhaps because the filmmakers are trying to condense a five-book (thus far) series into a more compact trilogy. Which would have been a reasonable idea, if Nowlin had the slightest talent for narrative, plot structure or dialogue.

Yep: This is one of those movies with eye-rolling, melodramatically laughable one-liners, invariably delivered with utter sincerity. The cast isn’t at fault; everybody does their best ... but not even seasoned Shakespeareans could wring emotional honesty from these verbal clunkers.

Such dialogue also frequently anticipates moronic behavior. “They’re never gonna stop chasing us,” our heroes lament, having narrowly escaped a massive land- and air-based search party. So what do they do next? They take a long walk across a wholly exposed desert landscape, where — based on what happened just a few scenes earlier — they’d clearly be spotted and captured.

But no: Apparently the bad guys decided not to look that day.

On top of which — and this is Dasher’s fault — I still can’t get beyond his internal technological inconsistencies. Consider the engineering ingenuity and sheer brute manpower that would have been required to build, maintain and operate the massive maze that initially trapped our young heroes. Now ask yourself whether such structures could have been fabricated so quickly — because we now know there were numerous mazes — given the timeline of events as established via maddeningly brief flashbacks.

And, more crucially, to what purpose, precisely? Two films in, and we’ve still no clue as to the original maze’s intent.

On top of which, we’re once again forced to accept a truly dismal picture of human nature under stress: a degree of “civilized” behavior so barbaric, so abhorrent, that it frankly defies description. That’s not merely sad; it’s also loathsome.

Calvary: Affirmation of faith

Calvary (2014) • View trailer 
4.5 stars. Rated R, for profanity, sexual candor, drug use and violence
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 8.15.14

This one should be required viewing for all filmmakers, particularly those residing in Hollywood.

During a conversation more candid than they've had for a long time, Fiona (Kelly Reilly)
admits that she'd be shattered if something ever happened to her father (Brendan Gleeson).
Sadly, this comes as disturbing news to the priest, who carries the knowledge of his own,
likely very impending mortality.

Not merely because writer/director John Michael McDonagh has delivered a powerful drama fueled by Brendan Gleeson’s heartbreaking and impeccably subtle starring performance — about which, more in a moment — but because McDonagh flawlessly demonstrates the proper way to breathe complex life into every single supporting character, even those glimpsed only briefly.

Too many lazy screenwriters give us one, perhaps two, maybe even three compelling characters; the rest, invariably, are little more than scenery. Wallpaper with a few lines of dialogue, but certainly nothing approximating actual people.

McDonagh, in great contrast, populates his newest film with what seems an entire small town’s worth of men, women and children who matter. Nor is this merely a function of crafting compelling personalities; McDonagh and casting director Jina Jay also found actors able to breathe life into each of these characters.

Every supporting player is introduced in a vignette that feels like its own mini-movie, with the quiet, sometimes raw power we’d expect from a live stage drama. Half an hour into this film, we’re transfixed, thinking Goodness ... this is how it should be done. And why doesn’t it get done this way more often?

All that said, Calvary is a deeply melancholy and quite disturbing drama that builds to a shattering conclusion: not an easy story to experience, and a difficult film to recommend capriciously.

It’s also a very brave film, with a narrative — and a revelatory point of view — all but ignored at a time when strident media overload indicts people and institutions, based on guilt by association.

Father James (Gleeson) is a Catholic priest in the tiny hamlet of Easkey, County Sligo, on Ireland’s craggy, wind-battered West Coast. The rugged pastoral setting, gloriously illuminated by cinematographer Larry Smith, is both verdant and curiously lonely, much of the action taking place against the brooding Knocknarea, a massive, table-shaped hill that dominates this land.

Father James is a good man: benevolent and patient, yet unwilling to suffer fools at all, let alone gladly. His sharply perceptive observations are perhaps his most visible flaw; he resents people who dissemble or otherwise avoid truths — mild or painful — and he’s not shy about saying as much.