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?

Armageddon Time: Heartbreaking growing pains

ArmageddonTime (2022) • View trailer

4.5 stars (out of five). Rated R, for profanity and drug use

Available via: Amazon Prime and other streaming options

By Derrick Bang

If Armageddon is viewed as the end of life as we know it, that’s also an apt description of the rude awakening experienced by an adolescent, the first time s/he is confronted by the world’s harsh realities.

 

When the emotional complexities of adolescence prove overwhelming, Paul
(Banks Repeta, left) knows that he can count on understanding and benevolent
wisdom from his Grampa Aaron (Anthony Hopkins).

Because that moment truly is the end of blissful childhood innocence.

Writer/director James Gray’s delicately nuanced, semi-autobiographical drama is both familiar and painfully intimate. It’s an excellent companion piece to Steven Spielberg’s The Fabelmans, with a similar focus on interpersonal dynamics and emotionally shattering revelations. Both families are Jewish, and this heritage plays a strong role in their lives. Both sets of parents have worked hard to be upwardly mobile, determined to create better opportunities for their children.

 

But whereas Spielberg’s protagonist ultimately finds release in artistic expression, it’s not entirely clear that Gray’s young alter-ego will be similarly successful.

 

His achingly poignant narrative gets additional punch from the well-crafted work by young Banks Repeta, starring here as Paul Graff. Film dramas often take place at a remove, with viewers aware of the distance between themselves and the characters on screen. Thanks to Gray’s sensitive direction, Repeta’s complex performance — and similarly excellent work from the supporting cast — that sense of distance vanishes. 

 

We frequently feel like interlopers, somehow eavesdropping on real-world events taking place in a home just a few doors down from our own.

 

The time is autumn 1979, the setting New York City at its worst. Paul lives with his parents Irving (Jeremy Strong) and Esther (Anne Hathaway), and older brother Ted (Ryan Sell), in a semi-detached two-family row house in Flushing, Queens. The story begins as Paul begins his first day of sixth grade at the local public school, where he immediately stakes out a reputation as a disruptor.

 

He’s intelligent and funny, but not particularly attentive.

 

Paul’s tendency toward disrespect continues at home, where he’s an insufferably picky eater, battles constantly with his brother, and frequently talks back to his mother. The Graff home — and dinner table — often are boisterous affairs laden with grandparents and other aging relatives. Paul’s behavior skates, in part, because his beloved Grandpa Aaron (Anthony Hopkins) understands that the boy still is finding himself.

 

Even so, while Paul remains a sympathetic character — for the most part — he often isn’t likable. (Not unusual for a kid that age.)

 

The Son: Growing pains

The Son (2022) • View trailer

Three stars (out of five). Rated PG-13, for dramatic intensity, suicidal content and occasional profanity

Available via: Movie theaters

By Derrick Bang • Published in The Davis Enterprise, 1.20.23 

Director/playwright Florian Zeller’s The Father (2020) is an emotionally harrowing experience, thanks both to Anthony Hopkins’ superbly nuanced, Oscar-winning performance, and a clever non-liner narrative that mirrors the title character’s tragic slide into dementia.

 

They look happy, but that's misleading; Peter (Hugh Jackman, right) and Kate (Laura
Dern) are beginning to realize that their teenage son Nicholas (Zen McGrath) has
some serious problems.

Zeller’s new film, alas, isn’t nearly as powerful.

For the most part, the actors can’t be faulted; Hugh Jackman, Laura Dern and Vanessa Kirby do solid work, and Hopkins is mesmerizing in a fleeting cameo.

 

Zen McGrath’s handling of this film’s title character is one weak link; he simply isn’t credible as a teenager struggling with mental illness.

 

But McGrath isn’t entirely to blame, because he hasn’t been granted sufficiently persuasive material. Scripter Christopher Hampton’s adaptation of Zeller’s stage play frequently feels contrived; the scenario and sequence of events lack credibility.

 

Peter Miller (Jackman), a high-profile Manhattan attorney with his eyes on a prize career shift to Washington, D.C., has been settling comfortably into life with new partner Beth (Kirby) and their infant son. The story begins with the unexpected arrival of his agitated ex-wife, Kate (Dern), and her revelation that their 17-year-old son, Nicholas (McGrath), hasn’t been to school for a month.

 

He has pretended to go, leaving her home each weekday morning with what she’d expect to see, in terms of books and other materials; and he has returned at the appropriate time each afternoon. But school officials finally exposed the charade, and Kate has no idea what Nicholas actually has been doing.

 

Nor does Nicholas offer any sort of defense. He simply insists that he “can’t stay” with his mother any longer, and would prefer to live with his father, Beth and his baby brother.

 

Beth isn’t thrilled; her expression makes this obvious. But she doesn’t object; she recognizes the importance of a father/son bond, and she clearly wants her relationship with Peter to succeed. Beth never states any of this in so many words, but it’s clear from Kirby’s delicate, quietly shaded performance.

 

(Although Kirby has been quite busy since, she remains well remembered as Princess Margaret, in television’s The Crown.)

The Father: Not for the faint of heart

The Father (2020) • View trailer

4.5 stars. Rated PG-13, for dramatic intensity and occasional profanity

By Derrick Bang • Published in The Davis Enterprise, 4.16.21  

This one is very hard to watch.

 

Not in the negative sense; director Florian Zeller’s film adaptation of his award-winning 2012 stage play — available via video on demand — is fueled by a powerhouse performance from Anthony Hopkins, cast as a mischievous 80-year-old whose grip on reality is unraveling. Hopkins’ performance is heartbreaking; the path his character walks is absolutely shattering.

 

Anthony (Anthony Hopkins) is all smiles and good manners when introduced to Laura
(Imogen Poots, left), who's being interviewed by Anne (Olivia Colman) to become his
caregiver. But the moment Anne's back is turned...

Consider this a companion piece to Julianne Moore’s Oscar-winning — and similarly distressing — performance in 2014’s Still Alice (although I wouldn’t recommend watching them back to back). The comparison isn’t entirely apt; Moore’s Alice spends the bulk of her film fully aware that she’s sliding into Alzheimer’s, whereas Hopkins’ Anthony has no knowledge of his condition.

 

Zeller’s non-linear and provocatively disorienting play was designed to give audiences a sense of what dementia looks, sounds and feels like; his film is similarly disconcerting. There’s no “beginning” to speak of; we’re simply dumped into Anthony’s world, for the most part confined to the flat that he shares with his divorced daughter, Anne (Olivia Colman).

 

She has fallen in love anew, and intends to join her new man in Paris. But she worries about her father, knowing that he shouldn’t be left alone. But Anthony is defiant, and refuses to put up with the caregivers Anne keeps bringing into the flat. His “trick” is to be charming and solicitous when meeting each new possibility — as with Laura (Imogen Poots), the one we witness — and then, later, to bully, frighten or antagonize them into quitting.

 

But I’ve already created an impression of linear progression, and that’s far from true. Zeller and cinematographer Ben Smithard favor establishing shots down the flat’s long hallway, and we never know whose voice — or presence — will manifest at the distant end. Anne’s clothing — and even age — shift. At one point, a man (Mark Gatiss) pops up in the living room, contentedly reading, looking like he belongs there.

 

Anthony misplaces things, most frequently his beloved watch. He forgets that he squirrels it away in a hidey-hole, to prevent it being stolen; Anne reminds him of this, and he erupts in a fury, incensed that she knows about that “secret” stash.

 

He frequently laments the absence of his other daughter — Lucy, his “favorite” — and wonders aloud why she never visits, oblivious to the pain such remarks cause Anne.

Thor: Ragnarok — Thud and blunder

Thor: Ragnarok (2017) • View trailer 
Three stars. Rated PG-13, for intense sci-fi action and violence
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 11.3.17

Thor has succumbed to a case of the sillies.

Perhaps concerned by the grim sturm und drang that has turned so many recent superhero epics into dreary slogs, Marvel Studios has authorized a rather drastic realignment of its cinematic God of Thunder. They shifted too far in the opposite direction: The results here feel more like a new try-out team for Guardians of the Galaxy.

Having rather miraculously survived their first gladiatorial punch-out, Thor (Chris
Hemsworth) and the Hulk discover they've been forced to become unlikely roommates
in an oddly appointed cell.

Granted, the myth-specific costumes and flowery Shakespearean dialogue drew snickers in the first two Thor films, but they nonetheless let viewers know that none of it was to be taken seriously. The tone was light, particularly with respect to the sniping between Thor (Chris Hemsworth) and his half-brother Loki (Tom Hiddleston), whose villainy never was as dire as he would have preferred.

But Thor: Ragnarok is a full-blown comedy interrupted only occasionally by super-heroics, and that’s an unfortunate miscalculation. The film’s three credited writers — Eric Pearson, Craig Kyle and Christopher Yost — seem far more interested in replicating the playful banter and witty one-liners that were characteristic of 1930s and ’40s screwball comedies, little realizing that crafting such repartee, and making it sound organic, requires far more skill than is on display here.

Delivering such dialogue also demands a level of thespic skill that Hemsworth sadly lacks. Co-stars Cate Blanchett, Anthony Hopkins and Hiddleston have the acting background required to chew up the scenery, but Hemsworth is far outside his comfort zone. Too many of his line readings smack of desperation.

Worse yet, the core plot — highlighted by Blanchett’s marvelously malevolent über-villainess, Hela — gets sidetracked by an interminable second act that piles on the dumb-bunny gags. It’s sad to see Thor become an object of ridicule in his own series.

The film’s subtitle — ragnarok, also known in Norse mythology as “twilight of the gods” — refers to a final apocalyptic battle that (depending on interpretation) concludes with the destruction of the world, or the universe, or godly realms. For this story, the threat is to Thor’s ancestral home of Asgard, gateway to the “nine realms” that include Midgard (Earth).

Thor seems to have this threat well in hand during a prologue; he handily defeats Surtur, an immense fire demon who is the fabled harbinger of ragnarok. But Loki once again has been up to no good, back in Asgard, having usurped the throne and stripped their father Odin (Hopkins) of his magical power. In this weakened state, he’s no longer able to secure the enchanted prison that has long protected the nine realms from Hela (Blanchett), goddess of death ... and — surprise, surprise — Thor and Loki’s hitherto unknown older sister.

Transformers: The Last Knight — Should be junked

Transformers: The Last Knight (2017) • View trailer 
No stars (turkey). Rated PG-13, for relentless sci-fi action violence
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 6.23.17

This isn’t even a good video game.

As a movie, it’s a $260 million disaster.

When Col. William Lennox (Josh Duhamel) inexplicably decides that the über-evil
Megatron might help U.S. forces find some all-important Transformers tech, he okays
the release of a ferocious quartet of evil Decepticons. Which immediately start fragging
every human being in sight. Like, anybody expected otherwise?

Actually, the term movie doesn’t even apply. Movies have plots. And characters. This cacophonous monument of soulless wretched excess has neither.

I’m frankly astonished that Art Marcum, Matt Holloway, Ken Nolan and Akiva Goldsman have the audacity to claim credit for a script. The spoken lines in this junkyard dog are so sparse — often limited to monosyllabic exhortations such as “We’ve got to go!,” “Hang on!,” “Good job!” and “Jump!” — and the action so haphazard, that one could watch the entire 149-minute mess with the dialog track eliminated entirely, and have just as much success trying to extract meaning from the bonkers narrative.

That also would spare us from the faux profundities in the film’s hilariously overwrought voice-over narration. The Monty Python gang, at their prime, could not have concocted more ludicrously silly monologues. But helmer Michael Bay intends us to take them seriously.

Bay began his career as a director of music videos, and it could be argued — particularly during the past decade — that he never shifted gears. Such video shorts are no more than a series of flamboyant, hyper-edited visuals solely in service of the music; with very rare exception, there’s no such thing as “story” or “character.”

The same could be said of Transformers: The L(e)ast Knight, fifth entry in this increasingly dismal franchise, which is no more than an overlong showcase reel for numerous special effects companies. Bay couldn’t care less about story, and he obviously couldn’t care less about character; his notion of an “emotional moment” starts and stops with a tight-tight-tight close-up of a given actor’s face, always bearing a silent, stricken, gape-mouthed expression. Pause and hold for what seems an eternity.

Tears are optional (but desired).

The result would be laughable, if the process of watching the damn thing weren’t so relentlessly repetitious, predictable, exhausting and tediously dull.

Bay doesn’t make movies; he makes product. Noisy, lowest-common-denominator trash designed for an indiscriminate international market.

Expensive and impressively mounted trash, to be fair ... but trash nonetheless.

Thor, The Dark World: Another rich superhero soufflé

Thor: The Dark World (2013) • View trailer 
Four stars. Rating: PG-13, for rather grim action violence
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 11.8.13

One must give considerable credit to the master planners behind the current Marvel Comics movie franchise.

After Thor (Chris Hemsworth, right) reluctantly frees Loki (Tom Hiddleston) from his
Asgardian cell, Jane (Natalie Portman, foreground center) angrily warns the "god of
lies" that she'll go postal on him, if he even thinks of betraying the good guys. The
Asgardian warrior Sif (Jaimie Alexander), carrying a long-term torch for Thor, keeps
her own wary eye on Loki.

Starting with 2008’s Iron Man, and with no missteps, they’ve delivered a consistently entertaining blend of action, light humor and engaging character drama: no small feat, given the supplementary requirement of making these films accessible both to longtime comic book geeks and “regular folks.” Some films have slipped a little; others — notably The Avengers — have been excellent. All things considered, we’ve been having a rollicking good time.

(The X-Men and Spider-Man series have been equally well mounted, and kudos to them, as well. But — thus far — they’ve not been integrated into the current tapestry that showcases Thor, Captain America, the Hulk, the Avengers and SHIELD.)

Credit a blend of savvy directors, carefully calibrated scripts and strong casts, with equal attention paid to the all-essential supporting characters. It’s not easy to construct action epics this massive — with an ever-expanding back-story — while also penning droll, slightly mocking one-liners that demonstrate a willingness not to take things too seriously.

I haven’t seen that formula applied so capably since Sean Connery’s early James Bond escapades.

All of which brings us to Thor: The Dark World, which benefits from equally suitable acting talent. Broad-shouldered Chris Hemsworth is every inch the Asgardian warrior, absolutely fit to wield that marvelous magic hammer, and he also manages to look imperial — rather than silly — in that ridiculously ornate outfit. Anthony Hopkins brings regal Shakespearean sincerity to the florid dialogue we expect from Odin, ruler of Asgard; and Natalie Portman is a refreshingly brave, intelligent and resourceful human sidekick ... anything but a stock “girl in trouble.”

And as also was the case with Thor and The Avengers, this film is darn near stolen by Tom Hiddleston, so perfectly cast as the villainous, duplicitous trickster god, Loki. Speaking of the Bard, Shakespearean actors have long known that the bad guys have the best parts and get all the grand lines, and Hiddleston’s Loki has become the modern template against which all future fantasy baddies will be judged. He’s simply marvelous.

RED 2: Twice the goofiness

RED 2 (2013) • View trailer 
3.5 stars. Rating: PG-13, for constant action and violence, frenetic gunplay and fleeting profanity
By Derrick Bang

This one’s a triumph of star power over script shortcomings.

RED 2 doesn’t even try for logic or verisimilitude; it’s a globe-trotting, live-action cartoon that does little but place its characters into improbable situations that prompt wry one-liners from the seasoned cast.

Having arrived in Moscow, Sarah (Mary-Louise Parker, center) is annoyed to discover
that boyfriend Frank (Bruce Willis) and Russian agent Katja (Catherine Zeta-Jones)
have some history ... and that Katja seems eager to resume their studies.

In most cases, that’s good enough ... because when the cast is this polished, and their comic timing so well established, we can’t help enjoying the result. Scripters Jon and Erich Hoeber have strayed even further afield from the original graphic novel by Warren Ellis and Cully Hamner, but that really doesn’t matter. Films of this sort may be no more than a guilty pleasure, but there’s no denying the entertainment factor.

I’m sure 2010’s RED was envisioned as a one-off, but the global box-office must have been a pleasant surprise ... and we all know how Hollywood operates. On top of which, it probably wasn’t hard to persuade Bruce Willis, John Malkovich and Helen Mirren to reprise their roles as aging former spies — RED stands for “retired, extremely dangerous” — who are granted yet another chance to show up their condescending younger colleagues.

Hoeber and Hoeber have reprised their scripting chores, but director Dean Parisot is a series newcomer, taking over for Robert Schwentke. It’s a good trade; Parisot helmed 1999’s cheeky sci-fi spoof, Galaxy Quest, so he clearly understands the tone required by this equally snarky franchise.

Having survived the events of their previous adventure, veteran spy Frank Moses (Willis) and girlfriend Sarah Ross (Mary-Louise Parker) are attempting to solidify their unlikely relationship. They’re crazy about each other, but that doesn’t seem to be enough; the protective Frank wants to ensure that Sarah remains out of harm’s way — rather difficult, given his history — while she pouts over the prospect of missing another dose of dangerous fun.

Be advised: Parker has one of the best pouts in the business. Parisot clearly understands the power of her stricken expressions, and finds ample opportunity to showcase them.

Alas, Frank isn’t destined for a quiet retirement. Paranoid best friend Marvin Boggs (Malkovich) barely has time to deliver a warning, before being blown up by Forces Unknown. Moments later, Frank is snatched by U.S. black ops thugs operating under orders from the malevolent Jack Horton (Neal McDonough, making the most of his deliciously nasty bad-guy role). Somehow, these events have something to do with a next-gen weapon code-named Nightshade: a remnant from Frank and Marvin’s Cold War past.

Hitchcock: Not an entirely good eve-ning

Hitchcock (2012) • View trailer
3.5 stars. Rating: PG-13, for violent images, sexual content and dramatic intensity
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 12.7.12

2012 has been a banner year for Alfred Hitchcock.

The London Symphony Orchestra debuted composer Nitin Sawhney’s innovative score for a sparkling new print of 1926’s silent suspenser, The Lodger — regarded as the first true “Hitchcock thriller” — at London’s Barbican Center on July 21. 

Alfred Hitchcock (Anthony Hopkins, left) guides Janet Leigh (Scarlett Johansson) and
Anthony Perkins (James D'Arcy) through an early scene in Psycho, as Marion Crane
and Norman Bates have a mildly flirtatious conversation that will trigger the awful
events to come.

1924’s The White Shadow — a silent melodrama long thought lost, on which Hitchcock served as scripter, assistant director, editor and art director — was found (mostly intact!) in mislabeled film canisters by a researcher at the New Zealand Film Archive, and has been lovingly restored and posted online, for all to enjoy.

And the past month has seen not one, but two quasi-biopics set during Hitchcock’s prime in the late 1950s and early ’60s.

That sort of attention can be a mixed blessing, particularly when the first of these projects — The Girl, which debuted Oct. 20 on HBO — was little more than character assassination. Toby Jones may have been persuasive as Hitch, but Gweyneth Hughes’ tawdry script plumbed truly deplorable depths, while clearly overstating the degree to which the director’s infatuation with Tippi Hedren (Sienna Miller) became unhealthy and sadistic during the making of The Birds.

Happily, the newly released Hitchcock is a more palatable brew. Scripter John J. McLaughlin — working from Stephen Rebello’s Alfred Hitchcock and the Making of Psycho — doesn’t have any axes to grind, and he also benefits from the genuinely fascinating, behind-the-scenes back story.

Psycho was a landmark production in all sorts of respects, from the shrewdness with which Hitchcock outmaneuvered the censorious Hays Office — one of the early artistic assaults that illuminated the growing irrelevance of that body of ultra-conservative bluenoses — to the film’s brilliant marketing campaign, which kept people out of their showers for weeks, just as Jaws would keep them away from the ocean in 1975.

Hitchcock benefits from several great performances, starting with Anthony Hopkins’ dignified depiction of the Master of Suspense, and Helen Mirren’s feisty reading of his wife and longtime creative collaborator, Alma.

They’re merely the tip of the iceberg. James D’Arcy’s portrayal of Anthony Perkins, who starred as Norman Bates in Psycho, is so authentic that it’s startling; at times, D’Arcy seems more like Perkins than Perkins himself. Scarlett Johansson is similarly striking as Janet Leigh, who winds up taking that fateful shower in a scene that has been imitated and spoofed countless times. Johansson doesn’t try for mimicry as much as D’Arcy, but she definitely conveys the way Leigh walked, acted and struck a pose; close your eyes slightly, to silhouette D’Arcy and Johansson, and it genuinely looks and sounds like Perkins and Leigh rehearsing a scene.

Thor: Smashing good time

Thor (2011) • View trailer for Thor
3.5 stars (out of five). Rating: PG-13, and rather harshly, for brief profanity and fantasy violence
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 5.6.11

The clear skies and warmer weather notwithstanding, the summer movie season has arrived with a clap of thunder.

Courtesy of Marvel Comics' favorite Norse god.

Although banished to Earth and stripped of his powers, Thor (Chris Hemsworth)
has been confident that all will be well, if he can just find and reclaim Mjolnir,
his mighty hammer. Sadly, redemption won't be nearly that simple.

Although never granted the mainstream name-recognition enjoyed by the likes of Superman, Batman and Spider-Man, Thor always has been one of the comic book industry's most intriguing superheroes, particularly when his exploits are chronicled by writers who play on the whimsically awkward juxtaposition of Norse mythology and workaday American existence. J. Michael Straczynski is just such a writer, having recently delivered an engaging run on Thor's comic book exploits; Straczynski shares story credit on this film with Mark Protosevich, and the quality shows. (Three other individuals are credited for the script, which no doubt was fine-tuned — by committee — to maximize its crowd-pleasing potential.)

But the true hero of the hour is director Kenneth Branagh: a great choice to bring this Norse legend's Shakespearean-style gravitas to the big screen. Florid dialogue that plays comfortably on the printed page doesn't always translate well in cinematic terms; few actors can wrap their lips around the stilted thees and thous, not to mention the sing-song cadence that often stands in for the "high speech" of such characters. Branagh well understands how to make Shakespeare enticing for the masses, having done so with marvelous — and sometimes delightfully mischievous — big-screen adaptations of everything from Henry V and Hamlet to Much Ado About Nothing and As You Like It.

But Branagh is equally comfortable with more modern myths, as evidenced by his intriguing 1994 handling of Frankenstein. All of which demonstrates that Thor is right in Branagh's comfort zone, and he delivers a well-paced adventure that allows ample character development in between the necessary smashing and thrashing.

And let's face it: merely getting his stars to wear Alexandra Byrne's opulent costumes, without looking like total fools, is a major accomplishment by itself.

I do question the decision to open this film with a flash-forward prologue, though, as if all concerned felt it necessary to first introduce this saga's Earth-bound (read: ordinary) human characters before transitioning to the other-worldly realms of Asgard and Jotunheim. That doesn't suggest much faith in the average viewer, which seems rather insulting; after all, nobody had trouble with the lengthy planet Krypton prologue that kicked off 1978's Superman.

Thus, we briefly meet research scientist Jane Foster (Natalie Portman), her mentor Erik Selvig (Stellan Skarsgard) and their feisty young intern, Darcy (Kat Dennings), as they chase down a weird celestial phenomenon late one evening ... which climaxes when their SUV plows into a figure who appears out of nowhere, as if deposited by the weird weather spike (which he was). Fade to black and re-wind the clock.

The Rite: All wrong

The Rite (2011) • View trailer for The Rite
Two stars (out of five). Rating: R, for profanity, sexual vulgarity, violence and dramatic intensity
By Derrick Bang


You’d better be careful, Sir Anthony, or your career will take the downward trajectory that turned Rod Steiger into such a cautionary tale.

Steiger garnered three Academy Awards nominations during a little more than a decade, and took home the gold for his starring role in 1967’s In the Heat of the Night. His moving supporting performance in 1981’s The Chosen proved to be his final truly respectable role; from that point forward, he was reduced to self-parodying comedy cameos and trailer-trash exploitation flicks along the lines of American Gothic, The Neighbor and (words fail me) Captain Nuke and the Bomber Boys.

Don't ever address the demon directly, Father Trevant (Anthony Hopkins, left)
warns Michael (Colin O'Donoghue), and don't ever look it in the eyes. But of
course the younger man does both those things throughout this laughable film.
This problem crops up repeatedly in The Rite, which routinely ignores or
violates the very "rules" established by its own narrative.

It was a grinding, embarrassing 20 years before we lost Steiger in 2001, by which time a new generation had grown up believing him nothing but a second-rate hack with – so it seemed – the worst agent in town.

Consider the uncomfortable parallel to Hopkins: a four-time Oscar nominee and winner, for 1991’s The Silence of the Lambs, who is much too content, these days, to deliver throwaway, self-parodying performances in dead-on-arrival projects such as Slipstream and the ill-advised remake of The Wolfman. And whatever the fan expectation for the upcoming big-screen version of the Marvel Comics superhero Thor, the discovery that Hopkins has been tagged to play the All-father Odin elicits nothing but snickers. And deservedly so.

All of which brings us to The Rite, a “January stiff” in every sense of the term. We know we’re in trouble, right from the top, when an opening crawl claims that Michael Petroni’s screenplay is “inspired by” actual events, and “suggested by” journalist Matt Baglio’s serious effort to document a controversial topic in his nonfiction book, The Rite: The Making of a Modern Exorcist.

In other words, Petroni’s script doesn’t even try for authenticity, and this film lacks the honesty to call itself fiction. And when the final scene (mercifully!) fades to black, a final text crawl “informs” us what these “actual” characters are doing in our real world.

Yeah, right.

Swedish director Mikael Hafstrom, who did a reasonable job with the 2007 big-screen adaptation of Stephen King’s short story “1408,” gets full credit for an unsettling mood. Hafstrom has the Swedish sensibility for stark tableaus and gloomy establishing shots: abandoned playgrounds, dilapidated hotel courtyards and darkened, dusk-like skies.

And rain. Plenty of rain.

The Wolfman: Bad Hair Day

The Wolfman (2010) • View trailer for The Wolfman
Three stars (out of five). Rating: R, for violence and gobs o' gore
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 2.18.10
Buy DVD: The Wolfman • Buy Blu-Ray: The Wolfman (2-Disc Unrated Director's Cut + Digital Copy) [Blu-ray]


Director Joe Johnston deserves credit, in his muscular remake of The Wolfman, for resurrecting the tone and atmosphere of the classic 1930s and '40s Universal Studios monster movies: the late-19th century setting; the foreboding, fog-enshrouded English moors and crumbling mansions; the superstitious townsfolk determined to blame traveling gypsies for the ferocious beast suddenly in their midst.

The film also is well cast, with Benicio Del Toro, Emily Blunt and Anthony Hopkins looking and sounding as if they belong in this time and place. (Too many Hollywood flavors-of-the-moment fail to shake their 21st century "presence" when placed in a period drama.)

Despite knowing of the curse that turns Lawrence Talbot into a raging monster
each full moon, Gwen (Emily Blunt) believes that she can calm him ... a
decision she starts to regret, once the beast starts chasing her across a foggy,
muddy moor. Where's a silver bullet when you need it?

And I smiled appreciatively when Johnston and his two writers — Andrew Kevin Walker and David Self, working from Curt Siodmak's original 1941 screenplay — opened their film with the classic Wolfman mantra:

Even a man who is pure in heart


And says his prayers by night


May become a wolf when the wolfbane blooms


And the autumn moon is bright.

You just don't find moody curses like that these days.

Alas, production values and savvy casting do not a film make, and after a solid beginning Johnston's take on The Wolfman turns silly and devolves into a gore-laden bloodbath. Some directors simply haven't learned the lesson: If they wish their films to be taken seriously, they can't pelt the audience with the eviscerated limbs, dangling intestines and decapitations that are standard fare in the Friday the 13th franchise or Rob Zombie's blood-spattered remakes of the Halloween series.

It's always the story, stupid ... and this one turns into a stupid story.

More crucially, though, the 1941 film's all-important dramatic heft is absent. Lawrence Talbot is one of cinema's great tragic figures: a good man fully aware that he becomes an uncontrollable monster one night each month, but who lacks the strength the end his own life and stop the carnage. Lon Chaney Jr., back in the day, made Talbot deeply conflicted and heart-breaking: a tortured soul with whom we identified quite strongly.

We never, ever stopped feeling sorry for him.