Dark Waters: Deadly serious

Dark Waters (2019) • View trailer 
Four stars. Rated PG-13, for dramatic intensity, disturbing images and brief profanity
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 12.13.19

Mark Ruffalo has become this generation’s Henry Fonda. Or Jimmy Stewart.

When corporate attorney Robert Bilott (Mark Ruffalo, right) reluctantly visits the cattle
ranch that has been in Wilbur Tennant's (Bill Camp) family for generations, they're
startled by the sudden apperance of a heifer that appears to be viciously rabid.

Ruffalo’s performances radiate the same intelligence and integrity. The same resolute dedication to a cause. The same anguish at the realization that greed and cowardice too frequently trump benevolence and compassion. The same disbelief over the ease with which people in power feel no remorse over lying, cheating and ill-treating those less equipped to fight back.

The primary difference is that Fonda and Stewart mostly played fictional characters in their iconic films, such as The Grapes of Wrath and Mr. Smith Goes to Washington. Ruffalo takes it a step further, tackling actual individuals in an expanding roster of fact-based sagas that qualify as searing advocacy cinema.

He earned his third Academy Award nomination for 2015’s Spotlight, while portraying Pulitzer Prize-winning Boston Globe reporter Mike Rezendes, who led the investigative charge that exposed the local Catholic Archdiocese’s cover-up of child molestation cases. The film deservedly won that year’s Best Picture Oscar, and the viewing experience is jaw-dropping, as Rezendes and his fellow reporters uncover proof of the church’s ever-more-heinous behavior.

Dark Waters is even harder to watch.

Much harder.

This new film, also lifted from headlines, depicts defense attorney Robert Bilott’s heroic determination — over the course of two decades — to force DuPont to reveal that it had knowingly poisoned people for even longer. And not only had concealed such monstrous behavior, but defiantly maintained that it had done nothing “legally wrong,” and therefore could not be “blamed” for anything.

That last little detail comes well into a saga that already has become grim viewing. Director Todd Haynes’ approach is methodical and relentless, carefully fueled by the strong character dynamics that he delivered in Far from Heaven, Carol and other previous films. 

The information dump is considerable but not insurmountable. In effect, we gradually learn the degrees of DuPont’s perfidy along with Bilott, while he becomes a reluctant investigator in the mold of Rezendes and — reaching further back — Bob Woodward and Carl Bernstein, in All the President’s Men.

Or, more closely linked, Erin Brockovich, in the 2000 drama named for that similarly righteous crusader. That case also started with water.

Equalizer 2: Sophomore slump

Equalizer 2 (2018) • View trailer 
3.5 stars. Rated R, for violence, dramatic intensity and profanity
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 7.20.18

Various interpersonal character dynamics — mostly sidebar stories — are the most satisfying part of Denzel Washington’s second outing as justice-minded Robert McCall.

That’s because scripter Richard Wenk’s core plot is sloppy, vague, laden with logical flaws, and needlessly mean-spirited.

On a day when unhappy memories become particularly vivid, McCall (Denzel Washington)
is delighted to receive a surprise visit from longtime best friend Susan Plummer
(Melissa Leo)

The film also builds to a breathtaking climax that must’ve been a helluva challenge for director Antoine Fuqua and production designer Naomi Shohan to stage … but makes not a lick of sense, given what has come before. The characters in question never, ever would be so stupid.

Indeed, Fuqua indulges in the sort of nonsense that makes popcorn thrillers such as Skyscraper so eye-rollingly dumb. McCall is smarter than that. Washington plays him smarter than that.

And this is really odd, because Fuqua and Wenk also were responsible for this series’ far more satisfying 2014 debut. What went wrong during the intervening four years?

The first Equalizer, led by Washington’s mesmerizing, tightly controlled starring performance, was a sharply sculpted espionage action/drama on par with Doug Liman and Paul Greengrass’ early Bourne entries. That’s far from the case this time, and more’s the pity.

Boston-based McCall has moved from Chelsea to an apartment complex off Massachusetts Avenue, in the heart of the city. He’s an amiable, readily visible presence with his neighbors and local shopkeepers, notably a bookseller who helps track down the eclectic titles on the lengthy reading list through which he continues to work. Still unable to sleep much, McCall spends considerable time reading and watching the world outside his apartment windows.

He also “works” frequently as a Lyft driver, which puts him in constant touch with sometimes candid total strangers with troubles that deserve to be addressed, even rectified. In short, it’s the perfect cover for a guy with a fondness for clandestinely righting wrongs.

McCall gets to know some folks better than others: notably neighbor Miles (Ashton Sanders), a budding young artist at risk of being courted by local gang-bangers; and the elderly Sam Rubinstein (Orson Bean), a Jewish concentration camp survivor trying — and failing — to prove his rightful ownership of a valuable painting stolen from his family by Nazis, long years ago.

Both Sanders and Bean are stand-out performers who give this film its heart. 

Sanders adopts the self-protective swagger of a street kid who knows he needs to look tough, simply to survive; at the same time, it’s obvious that Miles is willing to be pointed in a better direction (even if he’d never admit as much). The Washington/Sanders exchanges are captivating: Miles can’t quite figure out this older guy who playfully challenges him at every turn. Yet it’s not a game, and both know it.

Battle of the Sexes: A match made in heaven

Battle of the Sexes (2017) • View trailer 
Four stars. Rated PG-13, for sexual content and brief nudity
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 9.29.17

An estimated 90 million people around the world parked in front of TV sets on Sept. 20, 1973, in order to watch what became a defining moment in sports, American culture and — most particularly — the rising momentum for women’s equality.

When she agrees to the challenge issued by Bobby Riggs (Steve Carell), Billy Jean King
(Emma Stone) also gamely endures the media circus that precedes the historic event.

At the same time, the so-called “Battle of the Sexes” was pure circus.

On top of which, one of the participants was struggling with sexual identity, at a time when such matters scarcely were tolerated in this country, let alone allowed to go public.

That’s a lot of baggage for a single two-hour film to handle, and its success is a tribute to pedigree: Co-directors Jonathan Dayton and Valerie Faris (Little Miss Sunshine, Ruby Sparks), along with Academy Award-winning scripter Simon Beaufoy (Slumdog Millionaire), have concocted a thoughtful, perceptive and thoroughly entertaining dramedy that blends tender romance, historical context and an undercurrent of sly outrage over the degree of unapologetic chauvinism that was fashionable a mere four decades ago.

Add two stars who skillfully adopt the identities of their real-world counterparts — to a frequently spooky degree — and the result is quite engaging.

The story begins in 1971, as Billie Jean King (Emma Stone) and good friend Gladys Heldman (Sarah Silverman) — a hard-nosed PR and tennis maven — confront longtime tennis promoter Jack Kramer (Bill Pullman) over the insulting disparity between the financial prizes earned by male and female champions. Kramer holds firm with the prevailing view that women aren’t “worth” parity.

In response, King and Heldman — with considerable assistance from King’s husband, Larry (Austin Stowell) — form their own nascent women’s league (which, within a few years, would become the Women’s Tennis Association). It’s a gutsy move, since Kramer immediately expels them from the U.S. Lawn Tennis Association. The players — which include King, Margaret Court (Jessica McNamee), Rosie Casals (Natalie Morales) and half a dozen others — nonetheless adopt a spunky guerrilla spirit, booking their own venues, posting promotional banners, and selling their own tickets.

Matters improve when the group receives full sponsorship from Philip Morris, for what becomes known as the Virginia Slims Tour.

Meanwhile, Bobby Riggs (Steve Carell), decades removed from his professional championships in the 1940s, frets over his own obsolescence. He chafes behind a useless desk job, supported by a wealthy wife, Priscilla (Elisabeth Shue), who is losing her tolerance for his chronic gambling habit. But as a longtime hustler and media-savvy opportunist, Riggs smells publicity after learning what King and her cohorts are up to.

And so comes the challenge, from the man who proudly promises to keep the “show” in chauvinism.

American Ultra: In their dreams

American Ultra (2015) • View trailer 
Two stars. Rated R, for profanity, drug use and strong bloody violence
By Derrick Bang

I knew we were in trouble, before this movie even started.

Allow me to explain:

After an unfortunate encounter with some homicidal maniacs, Mike (Jesse Eisenberg) and
Phoebe (Kristen Stewart) are apprehended by the local law. Sadly, small-town cops won't
be much good in the melees that are about to follow...

Frequent filmgoers will have noticed, since time immemorial, that the studio logo always is the first thing on the screen. Some of the former titans have vanished over the years, but the familiar logos for 20th Century Fox, Warner Bros. and Universal Pictures — to cite just a few — remain ubiquitous.

During the past few decades, however, we’ve been subjected to pre-movie “logo creep,” first due to an ever-expanding roster of so-called mini-studios — Roadside Attractions, Lionsgate, Focus Features and A24 leap to mind, among many others — and, not to be outdone, director/actor production companies (Tom Hanks’ Playtone, James Cameron’s Lightstorm Entertainment, Ridley Scott and Tony Scott’s Scott Free, Chris Columbus’ 1492 Pictures and Adam Sandler’s Happy Madison, to cite just a few).

Each one has its own logo, all of which get displayed — in some contractually determined hierarchy — before a movie begins. And then, just to stroke egos even further, the same companies are cited at the top of the opening credits. (Warner Bros. and Roadside Attractions present ... a BBC Films production ... of a Happy Madison film ... or whatever.)

All of which has led sage filmgoers to two observations:

1) The quality of a film often is inversely related to the number of pre-credits logos; and

2) The quality of said logos absolutely determines the merit of the film in question.

In other words, crappy logos = crappy film.

American Ultra is preceded by four logos, two for companies I’d never before encountered, both of said logos apparently created by 4-year-olds. At which point I turned to Constant Companion and muttered, sotto voce, “Houston, we have a problem.”

Actually, this film’s entire attribution chain is much, much worse, and worth repeating, in sum:

“Lionsgate presents / Palmstar Media Capital and Kevin Frankers present / in association with FilmNation Entertainment, a Likely Story / PalmStar Entertainment / Circle of Confusion production in association with Merced Media Partners / Tadmore Entertainment / The Bridge Finance Company AG, a Nima Nourizadeh film.”

Circle of confusion, indeed.

The Equalizer: Solid blend of character and action

The Equalizer (2014) • View trailer 
3.5 stars. Rated R, for strong bloody violence, profanity and sexual vulgarity
By Derrick Bang

I want Denzel Washington’s Robert McCall living in my neighborhood.

Like, immediately. Yesterday, if possible.

Eventually, inexorably, the vicious Teddy (Marton Csokas, left) tracks down the elusive
Robert McCall (Denzel Washington). Their meeting is deceptively cheerful and polite,
each man sizing up the other. But we know, without question, that their next encounter
won't be anywhere near this benign...

In the interests of full disclosure, scripter Richard Wenk’s take on McCall owes very little to the 1980s television series that starred Edward Woodward, and which gives this film its name; this updated McCall feels far more like novelist Lee Child’s Jack Reacher (and I definitely refer to the character in Child’s books, and not Tom Cruise’s laughable big-screen interpretation).

Like Reacher, Washington’s McCall is the epitome of calm, methodical über-cool: a seasoned warrior who remains unfazed by any bad guys, regardless of their degree of malevolence, or their superiority in numbers. Watching this McCall go to work is the most delicious of vicarious guilty pleasures; it’s hard not to stand up and cheer.

But our reaction wouldn’t be nearly as satisfying, were McCall played by a lesser actor, or if Wenk hadn’t done such a fine job of setting up both character and premise. I’m frankly surprised that a film with such subtle touches could come from director Antoine Fuqua, more frequently known for noisy, overblown and often nasty popcorn thrillers such as Shooter, Brooklyn’s Finest and Olympus Has Fallen.

Most of Fuqua’s efforts aren’t highlighted by thoughtful or intelligent scripts, but this one’s a welcome exception. And yes, even if he reverts to form in the climax, by then he has (mostly) earned the right to do so.

Washington grants him that privilege.

McCall is introduced, during a very languid first act, as one of many cheerful employees at a Boston-based Home Mart, a huge construction store clearly modeled, in everything but name, on Home Depot outlets. He merrily interacts with his fellow workers, clearly delighted to greet them each morning. He takes a greater interest in some, such as Jenny (Anastasia Mousis), one of the cashiers; and Ralphie (Johnny Skourtis), an amiable lunch pal hoping to drop a few pounds in order to qualify for a promotion to security guard.

At home, living alone, McCall is obsessively neat and tidy. But the cracks in his façade slip in, at first almost unnoticed. He’s always up before his alarm clock goes off. He has trouble sleeping at night. More crucially, Washington’s features carry some massive burden: McCall radiates sorrow and regret, and we start to wonder if his public face represents some sort of penance.

Lola Versus: Undone by a bogus script

Lola Versus (2012) • View trailer
Three stars. Rating: R, for profanity, sexual candor and drug use
By Derrick Bang

Lola (Greta Gerwig) wanders aimlessly during the year following her 29th birthday, her fickle and frequently self-destructive behavior often destroying any good will she establishes during brief flashes of actual maturity.

When best friend Alice (Zoe Lister-Jones, left) encourages Lola (Greta
Gerwig) to jump back into the dating pool, the waters suddenly seem
full of sharks and minnows ... neither of which is good news for a
mildly desperate woman on the rebound.

The same can be said of the film she inhabits.

Lola Versus opens with promise, but rapidly devolves into an overly talky quagmire that feels (and sounds) like a bad Woody Allen film. Co-scripters Zoe Lister-Jones and Daryl Wein introduce Lola as a self-assured and obviously intelligent woman — not everybody has the smarts to be inches away from a Ph.D. — but then subject her to an escalating series of bad decisions and stupid choices, not to mention enough drug and alcohol binging to send the next half-dozen people into rehab.

In short, it becomes impossible to retain our sympathy for Lola, despite Gerwig’s heroic effort to showcase her character’s quirky charm.

Then, too, the dialogue exchanges concocted by Lister-Jones and Wein are too arch, too contrived, too knowingly earthy and too faux trendy. Granted, nobody in real life talks like the folks on the big screen, but — best-case scenario — we viewers at least can delight in witty, sophisticated banter when it’s delivered with well-timed snap. Too much of the conversational chatter here is ostentatiously smutty, as if Lister-Jones and Wein are taking their cues from the gals in Sex and the City.

Sorry, but talking like Kim Cattrall’s Samantha is not the height of chic refinement. Not even close.

We meet Lola on her aforementioned 29th birthday, an event celebrated in the arms of longtime boyfriend Luke (Joel Kinnaman), who climaxes the milestone by proposing. Cue several weeks (months?) of excited wedding planning, with some decisions second-guessed by Lola’s fashionably cool parents, Robin and Lenny (Debra Winger and Bill Pullman).

Pullman is a hoot: one of the film’s stronger elements, actually, and I wish we could have spent more time with him. Lenny is recently retired and loving this opportunity to hang loose and embrace social media and all the other “with it” joys of the early 21st century; he and Lola also enjoy a frank and loving relationship.

Winger’s Robin is perhaps somewhat controlling, but Lola is strong enough — and savvy enough — to maintain the necessary barriers.

Bottle Shock: A vintage tale

Bottle Shock (2008) • View trailer for Bottle Shock
3.5 stars (out of five). Rated PG-13, for brief profanity, fleeting drug use and mild sensuality
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 8.21.08
Buy DVD: Bottle Shock • Buy Blu-Ray: Bottle Shock [Blu-ray]

In terms of French cultural pride, nothing could have been more catastrophic.

Consider it from their point of view: They may have had to acknowledge American military superiority during World War II, may have had to surrender the field in terms of subsequent economic clout, may have watched in horror as boorish, lowest-common-denominator marketing behemoths such as McDonald's and Disneyland infiltrated the entire known universe ... but France always had its wine.

As Bo (Chris Pine, right) watches from a safe distance, visiting British wine
connoisseur Steven Spurrier (Alan Rickman) dubiously eyes the jelly glass that
holds a small-time Napa Valley winemaker's prize vintage. The supercilious
Spurrier little realizes that, after the first swallow, his opinion of California
wines will begin to climb ... and that's only the beginning.

No matter what else, the French knew they remained superior when it came to transforming grapes into a libation that had fueled metaphor-laden poets for the same hundreds of years that winemaking techniques had been perfected in regions such as Bordeaux, Burgundy and Chablis.

In matters of The Grape, the French reigned supreme ... and they never let the rest of the world forget it.

Until that horrible afternoon in 1976, during what came to be known as the Judgment of Paris.

Director/co-writer Randall Miller's Bottle Shock employs this actual event — so famous that its results have been preserved for eternity in the Smithsonian (and I'll bet the French don't think much of that) — as the setting for an amiable little drama that lacks the focus and greater screenwriting savvy of Sideways, but nonetheless tells an engaging story.

Or, to construct an appropriate metaphor, Miller's film is more Merlot than Cabernet: certainly pleasing to the palate, but not nearly as complex or precise.

The problem, mostly, is one of focus. One must greet any film that "requires" four screenwriters with suspicion, because the results often are overcooked in an effort to be all things to all viewers. When Miller and fellow writers Jody Savin, Ross Schwartz and Lannette Pabon concentrate on the actual details leading up to that fateful day during our bicentennial year — and particularly when Alan Rickman is on the screen — everything is a droll and understated delight.

Unfortunately, too much screen time is wasted on the good-natured hijinks and lack of focus from the other young, counter-culture protagonists. It's as if Miller & Co. worried that their wine-drenched narrative might be considered as stuffy as French arrogance to teen and twentysomething viewers, and therefore found it "necessary" to sex up these proceedings with a contrived romantic triangle involving the frequently underdressed Rachael Taylor, who added a similar dose of pulchritude to last year's Transformers.

Hey, she's charming, intelligent and easy on the eyes ... but she's also frequently distracting here, particularly when the screen time could be better spent on some fairly essential backstory elements that never get properly addressed.

The year is 1976, and the narrative initially bounces back and forth between two settings, starting in Paris, where wine connoisseur and displaced Briton Steven Spurrier (Rickman) scrambles for a way to put his lovingly designed but invariably empty tasting room/retail outlet on the map. His next-door neighbor, the mildly vulgar but definitely more savvy Maurice (Dennis Farina), insists that part of the problem is Spurrier's blinkered purchasing instincts.