Deep Cover: Hilariously perilous role-playing

Deep Cover (2025) • View trailer

3.5 stars (out of five). Rated R, for violence, drug use and frequent profanity

Available via: Amazon Prime

By Derrick Bang

This film’s premise is irresistible, and the execution is a hoot.

 

The four scripters — Derek Connolly, Colin Trevorrow, Ben Ashenden and Alexander Owen — concocted a sharp comedy thriller with plenty of mirthful, rat-a-tat dialogue. Director Tom Kingsley and editor Mark Williams maintain a lively pace, and Daniel Pemberton’s score adds just the right flourish.

 

Fly (Paddy Considine, far left) is impressed by what his new colleagues — from left,
Kat (Bryce Dallas Howard), Hugh (Nick Mohammed) and Marlon (Orlando Bloom) —
have accomplished ... even if he doesn't entirely trust them.

The casting is inspired, and the players inhabit their parts with élan. At first blush, the three stars seem like unlikely collaborators, but they deftly play to each other’s strengths.

Kat (Bryce Dallas Howard), a wannabe stand-up comic, has taken solace in leading improv lessons for other would-be superstars; she’s sweet, patient and nurturing. One of her students is the über-serious Marlon (Orlando Bloom), who has embraced Stanislavski’s method approach to an unfortunate degree, and believes himself the next Robert De Niro. Even so, the poor guy can’t do better than TV commercials.

 

Elsewhere, shy IT wonk Hugh (Nick Mohammed) hasn’t the faintest concept of social skills, and frequently is ridiculed by his co-workers. He stumbles into Kat’s class one day, hoping to learn the fine art of casual conversation, and become more at ease with himself.

 

Unknown to all, Kat and her students have been observed by veteran London police officer Billings (Sean Bean), who has hatched an audacious plan for a sting operation. Knowing that bad guys can smell undercover cops a mile away, Billings proposes that Kat, Marlon and Hugh work as a team to help nail small-potatoes criminals selling knock-off cigarettes.

 

Intrigued by the challenge — and also excited by the low-level danger — they agree.

 

When they show up the next day, Kat has tarted up, going for tough-chick street sleaze, accompanied by a sassy attitude. Marlon looks, sounds and behaves like a dangerous mob enforcer, while Nick ... looks like himself. Which is to say, a nerdy accountant, prompting a long-suffering sigh from Billings.

 

Their assignment is simple: Stroll into a nearby bodega, ask the guy behind the counter for the “cheap stuff,” complete the purchase, and depart.

 

What could possibly go wrong?

 

Quite a lot, as events go down, because Kat and Marlon are too eager to go off-book, repeatedly relying on her “Yes, and...?” class exercise. As a result, they snag an invite to make a major buy from local drug baron Fly (Paddy Considine), which exasperates and delights Billings.

 

But although Kat and Marlon look and sound like who they’re supposed to be, Fly regards Hugh warily, questioning his appearance. “That’s why we call him Squire,” Kat quickly interjects, while Hugh smiles awkwardly.

 

In a film laden with laugh-out-loud moments, none is funnier than Mohammed’s nervous body language and mounting terror, when Fly insists that Hugh test the purity of the product.

Argylle: Fails to knock our socks off

Argylle (2024) • View trailer

2.5 stars (out of five). Rated PG-13, and much too generously, for relentless strong violence and occasional profanity

Available via: Movie theaters

By Derrick Bang • Published in The Davis Enterprise, 2.2.24

I’m not the slightest bit surprised to recall that scripter Jason Fuchs’ early résumé includes 2012’s Ice Age: Continental Drift.

 

Because, after a promising first act, this new spy comedy devolves into an increasingly insufferable — and boring — live-action cartoon.

 

Having discovered a secret stash in an otherwise abandoned London safe house, Aidan
(Sam Rockwell) is surprised to see that Elly (Bryce Dallas Howard) recognizes some
of the concealed tech.

Director Matthew Vaughn has long favored violent, over-the-top material, from 2010’s Kick-Ass to the Kingsman trilogy (with, so it seems, two more on the way). But even by his outré standards, this film’s third act spirals totally out of control.

And not in a way that can be excused as “dumb fun.”

 

This one’s just dumb.

 

A revved-up prologue opens as stylish spy Argylle (Henry Cavill) meets a femme most fatale, who unexpectedly turns the tables on him. A rambunctious chase sequence follows, the woman finally captured with the assistance of colleagues Wyatt (John Cena) and Keira (Ariana DeBose).

 

But the mission has ended badly, and our good guys now are isolated from their agency handlers.

 

At which point the curtain pulls back, and all this is revealed as the visualized final chapter of book five in the popular Argylle spy series, read aloud at a bookstore event by author Elly Conway (Bryce Dallas Howard). Fans adore her and the series; one questioner wonders aloud how she’s able to so uncannily concoct stories that seem to anticipate real-world events.

 

Plenty of dull research Elly replies, with a modest smile.

 

Back at home with her beloved cat Alfie, Ellie has an intriguing “relationship” with her series character; when stuck for a bit of dialogue, or how to move the action along, she “becomes” him — Cavill obligingly reappears — long enough to find the right words. Indeed, she has just finished the sixth novel, which she cheekily intends to conclude on a cliffhanger.

 

(Oh, those merciless authors; they do love to torture us readers.)

 

But Elly’s No. 1 fan — her mother, Ruth (Catherine O’Hara) — having been sent a copy, can’t believe that her daughter would be so cruel. Let’s get together, Ruth proposes, and we’ll brainstorm a final chapter.

 

Bundling Alfie into the world’s cutest hard-shell bubble capsule pet carrier, Elly boards a train. (Flying terrifies her.) She winds up accosted by Aidan (Sam Rockwell), a scruffy fan who proves quite useful when everybody else in their train car suddenly tries to kill them both. 

 

Cue a lively fracas, which is well-staged by fight choreographer Guillermo Grispo.

 

Rocketman: Blast off!

Rocketman (2019) • View trailer 
Four stars. Rated R, for profanity, drug use and sexual content
By Derrick Bang

Elton John’s life is the stuff of legend anyway, so the fantasy touches certainly don’t feel out of place in director Dexter Fletcher’s audaciously opulent jukebox musical.

And so it begins: Reggie Dwight (Taron Egerton, left) and Bernie Taupin (Jamie Bell)
are excited to discover that their musical strengths perfectly complement each other.

Granted, it’s disconcerting when little Matthew Illesley — as young Reginald Kenneth Dwight — warbles the first few lines of “The Bitch Is Back,” which promptly turns into a lavish dance production involving all the denizens of his family’s suburban Middlesex neighborhood. But Fletcher cleverly sets the film’s tone with that number, particularly with respect to cinematographer George Richmond’s clever use of color.

Nor is this sequence the first eyebrow-lift. The film actually opens when the adult Elton (Taron Egerton), in outrageous performance dress, strides down an institutional hallway in order to join a group counseling session at a fancy rehabilitation clinic. His saga subsequently unfolds as an extended flashback, with occasional returns to the present; as the story progresses, Elton sheds more and more of the costume, reflecting his willingness to be increasingly candid.

A rather obvious metaphor, but it works.

Rocketman covers Elton John’s life from childhood, in the late 1950s, to 1990, when he had a God-given moment of lucidity — amid a downward spiral of drugs, alcohol and depression — and wisely checked himself into rehab. Given a music library well in excess of 300 songs, armed with Bernie Taupin’s alternately energetic and poignant lyrics, it obviously wasn’t difficult for Fletcher to highlight each step of Reggie’s life with a cleverly appropriate (or archly ironic) tune.

Most of the 22 song choices and stagings are inspired; a few are a bit forced, a little too on the nose. They don’t arrive in anything approaching chronological sequence, but rather as suits a given scene (hence the aforementioned startling use of “The Bitch Is Back”).

Lee Hall’s screenplay occasionally loses steam, mostly during the second act (which seems crazy, given the arc of John’s career, but pacing here is crucial). Even so, the film’s overall impact is breathtaking: both because of the music, and its presentation, and Egerton’s flat-out astonishing performance.

At times, he looks, sounds and acts more like Elton John than the man himself. It’s not merely a matter of Egerton nailing John’s defiantly sassy, mildly pugnacious stage presence; the actor also has impressive vocal chops (as is obvious to anybody who’s seen his recent duets with John, on “Tiny Dancer” and “Rocket Man”).

Jurassic Park: Fallen Kingdom — 'Sauring' adventure

Jurassic World: Fallen Kingdom (2018) • View trailer 
Four stars. Rated PG-13, for relentless action violence and all manner of dino rage
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 6.22.18

This film is a cautionary tale that hearkens back to the immortal line from Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley’s Frankenstein, which has been paraphrased — in movies, TV shows and other books — many times since:

With a particularly nasty Indoraptor loose in her family's private Cretaceous museum,
young Maisie (Isabella Sermon, far right) hopes that Owen (Chris Pratt) and
Claire (Bryce Dallas Howard) can keep her alive.

“Learn from me, if not by my precepts, at least by my example, how dangerous is the acquirement of knowledge.”

Its function as a klaxon-blaring environmental warning aside, this fifth installment in the Jurassic series also is a rip-snortin’ rollercoaster ride. Director J.A. Bayona and editor Bernat Vilaplana maintain an impressive level of intense, edge-of-the-seat suspense for two full hours. Derek Connolly and Colin Trevorrow’s script is cleverly structured into three distinct acts, each laden with distinct goals, challenges and dangerous pitfalls.

At the same time, a thoroughly unsettling message percolates beneath the surface, until finally blossoming — nay, exploding — during the climax.

That’s a problem. The care with which Connolly and Trevorrow have built their plot suddenly sags beneath the weight of too much extraneous exposition during the final 15 minutes: one genuine surprise, a failure to resolve, and a lingering catastrophe that has been foretold by Jeff Goldblum’s Ian Malcolm (and it’s very nice to see him again).

We’re left with enough open-ended material to fuel two or three more films ... which, frankly, is quite irritating.

Up to that point, however, Fallen Kingdom is a lot of fun, in great part because Bayona, Connolly and Trevorrow wisely follow — and often reference — many of the ingredients that made Steven Spielberg’s 1993 handling of Michael Crichton’s original novel so thoroughly absorbing.

Stalwart heroes: check. Well-meaning scientists with their ideals shattered: check. Greedy corporate villains: check. One (and only one) comic-relief character: check. A child in peril: check.

Plenty of unexpected jump-attacks by swiftly moving dinosaurs: Check-check-check.

Gold: 18 karat at best

Gold (2017) • View trailer 
3.5 stars. Rated R, for sexuality, nudity and considerable profanity
By Derrick Bang

This story has more ups and downs than a merry-go-round ... and, like such amusement park attractions, any semblance of an actual destination is mere illusion.

On the triumphant day that his company is admitted to the New York Stock Exchange,
Kenny Wells (Matthew McConaughey, fist raised) jubilantly kicks off the morning trading,
accompanied by girlfriend Kay (Bryce Dallas Howard) and partner Mike Acosta (Edgar
Ramírez, far left).

Gold is inspired, and quite accurately, by the 1997 Bre-X Minerals Ltd. mining and stock fraud, which — in the wake of the company’s collapse — became (and remains) one of Canada’s largest and most embarrassing stock frauds, and history’s largest-ever mining scandal.

And all because “gold fever” blinded far too many people to the most obvious set of checks and balances.

Scripters Patrick Massett and John Zinman have changed names and moved the primary players from Canada to the States. Even so, they follow events closely enough to raise eyebrows over their failure to acknowledge two published accounts of the catastrophe — The Bre-X Fraud and Fool’s Gold: The Making of a Global Market Fraud — that must have served as primary sources.

Matthew McConaughey stars as Kenny Wells, the third-generation face of Washoe Mining, a family business based in Reno, Nev. A prospector at heart, Kenny believes strongly in lineage, and loves to wax eloquent about the grandfather who founded the company with hard work and dirt under his fingers. But the story inevitably sounds rehearsed and greased with a layer of snake oil, particularly when he’s trying to charm investors.

Kenny also supplies occasional off-camera narration to us viewers, to bridge time-shifts and plot gaps, but McConaughey’s voice has the distinct aroma of self-justification. It’s clear, pretty quickly, that Kenny probably isn’t a reliable narrator; he may relate details accurately, but his complicity is open to serious question.

We meet him during a comfortable period, as primary hustler for the company that his father still runs. Daytime work is dominated by telephone pitches and the careful scrutiny of geological surveys; hard-drinking evenings take place in the tavern where Kenny’s longtime girlfriend, Kay (Bryce Dallas Howard), works as a waitress.

They’re an unlikely but comfortably matched couple. She loves him unconditionally, having made peace with his almost religious pursuit of dreams. He, in turn, relies on her stability and support; she grounds him. Decked out in 1980s-style big hair, and poured into the tight outfits with which waitresses have long enhanced their tips, Howard is the pluperfect working gal who adores her man.

The glow in her eyes is palpable, whenever Kenny is around: We hope that he’ll never abuse her loyalty.

Pete's Dragon: A somewhat unsteady flight

Pete's Dragon (2016) • View trailer 
3.5 stars. Rated PG, for dramatic intensity
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 8.12.16

All right; there’s such a thing as too much pathos.

Disney films have a merciless Dickensian history of parental mortality, usually as a means of first-act dramatic impact. The trend goes all the way back to 1942’s Bambi, and has remained a scripting constant ever since, reaching its horrific nadir with 1985’s Baby: Secret of the Lost Legend. (I still wince over how that one started.)

Having grown up in a remote forest, with only a massive green dragon for a friend,
Pete (Oakes Fegley) knows a life of nothing but fun. Alas, that's about to change, when
he and his huge furry buddy are "discovered" by people.

In some ways, this new Pete’s Dragon is even more brutal.

On the whole, director David Lowery has done a lovely job with this updated fairy tale, giving it a contemporary, top-to-bottom re-write with the assistance of co-scripter Toby Halbrooks. The fantasy elements are impressive, with the fuzzy green dragon — Elliot — not only brought to persuasive life, but also given a charming, shaggy dog personality: not an easy task, for a character that cannot speak.

Much of the film also takes place from a child’s-eye view of the world, which is a nice touch.

The storyline has a gentle environmental undertone that’s given additional heft by the presence of Robert Redford, both as co-star and occasional narrator. His distinctive voice is immediately familiar, with its warm and friendly cadence; at this point in his career, he has become everybody’s favorite uncle, while also radiating the graceful ecological integrity of icons such as John Ruskin, John Muir and Henry David Thoreau.

He’s perfect here.

On the other hand, this film’s tone is far different than its larkish 1977 predecessor. Poster art for this new Pete’s Dragon shows our young human hero — a sensitively nuanced Oakes Fegley — resting peacefully on Elliot’s huge tail, smiling up at his furry green friend. The implication is happy and cheerful, which is extremely misleading.

Because, before Pete can befriend a massive dragon that has remained (mostly) undiscovered in the deep woods of the Pacific Northwest, he must lose his parents. This takes place during a prologue that introduces Pete as barely more than a toddler, driving through the woods with his parents, and excited by the thought of a “family adventure.”

That anticipation is shattered one road accident later. Although Lowery deserves credit for handling this sequence with off-camera sensitivity, it’s no less heartbreaking ... and it also sets the mood for what follows. And while the subsequent narrative is by no means nonstop tragedy, it feels that way, in great part because of composer Daniel Hart’s unrelentingly gloomy orchestral score. Sad and maudlin themes undercut far too much of this film’s action.

(Just in passing, Lowery and Halbrooks also deserve to be spanked for the immediate peril that prompts the nearby Elliot to rescue little Pete: Wolves don’t attack people! A bear would have been a far better choice.)

Jurassic World: Dino-might

Jurassic World (2015) • View trailer 
3.5 stars. Rated PG-13, for intense sci-fi violence and peril
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 6.12.15

We never learn.

Which is a good thing ... because, otherwise, where would Hollywood find most of its plotlines?

Having managed one narrow escape after another, our besieged heroes — from left,
Claire (Bryce Dallas Howard), Owen (Chris Pratt), Zach (Nick Robinson) and Gray
(Ty Simpkins) — wind up trapped in a lab when yet another dino-menace appears out
of nowhere. These poor folks just can't catch a break...

In a few key respects, Jurassic World is an honorable sequel to the sensational 1993 film that Steven Spielberg made from Michael Crichton’s riveting, way-clever novel ... not to mention Spielberg’s almost-as-good 1997 follow-up, adapted from Crichton’s own sequel. (Equal credit also goes to scripter David Koepp, who worked on both films.)

We’ll just sorta pretend that the series’ third entry, in 2001, never happened.

Which also seems to be the attitude adopted by this new film’s director, Colin Trevorrow, and his three co-writers: Rick Jaffa, Amanda Silver and Derek Connelly. Jurassic World does acknowledge the first two films with several nice nods toward those who sculpted this franchise so superbly. Even Michael Giacchino’s exhilarating score references key John Williams themes from the two Spielberg movies.

Visual effects supervisors Tim Alexander and Glen McIntosh also do phenomenal work, further enhancing the “you are there” verisimilitude that made the first film such a jaw-dropping wonder. It’s no imaginative stretch at all, to accept these various beasties as living, breathing ... and highly dangerous.

Trevorrow and editor Kevin Stitt concoct a hell-for-leather third act, with each suspenseful encounter and/or chase building to an even better one. Additionally, the script is laden with perceptive social commentary, taking some well-deserved jabs at our jaded 21st sensibilities, while reminding us anew that — to paraphrase a droll 1970s TV commercial — it’s not nice to mess with Mother Nature.

Sounds great, right?

Well ... not entirely.

Despite its many virtues, Jurassic World is marred by an abundance of unpleasant, mean-spirited and just plain stupid characters who spend the entire film behaving like complete idiots. On top of which, Trevorrow seems to have coached everybody to play at hyper-melodramatic, back row/third balcony opera house levels.

That’s frankly surprising, since Trevorrow’s sole previous credit is 2012’s droll Safety Not Guaranteed, a little sci-fi mystery that gets its oomph from being so deliciously coy, subtle and quiet.

So why switch gears here? Did Trevorrow worry that his human players had to compete with their dino co-stars, when it came to chewing up the scenery?

Whatever the reason, it’s hard to like or admire most of these characters, including the few whom we’re definitely supposed to root for. Brainless behavior demands the opposite; I’d have been perfectly content to watch a few more become dino-chow.

50/50: Beats the odds

50/50 (2011) • View trailer for 50/50
Four stars. Rating: R, for profanity, drug use, sexual candor and brief nudity
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 9.30.11


Flip a coin. Heads, you live; tails, you die.

Shuffle a deck of cards — remove the jokers first — and deal the top card onto the table. Red, you live; black, you die.

Adam (Joseph Gordon-Levitt) is mildly uneasy when he learns that his
therapist is three years younger than he is. His uncertainty increases further when
he discovers that the inexperienced Katherine (Anna Kendrick) has had only
two previous patients.

We all exist under the shadow of survival odds; it’s how insurance companies stay in business. Most of us, though, are blessed by never knowing how good or bad our odds have become, from one moment — day, week, month — to the next.

Those receiving unexpected news regarding a deadly disease aren’t that lucky. In a heartbeat, they enter a world of statistics and percentages. Life becomes ... challenged.

Director Jonathan Levine’s 50/50 is a thoughtful, frequently funny and unexpectedly sensitive movie about a young man’s response to cancer. Will Reiser’s script is sharp, acutely perceptive and — regardless of outcome — richly life-affirming. The result is another impressive tightrope act of tone and balance: the second such film I’ve seen in the past week.

And, as with director Mona Achache’s handling of The Hedgehog, Levine’s approach to 50/50 is every bit as skilled. Frankly, I’m impressed; after a weak start with the forgettable horror flick All the Boys Love Mandy Lane, Levine has fulfilled the promise he demonstrated with his far better — albeit unjustly ignored — sophomore effort, The Wackness.

Granted, 50/50 isn’t without flaws. A little bit of Seth Rogen goes a very long way, and at times he threatens to hijack the film. But Levine clearly perceives the fine line of Too Much, and he rarely lets Rogen step over it. Not an easy task, when dealing with such a comedic force of nature.

Joseph Gordon-Levitt, an increasingly accomplished actor of the “quiet” school, stars as Adam, a 27-year-old guy living an unremarkable, unthreatening “B-minus” life, in producer Ben Karlin’s words. Adam wouldn’t view it that way, but he’s definitely the mildly withdrawn and “safe” counterpoint to his wild ’n’ crazy best friend, Kyle (Rogen).

The guys live in Seattle (the film actually was shot in Vancouver, B.C.) and work at the local National Public Radio station, where Adam has been editing a feature on volcanoes long past the point of perfection. Adam takes pride in his craft; Kyle can’t understand why he’d bother with a piece that people will hear while driving to work, and then immediately forget. And thus Adam and Kyle’s contrasting personalities are established.

The Help: The power of friendship

The Help (2011) • View trailer for The Help
4.5 stars. Rating: PG-13, for thematic elements and dramatic intensity
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 8.12.11


Certain historical flashpoints become such an iconic part of our cultural awareness, that we cannot help being engaged by stories that spring from them.

Aibileen (Viola Davis, standing left) observes the uncomfortable power
dynamics while attending to the needs of neighborhood "queen bee" Hilly
(Bryce Dallas Howard, seated center), who easily exerts subtle psychological
control over Elizabeth (Ahna O'Reilly, left). Even Skeeter (Emma Stone, right),
although fully aware of her "friend's" behavior, understands the need to tread
cautiously; one does not annoy Hilly without expecting serious reprisal.

The Holocaust is an obvious example; its power never diminishes, and I marvel at the fresh viewpoints revealed in recent films such as The Reader, The Counterfeiters and The Boy in the Striped Pajamas. Another one opens this week: Sarah's Key and its star, Kristen Scott Thomas, are certain to become a topic du jour in the next few months.

Moving closer to home, race relations in the mid-20th century — particularly in the Deep South — exert an equally powerful hold. Harper Lee's rich, poetic prose has much to do with the lasting impact of To Kill a Mockingbird, but its setting and gently instructive message deserve equal credit.

Kathryn Stockett's The Help channels Lee's masterpiece in all the best ways.

Even a casual student of history cannot help being astonished — and sickened — by the deplorable behavior that was a norm, in some parts of this country, a mere 50 years ago. Within my own lifetime. The very notion staggers me.

We often watch British imports such as Upstairs, Downstairs and congratulate ourselves for being a classless society. Don't you believe it: The dividing lines may be subtler at times, but we routinely slot into roles every bit as rigorously defined as those that separated England's serving class from those who were served.

Sometimes the lines aren't even subtle.

Stockett took five years to write what eventually became The Help, beginning in the immediate aftermath of 9/11. Then, having accumulated more than five dozen rejection slips, she was ready to abandon the book. She happened to give it to actor-turned-filmmaker Tate Taylor, a longtime friend she had known since their shared childhoods in Jackson, Miss., in the 1970s.

Taylor saw more than potential; he recognized a story that could change lives. In one of those quirks of fate embraced by downtrodden artists, Stockett's manuscript was turned into a script, and put into production, long before Penguin Books got involved. Stockett's novel finally was published in 2009; it remained on the New York Times best-seller list for one week short of two years, occupying the No. 1 spot for six of those weeks.

And now the creative process has come full circle. Taylor has scripted and directed a quiet, tension-charged drama that both respects Stockett's book and provides a memorable showcase for each member of its talented cast. Despite the need to compress events, Taylor's film honors the tale being told, along with its core messages: that an immoral status quo never should be tolerated, and that change can be brought about by determined individuals willing to ignore bone-deep terror while doing the right thing.

That said, the film's tag line — "Change begins with a whisper" — is a bit misleading. I'd call this saga more of a clandestine shout.