How to Make a Killing: Loses its way

How to Make a Killing (2025) • View trailer

Three stars (out of five); rated R, for profanity and violence

Available via: Amazon Prime and other VOD options

By Derrick Bang • Published in The Davis Enterprise, 4.19.26

Writer/director John Patton Ford faced two cinematic challenges with this macabre little thriller.

 

First, the general rule of remakes and sequels: If the result isn’t at least as good as the original, if not better, then the viewer’s time is being wasted.

 

While sizing up the youngest member of the Redfellow family, in the line of succession,
Becket (Glen Powell) quickly discovers that the guy is an arrogant, reckless
waste of space.

Second, and more crucially, some classic films are sacrosanct, and fall under the heading of Thou Shalt Not Touch. Here in the States, Casablanca and Gone with the Wind fall into that category. Across the pond, the Ealing Studios/Alec Guinness masterpiece, Kind Hearts and Coronets, has been a revered treasure since its 1949 debut.

Only a cheeky American would have the audacity to do it again.

 

In fairness, Ford wisely adopts the narrative template established by British scripters Robert Hamer and John Dighton, who in turn adapted Roy Horniman’s 1907 novel, Israel Rank: The Autobiography of a Criminal.

 

As with the original, this film opens in a jail cell, as Becket Redfellow (Glen Powell) awaits execution for murder. A priest (Adrian Lukis) arrives, with but four hours to go; when asked about final words, Becket relates his saga in flashback, with ongoing voiceover commentary.

 

It begins when 18-year-old Mary Redfellow — belonging to an obscenely wealthy, old-money family worth untold billions — unwisely becomes pregnant. She insists upon having the child, whereupon her imperious father Whitelaw (Ed Harris) banishes her from the family’s New York estate.

 

Important detail, though: She remains an heir, in the family line of succession.

 

Mary moves to the New Jersey township of Bellville, finds menial employment, and raises young Becket (Grady Wilson) to the best of her ability. Despite their meager circumstances, she ensures that Becket is exposed to refined pursuits, such as archery and music. But as the “poor kid” among children of wealthier families, he’s frequently tormented.

 

He catches the eye of Julia Steinway (Maggie Toomey), who returns his affection, but in a way that feels borderline cruel.

 

Becket is nonetheless happy, but the boy’s world is shattered when his mother takes ill. Before dying, she informs Becket of his rightful heritage. Her final wish is to be buried in the family crypt; this request is denied. 

 

Becket grows up angry, and not merely because he’s shuttled through a series of foster families. Upon achieving maturity, he obtains a good job with a custom tailor, where he has an unexpected reunion with Julia (Margaret Qualley). They briefly discuss his family background, and how he’s eighth in the line of succession.

 

“Call me when you’ve killed them all,” she says, mockingly, before exiting the shop.

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.

Wolfs: Crime served wry

Wolfs (2024) • View trailer

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

Available via: Apple TV+

By Derrick Bang • Published in The Davis Enterprise, 10.6.24

This quietly sardonic crime thriller demonstrates anew the captivating power of star wattage.

 

Because — to be blunt — writer/director Jon Watts’ film wouldn’t be such a much, absent George Clooney and Brad Pitt.

 

Despite competitive wariness, two professional "fixers" — Brad Pitt, left, and George
Clooney — reluctantly admit that they'll need to work together, in order to clean up
what has become an increasingly troublesome mess.

They make it sparkle.

Watts clearly designed this project with them in mind, playing to their unruffled charisma, and the fact that both — along with their characters — gamely make the most of being in their early 60s. You’ll also detect a strong echo of the Danny & Rusty vibe from Ocean’s Eleven and its two sequels, including some familiar bits of dialogue: “What’s the play here?” (Clooney) and “I don’t work that way” (Pitt).

 

Or, for those with longer memories, the similarly well-bonded banter between Paul Newman and Robert Redford, in 1969’s Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid.

 

But it doesn’t begin that way here.

 

Watts opens his story with a bang, as ambitious New York politician Margaret (Amy Ryan), blood splattered all over her dress, finds herself in a fancy hotel suite with the body of a young stud. Panicked, knowing full well that this could destroy her career, she dials a number listed in her phone solely as a pair of brackets.

 

That reaches Clooney’s anonymous character — known solely, from this point forward, as “Margaret’s Man” — who shows up sporting a fashionable black turtleneck, leather coat ... and latex gloves, along with assorted other, um, tools of his trade. That would be “cleaner,” or “fixer,” or “calmly methodical fellow who makes problems go away.”

 

He has barely begun to work when his apparent twin (Pitt) shows up: similarly dressed, clearly in the same line of work, and equally irritated to discover that he has competition. He has been summoned by hotel owner Pam (Frances McDormand, making the most of her brief voice-only phone performance). She has all her rooms bugged and on camera, and wants this mess cleaned up for the same reason: to avoid bad publicity.

 

Pitt’s character, equally anonymous, is subsequently known as “Pam’s Man.” (Or perhaps we should just call them George and Brad, since Watts clearly wants us to identify with their signature screen presence.)

 

Clooney and Pitt make the most of the wry squabble over the “best way” to deal with this problem, how best to clean up the room and dispose of the body, and so forth ... while poor Margaret frets, gasps and blinks in wide-eyed helplessness.

 

(I suspect an actual seasoned politician would be more calm and self-assured, but Ryan had to play the cards that she was dealt.)

Hit Man: Scores a bullseye

Hit Man (2024) • View trailer

Four stars (out of five). Rated R, for sexual content, occasional violence and relentless profanity

Available via: Netflix

By Derrick Bang

This one’s too much fun.

 

Richard Linklater has enjoyed an impressively varied career during his four decades as a self-taught writer/director, covering all manner of genres, styles and approaches. Even his lesser efforts are interesting in some way, and his gems are choice.

 

While posing as an assasin-for-hire named Ron, Gary (Glen Powell) discovers that his
newest "client," Madison (Adria Arjona) is much more complicated than his usual marks.

Hit Man is a ruby.

Linklater and star Glen Powell — rising rapidly into the A-list stratosphere — collaborated on this scripted adaptation of Skip Hollandsworth’s mesmerizing 2001 Texas Monthly non-fiction article. The film’s tone is cheeky from an initial promise that “What you’re about to see is a somewhat true story,” and it gets more audacious by the minute.

 

What’s truly amazing is the degree to which this film’s events are factual ... but do yourself a favor: Watch it first, before looking up Hollandsworth’s magazine piece. (Which, I promise, you’ll definitely want to do.)

 

Many of the true portions come under the heading of You Simply Couldn’t Make Up Stuff Like This.

 

Gary Johnson (Powell) is the epitome of mundane. He teaches philosophy and psychology at the University of New Orleans, where his students snicker over the fact that he drives a Honda Civic. He lives with two cats — named Id and Ego, of course — feeds birds, and carefully spray-waters his houseplants. His reading leans toward Carl Jung; a copy of Memories, Dreams, Reflections rests on his desk.

 

His very appearance is dull, thanks to Juliana Hoffpauir’s crafty costume design and Ally Vickers’ hair styling. Add the baggy jorts and unflattering glasses, and Gary looks like a total dweeb ... which, given Powell’s actual hunky self, is rather astonishing.

 

Gary does have a side hustle: He’s an electronics whiz, and for some time has assisted the New Orleans police with surveillance equipment and cleverly concealed bugs. His frequent partners during such assignments are cops Claudette (stand-up veteran Retta) and Phil (Sanjay Rao), a hilariously understated Mutt ’n’ Jeff duo who trade dry quips.

 

Their frequent targets involve ordinary citizens, who — fed up with a spouse, family member or business partner — want to hire a contract killer to, um, take care of the problem. Permanently. They invariably ask “disreputable types” — topless dancers, bar bouncers, bail bondsmen — for a “reference” ... at which point, said individuals usually contact the cops, who set up a sting. The mark’s lethal desire must be spoken aloud, and money must change hands.

 

Fellow cop Jasper (Austin Amelio) traditionally has played the “hit man” role; he’s smarmy enough to look the part.

Drive-Away Dolls: Unapologetic trash

Drive-Away Dolls (2024) • View trailer

Three stars (out of five). Rated R, for full nudity, violence and relentless profanity and sexual content

Available via: Movie theaters

By Derrick Bang

This is the smuttiest film I’ve seen in quite awhile.

 

That might have been enough to discourage any sort of endorsement ... but, well, y’see, this flick also is pretty damn funny.

 

When a flat tire forces James (Margaret Qualley, left) and Marian (Geraldine Viswanathan)
to check the trunk for a spare, they find something ... rather unexpected.

For folks with a deranged sense of humor, that is.

(Guilty as charged.)

 

Those familiar with the Coen brothers’ sensibilities will recognize the tone and territory, although this time out Ethan Coen is directing on his own, from a seriously daft script he co-wrote with wife Tricia Cooke. They deliberately set out to bring modern sensibilities to the sort of gratuitously sleazy 1960s drive-in fare that film critic Joe Bob Briggs (aka John Irving Bloom) championed in the 1980s and ‘’90s. (Motorpsycho and Bad Girls Go to Hell are cited in this film’s production notes. I’ve yet to have the pleasure.)

 

The result is an aggressively vulgar, noir-ish blend of smutty sex, nasty criminal behavior and screwball comedy: definitely not for the faint of heart or sensitive of mind.

 

The year is late 1999, the city Philadelphia. A late-night prologue finds an extremely nervous man (Pedro Pascal) in a dive bar, clutching a silver metal briefcase while awaiting contact from another party.

 

What follows does not go well for him.

 

Elsewhere, the cheerfully uninhibited, hypersexual Jamie (Margaret Qualley) is caught cheating on her girlfriend, Sukie (Beanie Feldstein). Jamie couldn’t be faithful if her life depended on it; she’s much too fond of one-night hook-ups. Even so, the resulting break-up leaves her at loose ends.

 

Jamie’s best friend Marian (Geraldine Viswanathan) — also gay, but in a much quieter way — is dissatisfied with her life and current employment. Her solution: quit the job and travel to Tallahassee, to visit her bird-watching Aunt Ellis (Connie Jackson). Marian begs Jamie to tag along; she doesn’t need much persuading. A road trip would give both women time to re-think some stuff.

 

But money is tight, so they decide to offer their services at a drive-away car service, where those needing to go from A to B can transport a vehicle one-way, for another client.

Renfield: It'll take a bite outta you!

Renfield (2023) • View trailer

3.5 stars (out of five). Rated R, for appallingly bloody violence, gore, relentless profanity and brief drug use

Available via: Movie theaters

By Derrick Bang • Published in The Davis Enterprise, 4.14.23

“Tasteless” isn’t nearly strong enough to describe this deranged little flick.

 

Deplorably, gratuitously tasteless comes closer. 

 

But — forgive me — it’s also hilarious. And quite entertaining.

 

Every time Renfield (Nicholas Hoult, right) tries to show a bit of independence, his
master, Dracula (Nicolas Cage), reminds him — quite painfully — that his fate has
been sealed for a long, long time.

Nicolas Cage has again revived his moribund career, this time by making the extremely risky decision to lampoon himself: a choice that merely accelerated the decline of lesser film stars. But Cage actually has a talent for self-ridicule, as demonstrated by last year’s unexpectedly droll The Unbearable Weight of Massive Talent.

And, let’s face it: Who better to sink his baroquely overacting teeth into a modern-day incarnation of Count Dracula?

 

Director Chris McKay, teamed here with writers Ryan Ridley and Robert Kirkman — the latter primarily responsible for the Walking Dead franchise — have orchestrated a cheeky, relentlessly profane and gory take on everybody’s favorite vampire.

 

That said, the infamous Count isn’t really the focus of this tale. That honor belongs to the title character: Dracula’s loyal lackey and aide-de-camp, better known as a “Familiar,” and played to British stiff-upper-lip perfection by Nicholas Hoult.

 

And ya gotta love the premise: Robert Montague Renfield is introduced as a member of a support group for victims of abusive partners, friends and work associates.

 

His presence is twofold. Ostensibly, but without going into detail, he admits to being hyper-controlled by an impressively “toxic boss” (as glaring an understatement as one could imagine). But he’s also on the prowl for fresh victims for ol’ Drac, reasoning that the best way to prevent human monsters from abusing their prey, is to, ah, “introduce” them to his own monster.

 

Since such two-legged blood bags rarely come to Dracula’s lair of their own accord, Renfield is able to, ah, “persuade” them via his own impressively agile and hyper-strong talents, courtesy of just a “touch” of Drac’s powers, which the count bestowed eons ago.

 

These talents kick into gear whenever Renfield eats a bug. (Bram Stolker’s Renfield notoriously ate flies and death’s-head moths. But wasn’t granted super-powers.)

 

Unfortunately, this particularly section of New Orleans — where Dracula and Renfield have set up headquarters in the basement of a long-abandoned hospital — is in thrall to a drug-running crime family run by the ruthless Bellafrancesca Lobo (Shohreh Aghdashloo) and her feckless son, Teddy (Ben Schwartz). When Renfield’s newest, um, “acquisitions” happen to be in the Lobo syndicate’s cross-hairs, all hell breaks loose.

Promising Young Woman: Beware her wrath

Promising Young Woman (2020) • View trailer

Four stars. Rated R, for violence, sexual assault, sexual candor, drug use and relentless profanity

By Derrick Bang • Published in The Davis Enterprise, 3.26.21

If revenge is a dish best served cold, then Carey Mulligan’s Cassie Thomas leaves dry ice in her wake.

 

Cassie (Carey Mulligan) still hasn't quite decided how to handle Ryan (Bo Burnham),
but there's no denying his ability to have spontaneous fun in an unlikely setting.

Cunning, calculating and crafty as if borne to treachery, Mulligan’s Academy Award-nominated performance is a marvelous display of graceful subtlety: something at which she always has excelled. She’s both hero and anti-hero, drifting from one side of that fence to the other, enchanting us just as much as she (ultimately) terrorizes her victims.

 

All of which is delivered with ghoulish glee by Emerald Fennell, also Oscar-nominated for both directing and concocting this deviously nasty dark-dark-dark comedy. It’s available via Amazon Prime and other streaming services.

 

We meet Cassie under lamentable circumstances: dressed to kill but just this side of dangerously intoxicated, makeup askew and swaying slowly while trying to remain upright on the sofa in a trendy bar. Easy prey for a trio of good-looking guys on the make (Adam Brody, Ray Nicholson and Sam Richardson).

 

One — seemingly the “compassionate fellow” — separates from the pack, solicitously asks if she’s all right, chuckles sympathetically at her efforts to sound coherent. Offers to take her home, brings her to his place instead. Laughs off her slurred, wavery protests. He gets increasingly, ah, fresh.

 

Benjamin Kracun’s camera rises above this scene, tightens focus on Cassie’s face. Her drowsy eyes abruptly snap into full awareness. 

 

And we think Uh-oh…

 

Returning home, Cassie withdraws a small notebook from a place of concealment, flips through pages and pages and pages of red and black hash marks, reaches the page in progress, and adds a vertical red line.

 

And we think Yikes!

 

Fennell’s Promising Young Woman is the ultimate #MeToo statement. It’s a righteously angry response to an appalling situation — campus rape — that has been ignored, concealed or denied for far too long. What’s most impressive is that Fennell refrains from preaching; despite the awfulness of what occurs here — and of what occurred years earlier — her film remains … well … entertaining. Amusing, even.

 

I Care a Lot: Deviously nasty fun

I Care a Lot (2020) • View trailer

Four stars. Rated R, for profanity and violence

By Derrick Bang

In this Netflix original’s initial 20 minutes, writer/director J Blakeson and star Rosamund Pike craft one of cinema’s all-time, audaciously evil characters.

 

Dragged from her home by the force of a court order, Jennifer (Dianne Wiest, center)
becomes increasingly suspicious of the "benevolent" attitude displayed by Fran
(Eiza González, left) and Marla (Rosamund Pike).

Pike’s Marla Grayson isn’t merely malevolent; she’s smug, self-satisfied, shark-like and insufferably condescending. Think Louise Fletcher’s Nurse Ratched, from 1975’s One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, but with naked avarice and ambition added to the mix.

 

Marla’s plastic smile is so insincere, so unbearably patronizing, that you want to reach into the screen and throttle her.

 

She’s one of the best-scripted villains ever concocted, and Pike brings her to terrifying life. Every little detail — every nuanced bit of dialogue, every self-righteous smirk — is exquisitely calculated.

 

Marla’s behavior — her very existence — is nightmarish. We pray never to encounter her like, in real life.

 

She unapologetically reveals her moral bankruptcy early on, via voice-over. “There are two kinds of people in this world,” she insists, matter-of-factly, “those who take … and those who get took.”

 

Marla has built an appallingly successful career as a professional, court-appointed guardian for dozens of elderly wards deemed “incapable of caring for themselves,” and therefore railroaded into managed-care facilities. Once barricaded and helpless behind locked glass doors, Marla and her business partner/lover Fran (Eiza González) seize, strip and sell each victim’s assets via dubious but wholly legal means.

 

As the film begins, the son of one such casualty — Macon Blair, as the hapless and frustrated Feldstrom — understandably goes berserk when he’s refused access to his elderly mother. It’s a disastrous move, which the oh-so-cool-and-collected Marla later references before court Judge Lomax (Isiah Whitlock Jr.), since it proves that Feldstrom poses a “clear and present danger” to his mother.

 

It only gets worse.

 

Marla has two additional key players on her corrupt payroll: smarmy Sam Rice (Damian Young), director of her favorite managed-care prison, who’ll adjust meds and treatment to her desires; and chirpy Dr. Amos (Alicia Witt), who proposes likely candidates from her patient roster.

 

Her newest suggestion is Jennifer Peterson (Dianne Wiest), a wealthy retiree who lives alone and is without family: therefore a “cherry,” in Marla’s cold analysis.

The Gentlemen: A ferociously cheeky romp

The Gentlemen (2019) • View trailer 
3.5 stars. Rated R, for considerable profanity and violence
By Derrick Bang

Of late, director Guy Ritchie has focused his signature razzle-dazzle on mainstream adventure films such as Sherlock Holmes and The Man from U.N.C.L.E.

(We’ll overlook last year’s ill-advised, live-action handling of Disney’s Aladdin.)

Mickey (Matthew McConaughey) and his wife Rosalind (Michelle Dockery) are somewhat
surprised to be discussing their illegal business endeavors during a posh dinner party
laden with lords, ladies and political movers and shakers.

To be sure, they’ve been fun action romps … but they lacked the viciously snarky attitude of the distinctly British crime dark-dark-darkcomedies — notably 1998’s Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels and 2000’s Snatch — that made his rep, early on.

(Star Matthew McConaughey defines the Ritchie touch as “language, punch, humor, sleight-of-hand, chin-up and double-dare-ya.” How right he is.)

The Gentlemen, I’m happy to report, is a welcome return to form … and then some. Aside from filling the screen with flamboyant, attitude-laden bad guys who delight in out-strutting each other, this film’s script — co-written by Ritchie, Ivan Atkinson and Marn Davies — is filled with delectable twists and double-crosses. Every time we think we know what’s going down, Ritchie & Co. pull the rug out … not merely once, nor twice, but at least half a dozen times.

And while that might render the plot a confusing mess in lesser hands, have faith: Ritchie knows precisely what he’s doing. I couldn’t help applauding, when the credits finally rolled, at the sheer audacity of what had gone down for 113 exhilarating minutes.

The core plot: Ex-pat American entrepreneur Mickey Pearson (McConaughey) sits atop England’s most ambitiously massive illegal marijuana empire, which he has, um, cultivated for years. He’s the lion of London’s criminal underworld, and takes pains to ensure that everybody knows it.

But middle age has made Mickey long for a conventional life with his equally formidable, hot-bod wife, Rosalind (Michelle Dockery). He’s therefore looking to sell his empire, and the interested buyer is Matthew (Jeremy Strong), another American criminal kingpin looking to expand his territory.

Mickey looks and acts like the regal lion he has become. Matthew looks and sounds like an accountant. The disparity is intriguing.

Gringo: South of the border fiasco

Gringo (2018) • View trailer 
Three stars. Rated R, for profanity, violence and sexual content
By Derrick Bang

If the rest of this film were as accomplished as David Oyelowo’s starring performance, it would be far more entertaining.

Who knew Oyelowo could be so adorable and laugh-out-loud hilarious? It’s quite a surprise from the actor who brought such dignity to memorable roles in A United Kingdom, Queen of Katwe and Selma (the latter playing no less than Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.).

Harold (David Oyelowo, left) grows increasingly suspicious when his bosses —
Richard (Joel Edgerton) and Elaine (Charlize Theron) — insist on joining him for what
should be a routine visit to their pharmaceutical company's Mexican manufacturing plant.

Clearly, true acting talent knows no genre boundaries.

Alas, Oyelowo is by far the best part of Gringo, which otherwise is a mess. Scripters Matthew Stone and Anthony Tambakis appear to be going for the uneasy blend of crime thriller and dark-dark-dark comedy that was pulled off so brilliantly by 1993’s True Romance, but that’s a hard act to duplicate. That film was scripted by Quentin Tarantino, and — frankly — Stone and Tambakis aren’t fit to clean the keys of his laptop.

The elements are in place here; Stone and Tambakis simply don’t know how to blend the ingredients into a suitably tasty final product. They badly misjudge some character development, overlook some obvious plot twists, and build to a resolution with at least one (perhaps two) deeply unsatisfying outcomes.

Nash Edgerton’s direction doesn’t help; his handling of the film’s tone is all over the map, and he lets co-star Charlize Theron get away with a truly dreadful performance (something I wasn’t aware she was capable of). Edgerton is a former stunt man and director of video shorts with only one prior big-screen feature to his credit — 2008’s so-so The Square — and I can’t help wondering if his presence here has less to do with having paid sufficient dues, and more to do with his relationship to better-known younger brother Joel Edgerton, who also co-stars in this uneven thriller.

In Hollywood, it truly does pay to have friends in high places.

The story is complicated, so get out your notebooks:

Harold Soyinka, an intelligent but naïvely loyal manager at the pharmaceuticals firm Promethium, is blindly unaware that his boss and (supposed) best friend, Richard Rusk (Edgerton), is a rapacious corporate shark who is cheerfully willing to screw anybody in service of further fattening his bank account. Indeed, Richard is screwing company co-owner Elaine Markinson (Theron), a jaw-droppingly crass, vulgar and profane bitch who casually employs sex as a weapon.

Theron’s initial scenes are a perfect example of Nash Edgerton’s poor direction. Her crude, bad-mannered put-downs and liberal F-bombs look and sound contrived, as if Theron isn’t comfortable delivering them, or doesn’t believe in her character ... or something. Whatever the reason, her performance is off-kilter, and remains so; the film never recovers from Elaine’s behavior.

Richard also is sleeping with Harold’s wife, Bonnie (a miscast and badly used Thandie Newton), because ... well, just because. Neither Bonnie nor this sidebar affair is well developed.

Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri: Signs of the Times?

Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri (2017) • View trailer 
Four stars. Rated R, for violence and relentless profanity
By Derrick Bang

This one’s not for the faint of heart.

Writer/director Martin McDonagh’s savagely dark assault on mainstream sensibilities is both a blistering burlesque and a painfully raw depiction of despair, frustration and unchecked rage. Much of this film obviously cannot — should not — be taken seriously; unfortunately, quite a lot also feels excruciatingly real.

Although troubled by the rather drastic step that Mildred (Frances McDormand) has taken,
in an effort to achieve closure regarding her daughter's long-unsolved murder, Police
Chief Willoughby (Woody Harrelson) checks his emotions while explaining the
frustrating circumstances behind the case.

And not all that unlikely.

The film is powered by Frances McDormand’s sensational starring performance, an acting tour-de-force even more persuasive — more believably, subtly grounded, even within exaggerated circumstances — than her Academy Award-winning work in 1996’s Fargo. And I never, ever expected to write those words.

Her Mildred Hayes is wracked with grief and unresolved anger: a single mother pushed to the edge by her teenage daughter’s gruesome rape/murder, which remains unsolved after seven months. Fed up with what she perceives as investigative apathy, Mildred purchases messages on three long-unused billboards standing alongside the quiet road leading to her home.

The three-part message is a direct and controversial challenge to local police chief William Willoughby (Woody Harrelson).

Many of the residents in bucolic Ebbings regard Mildred’s provocative act as profoundly unfair. Tellingly, Willoughby isn’t all that bothered. But second-in-command Officer Jason Dixon (Sam Rockwell), an immature, racist, violence-prone mama’s boy who wouldn’t know prudence if she kissed him, gets ugly. Repeatedly.

The subsequent unraveling of McDonagh’s vicious narrative is laden with revelations, which is much of the fun: You simply cannot anticipate the twists and U-turns, and there’s no sense trying.

Casting is the first surprise, because Harrelson has built his career — in great measure — on a series of unbalanced and even dangerous misanthropes; we naturally expect the same here. Yet it quickly becomes apparent that Willoughby is the story’s most rational, thoughtful and level-headed character: a decent man who wins our respect, because he responds to Mildred not with hostility, but kindness and sympathy.

It’s an absolutely cold case, he gently explains, after the billboards go up. No telling evidence. No DNA hits. Nada.

Harrelson exudes good-natured pragmatism and intelligence; he’s genuinely endearing. We all should be so lucky, to have such a thoughtful police chief.

Mildred is unconvinced; Willoughby acknowledges this as her right.