Eleanor the Great: Indeed she is

Eleanor the Great (2025) • View trailer

Four stars (out of five). Rated PG-13, for dramatic intensity and mild profanity

Available via: Movie theaters

By Derrick Bang

Obligatory confession: June Squibb can do no wrong.

 

I’m sure she’d somehow make grocery shopping a fascinating experience.

 

Now fast friends, Nina (Erin Kellyman) surprises Eleanor (June Squibb) with a nostalgic
stroll to see what remains of the golden age of Brooklyn's famed Coney Island.

Ever since her Oscar-nominated supporting turn in 2013’s Nebraska, she has moved from one memorably delightful role to another, and this one’s no exception.

But although Tory Kamen’s screenplay has plenty of lighter moments — with occasionally snarky one-liners well delivered by Squibb — the story itself is deeply poignant. Events unfold under the accomplished guidance of Scarlett Johansson, making an impressively sensitive feature directing debut.

 

The moral quandary here revolves around a crucial question: If a truth isn’t somebody else’s to tell, is it nonetheless a truth that should be revealed?

 

Eleanor (Squibb) and Bessie (Rita Zohar) share an apartment in a Florida retirement community. The story begins as they waken on an average morning, have breakfast, and then embark on another day. They have the comfortable — if mildly grumpy — camaraderie that bespeaks decades of friendship. Their lives are simple but enjoyably routine: greeting familiar faces, sparring with clerks and shopkeepers at nearby stores.

 

(Eleanor’s handling of a young stock boy, at their grocery store, is priceless.)

 

Then, suddenly, Bessie is gone.

 

Cast adrift and totally bereft, Eleanor — having lived in the Bronx for 40 years, back in the day — allows herself to be relocated to New York City, where she moves into an apartment with her daughter Lisa (Jessica Hecht) and grandson Max (Will Price). Lisa is overly attentive, which frustrates Eleanor, long accustomed to taking care of herself. Although Max obviously loves and admires his grandmother, he’s too occupied with his own “stuff” to pay her much attention.

 

Believing it necessary to keep Eleanor engaged, Lisa enrolls her into a singing class at the local Jewish community center. Eleanor pokes her head in the doorway just long enough to hear a woman warble several stanzas of Stephen Sondheim’s “I’m Still Here” (a bit on the nose, that), and bolts.

 

She’s “rescued” by another woman, who invites Eleanor to join her where a dozen or so similarly elderly men and women are seated in a circle. What Eleanor assumes is some sort of friendship meeting turns out to be a regular gathering of Holocaust survivors, who ease their ongoing torment by sharing their experiences with each other.

 

Embarrassed by being somewhere she doesn’t belong, when it comes Eleanor’s turn to talk, she hesitates ... and then relates what she must have heard hundreds of times from her departed friend Bessie, plagued by horrific memories in the middle of countless sleepless nights.

 

And claims these memories as her own.

Thelma: Absolutely adorable

Thelma (2024) • View trailer

Four stars (out of five). Rated PG-13, for occasional profanity

Available via: Movie theaters

By Derrick Bang • Published in The Davis Enterprise, 6.30.24

Delightful surprises like this are why I’ve been a film critic for so long.

 

Writer/director/editor Josh Margolin’s impressive feature debut is a whimsical riff on action films, with their formulaic stunts “gentled down” to a human scale that cleverly blends laugh-out-loud humor with a sharply perceptive exploration of aging, fragility and anxiety. And if all that sounds like an unlikely mix, well, you’re not reckoning with Margolin’s savvy filmmaking and story chops.

 

Shortly after Thelma (June Squibb) and Ben (Richard Roundtree) begin their unlikely
mission, she insists on visiting an old friend, in order to "borrow" something from her.

It also doesn’t hurt that this enjoyable romp is turbo-charged by a scene-stealing performance from June Squibb — 94 years young, as these words are typed — who continues to take advantage of a late-career Renaissance kick-started by 2013’s Nebraska.

Margolin obviously took the old adage to heart: Write what you know. He was inspired by his spunky 103-year-old grandmother, who — in his words — “survived the Great Depression, World War II, the death of her husband, a double mastectomy, colon cancer, a valve replacement and an ongoing but allegedly benign brain tumor.”

 

Goodness, he even took bits of dialogue from his grandmother’s lips.

 

Squibb stars as Thelma Post, a feisty 93-year-old who still lives alone, much to the chagrin of her pestering daughter Gail (Parker Posey) and son-in-law Alan (Clark Gregg). But their son Daniel (Fred Hechinger) isn’t the slightest bit worried about his grandmother, on whom he dotes, and the feeling is mutual. They spend a lot of time together.

 

The story begins with a scene that’ll be familiar to every competent computer user who has attempted to instruct a clueless older relative on concepts such a folders, passwords, and drag-and-drop. But Margolin immediately telegraphs his charming touch, as Daniel sensitively guides Thelma through baby steps, without the slightest touch of impatience; indeed, he turns the process into a fun, shared experience. And Thelma gets it.

 

This interlude also introduces one of her tics: She often interrupts herself, or somebody else, to ask oblique questions such as “What is a computer?” or “What is electricity?” It’s not that she isn’t familiar with such concepts — she absolutely is — but she genuinely wants to know what things are, in the sense of what they’re made of, or how they came into being.

 

Squibb’s quiet sincerity, as Thelma unexpectedly drops such queries into a conversation, add gentle hilarity to this running gag. When in public, Thelma also frequently stops to chat with elderly individuals who look familiar, but turn out to be total strangers, after several rounds of “Do you know so-and-so?” and “No, but do you know whozit?”

 

(That latter bit also has a cute third-act payoff.)

Palmer: A poignant ode to second chances

Palmer (2021) • View trailer

Four stars. Rated R, for profanity, sexual content, brief nudity and violence

By Derrick Bang • Published in The Davis Enterprise, 3.5.21

Films such as this one, are why I love my job.

 

Cheryl Guerriero’s sharply observed screenplay for this sweet character drama is matched by scrupulously persuasive performances throughout. That said, special mention must be made of stars Justin Timberlake — absolutely the finest, most heartfelt acting job he has turned in thus far — and newcomer Ryder Allen, all of 7 years old during production.

 

Attendance at Sunday morning church service is mandatory for anybody living with
Vivian (June Squibb, foreground right), which Palmer (Justin Timberlake, foreground
left) quickly learns. Young Sam (Ryder Allen), a semi-permanent house guest,
couldn't be happier.

Actor-turned-movie maker Fisher Stevens coaches superbly subtle work from both: a degree of directorial sensitivity that I never would have expected from his only two previous features: 2002’s Just a Kiss and 2012’s Stand Up Guys. Guerriero’s story is thoroughly engaging, but it’s also fun to sit back and watch all the little bits — the pauses, expressions and gestures — that make Timberlake and Allen’s characters so believable.

 

The premise is familiar, but — when the execution is this earnest — that’s no drawback.

 

Former high school football star Eddie Palmer (Timberlake), once a hometown hero who earned an athletic college scholarship, took a massively wrong turn and wound up serving 12 years in a state penitentiary. He did “good time”; he kept his nose clean and paid his debt to society.

 

The film opens as he returns to his small-town Louisiana roots, moving in with his grandmother Vivian (June Squibb), who raised him. The weather-beaten community feels time-locked; although smart phones and computers are present, they remain at the periphery. More than once, Palmer — as he prefers to be called — insists that he’s perfectly content with the rotary phone on the wall.

 

(Filming took place in Hammond — not too far from Baton Rouge and New Orleans — and production designer Happy Massee ensures that the ambiance is strongly mid-20th century Southern Americana.)

 

Palmer’s early efforts at “making the rounds” are acutely uncomfortable, Timberlake’s posture and gaze sliding between wariness and embarrassment. He’s greeted enthusiastically by old friends Daryl (Stephen Louis Grush) and Ned (Nicholas X. Parsons), both of whom are Obvious Bad News; we worry about this, although Palmer seems smart enough to steer clear.

 

His reception from another former friend, Coles (Jesse C. Boyd), is more guarded. Following in his father’s footsteps, Coles has become a cop; some sort of residual tension permeates this reunion, although Coles clearly is happy to see Palmer. The same can’t be said of Coles’ father (Dane Rhodes), the local top cop, who grimly expects to re-arrest Palmer in due course.

 

Palm Springs: A cheeky nightmare

Palm Springs (2020) • View trailer 
Four stars. Rated R, for sexual content, brief violence, drug use and relentless profanity
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 7.31.20

Some films shouldn’t be discussed ahead of time, because so much of the joy comes from being caught off-guard by the unexpected twists, turns and sidebar surprises orchestrated by an audaciously clever writer and director.

With nothing to do until the wedding ceremony begins in a few hours, Sarah (Cristin Milioti)
and Nyles (Andy Samberg) enjoy some quality time ... in a pool belonging to folks who
are out of town.

That’s definitely the case with this snarky rom-com, available via Hulu. Director Max Barbakow and writer Andy Siara play us like a fiddle. Considering this is the feature debut for both, that result is even more impressive.

So I’m inclined to simply say, Check it out; you’ll have a lot of fun — allowing for a tad too many F-bombs — and leave it at that. Because I can’t really say anything else, without giving too much away.

Still with me?

Okay then: On your head be it.

Barbakow and Siara open on a goat. Somewhere in the desert. 

It’ll be an important goat.

Elsewhere, Nyles (Andy Samberg) wakens to the petulant whine of Misty (Meredith Hagner), his self-centered Girlfriend From Hell. They’re in Palm Springs for the destination wedding of friends Tala and Abe (Camila Mendes and Tyler Hoechlin), taking place later this day at a fancy desert resort.

Nyles seems to subsist on beer and burritos; he has the scruffy, apathetic attitude of a failure-to-launch. Even so, his casual indifference — as the day proceeds — seems unnecessarily boorish. Couple this behavior with considerable vulgarity and profanity, and it feels like we’ve wandered into an aggressively crude Seth Rogen comedy.

Not so; just be patient.

Evening falls; the ceremony concludes; the microphone is passed around. Misty’s toast is absolutely ghastly and tone-deaf. The bride’s parents — Howard and Pia (Peter Gallagher and Jacquiline Obradors) — pass the baton to Tala’s older sister Sarah (Cristin Milioti), maid of honor and, one would expect, next to speak. But Sarah, tongue-tied and terrified — having consumed perhaps a few too many glasses of wine — stands silently, like a deer in headlights.

Enter Nyles, who snatches the microphone and saves the moment with a truly terrific speech. (Who’d have thought?)

Blow the Man Down: Quietly suspenseful

Blow the Man Down (2019) • View trailer 
3.5 stars. Rated R, for profanity, violence, sexual candor and brief drug use
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 4.1.20

Some stones are best left unturned.

Blow the Man Down — streaming via Amazon Prime — is an impressive feature debut by indie writer/directors Bridget Savage Cole and Danielle Krudy, and a snarky slice of modern noir: Fargo transplanted to the similarly rugged Northeast.

Faced with the need to dispose of incriminating evidence, sisters Mary Beth (Morgan
Saylor, left) and Priscilla (Sophie Lowe) believe they've hit upon the perfect solution.
Alas, what the tide takes out, the lapping waves almost always bring back...

The setting is Easter Cove, a remote fishing village on Maine’s rocky coast, where (and I’m quoting the press notes here) “bonds run as deep as the ocean, and secrets are as thick as the morning fog.” Cole, Krudy and cinematographer Todd Banhazi deftly convey this setting’s isolation and bitter cold, and the location clearly is authentic (with Maine’s Harpswell, population just shy of 5,000, standing in for the fictitious Easter Cove).

Folks have kept themselves to themselves for generations; the notion of outsiders — or tourists — is incomprehensible. And while outwardly the community is kept alive by the tough and robust men who, every morning, take to the sea for the daily catch, appearances can be deceiving.

The story opens just after the passing of beloved town matriarch Mary Margaret Connolly. She leaves behind two young adult daughters: the elder Priscilla (Sophie Lowe), who kept the family fish shop going during their mother’s declining health; and the more restless Mary Beth (Morgan Saylor), who has long hoped for college and a life anywhere other than Easter Cove.

Ergo, Priscilla is the loyal and responsible daughter, while Mary Beth is more of an impulsive wild child. Priscilla’s obvious hope that, with their mother now gone, Mary Beth will step up and accept her share of the new responsibilities — bills and unpaid loans that have left them financially precarious — are dashed almost immediately.

Lowe’s features reflect the pinched, quietly anxious aura of one who has grown accustomed to living under constant stress; she persuasively conveys Priscilla’s visible disappointment, with a soupçon of resentment, at her younger sister’s selfishness. Saylor, in turn, is equally convincing as the spoiled and self-centered Mary Beth, who sees no reason to put on her big-girl pants.

But neither girl realizes the degree to which their mother maintained a delicate balance, behind the scenes, among the town’s true old-guard operators: discrete manipulators Susie Gallagher (June Squibb), Doreen Burke (Marceline Hugot), Gail Maguire (Annette O’Toole) and Enid Nora Devlin (the indomitable Margo Martindale). 

The latter has long run her bed & breakfast as the local brothel, an operation that was “protected” by Mary Margaret. But with that shield now absent, Susie, Doreen and Gail are (they believe) in a position to clamp down on Enid’s blatantly depraved operation, which also has been tolerated — with a wink-wink/nudge-nudge — by feckless Police Chief Coletti (Skipp Sudduth).

Table 19: Book elsewhere

Table 19 (2017) • View trailer 
2.5 stars. Rated PG-13, for occasional profanity, drug use, sexual candor and fleeting nudity
By Derrick Bang

Wedding guests often receive inconsequential little favors: tchotchkes that may draw a smile or two in the moment, but are quickly forgotten.

This movie is just such an item.

The misfits at Table 19 wonder what they've done, to be abandoned in the wedding
reception's far corner: clockwise from left, Bina and Jerry Kemp (Lisa Kudrow and Craig
Robinson), "Nanny Jo" (June Squibb), Walter Thimple (Stephen Merchant), Rezno
Eckberg (Tony Revolori) and Eloise McGarry (Anna Kendrick).

Filmmaking brothers Jay and Mark Duplass are known for modest, character-driven comedies — such as Baghead and Jeff, Who Lives at Home — that feature eccentric folks who don’t quite inhabit the real world. They’re somewhat familiar, in a that-quiet-guy-next-door manner, but you’d probably avoid them in a social situation.

Table 19, alas, is so insubstantial that it would blow away during a soft breeze. The premise is droll but cramped, barely able to drag its way through a mercifully short 85 minutes. Indeed, the film pretty much runs out of gas after the first act, leaving its cast adrift in uncharted waters.

Maybe that’s why the Duplass boys, who generally helm their own material, farmed this one off to director Jeffrey Blitz. Who, to be fair, does the best with what he’s got. Individual moments of Table 19 are quite funny — co-star Stephen Merchant is hilarious throughout — and the core plotline builds to a an unexpectedly poignant conclusion.

But the film too frequently struggles and flounders through awkward silences, much like the half-dozen strangers thrust together at the “misfit table” during a wedding reception that pretty much ignores them.

Until the last moment, Eloise (Anna Kendrick) was the maid of honor for best friend Francie (Rya Meyers), eagerly helping with all wedding and reception details. Eloise also was in a steady relationship with Francie’s brother, Teddy (Wyatt Russell), serving as best man. But that was then; after being dumped by Teddy — via text, no less — Eloise was relieved of her duties and transformed into an instant persona non grata.

(Which, just in passing, seems shallow on Francie’s part ... just as it seems weird that the best man would be her brother. But I digress.)

Defiantly determined to attend the blessed event anyway, Eloise duly arrives to find herself consigned to the Siberia of reception regions: the dread, distant corner Table 19.

I'll See You in My Dreams: Thoughtful character portrait

I'll See You in My Dreams (2015) • View trailer 
3.5 stars. Rated PG-13, for drug use and fleeting profanity
By Derrick Bang

Sometimes what seems like a comfortable rut actually is a slow slide into prolonged depression, at which point an unexpected crisis — or two — can transform unconfronted anxieties into utter despair.

Once beyond the initial awkwardness of their disparate ages, Carol (Blythe Danner) and
Lloyd (Martin Starr) discover that they genuinely enjoy chatting, and sharing little intimacies.
The question, moving forward, is where this relationship might go.

That’s the subject of director Brett Haley’s sweet, gentle drama, which draws its strength from a subtle and deeply layered performance by Blythe Danner. She stars as Carol Petersen, a comfortably retired single woman who — if asked —would insist that she has made peace with the unexpected loss of a beloved husband, some 20 years earlier.

After all, Carol’s life is filled with activity, much of it revolving around gardening, golf and boisterous bridge games — not much bridge actually being played — with longtime gal pals Rona (Mary Kay Place), Sally (Rhea Perlman) and Georgina (June Squibb). Carol’s schedule is disciplined to a reasonable degree, from the 6 a.m. wake-up buzz of her alarm clock, to a bit of television before lights out somewhere around 11 p.m. each evening.

But Carol hasn’t actually been alone; she has come to depend upon the constant presence of her beloved dog, Hazel. And therein lies the potential for emotional collapse.

After deftly establishing the parameters of Carol’s routine, Haley and co-scripter Marc Basch open their narrative with a gut-wrenching sequence. Hazel clearly is old, and so we’re not surprised by what occurs ... but animal lovers will have considerable difficulty surviving the subsequent scene in a veterinarian’s office, as Carol bids goodbye to her longtime companion.

Danner plays the scene so persuasively that I wondered if it could be genuine, the actress huskily trying to maintain composure while confronting the need to “do the kind thing” for an actual devoted pet. The scene feels that genuine, as anybody who has been there can attest.

And, suddenly, all the scheduled activities that have structured Carol’s life, for so long, have lost their luster. She’s hard-pressed to identify the actual problem, and at this point — this early in the film — she may not even be consciously aware that her fragility is rising.

Haley’s film is less a conventional drama, with strong plot points, and more a thoughtful tone poem: an often painfully intimate opportunity for us, as viewers, to confront our own perceived stability. The verisimilitude is strong. Danner’s Carol could be the vibrant and cheerful neighbor next door: the one with whom we exchange pleasant greetings, but rarely probe further. In a way, Haley and Basch quietly suggest that there’s much to be gained from getting to know such folks better, because we’re all — each of us — worth knowing better.

Nebraska: A memorable trip

Nebraska (2013) • View trailer 
Four stars. Rating: R, for profanity and vulgarity
By Derrick Bang

I’ve been waiting 40 years for Bruce Dern to snag this sort of role.

And so, I would imagine, has he.

When David (Will Forte, left) insists on seeing the house where his father Woody (Bruce
Dern, center left) grew up, the building's sad, dilapidated and abandoned state aptly
mirrors Woody's dismay over the lifetime of disappointment that haunts him. Woody's
wife Kate (June Squibb) takes advantage of this excuse to dredge up unpleasant
memories, while David's brother Ross (Bob Odenkirk) warily watches his combative
parents, wondering if they'll flare into another squabble.

The American film industry has no shortage of unsung and underappreciated actors, male and female. Some carve out respectable careers as supporting players: familiar faces who, with their mere presence, immediately raise the quality of a given movie. Jack Warden, George Sanders, Joan Cusack, Shelley Winters and George Kennedy come to mind.

Others work just as hard but never quite achieve name-brand recognition: forever hoping for that one golden shot that’ll make all the difference, usually retiring into obscurity without having had that chance.

Thanks to Nebraska, Dern is one of the lucky ones.

Until now, he has been the stalwart second banana in projects as varied as Smile, The Great Gatsby, All the Pretty Horses and Coming Home, the latter earning him a well-deserved Academy Award nomination. Leading roles have been few, but I’ve never forgotten the intensity of his essentially solo turn in 1972’s Silent Running (a sci-fi entry dismissed as preposterous at the time, which has become more uncomfortably prophetic with every passing year).

Dern brought life not only to his own role in that cautionary tale, but also to the three boxy, robotic “drones” that — thanks to his persuasive performance — developed their own individual personalities. No small feat, decades before CGI magic was even a gleam in anybody’s eye.

Even then, Dern was a master of earnest, heartbreaking passion, imbuing his sad-sack characters with the forever chagrined intensity of the eternally downtrodden and disenfranchised. Men who nonetheless cling to even the faintest hope, no matter how preposterous.

A great work of art doesn’t emerge from an empty canvas, of course; Nebraska also owes its deliciously biting charm to its rich script from newcomer Bob Nelson — a remarkable big-screen debut — and the sensitive, perfectly modulated direction of Alexander Payne, who has delighted us with misfit sagas such as Sideways, Election and The Descendants.

Payne usually writes or collaborates on the scripts for his film; Nebraska marks the first time he has fully surrendered the screenplay chores. But it’s easy to see why; Nelson’s droll premise and mordant execution display the same slow-burn humor and slightly left-of-center sensibilities, while granting us a central character every bit as stubborn, irascible and resolutely unlovable as Jack Nicholson’s title character in Payne’s About Schmidt.

Tone is everything in Payne’s films, and Nebraska could be considered Fargo on downers: somewhat quieter and slower, but every bit as rich with Midwestern quirks and slow-drawlin’ ambiance.