The Good House: Reasonably well constructed

The Good House (2022) • View trailer

3.5 stars (out of five). Rated R, for profanity and brief sexuality

Available via: Movie theaters

By Derrick Bang

Because we spend so much time inside her protagonist’s head, there was only one way to successfully bring Ann Leary’s 2013 novel to the big screen.

 

Happily, writer/directors Maya Forbes and Wallace Wolodarsky — with a scripting assist from Thomas Bezucha — took the bold approach.

 

Although much of her life is sliding down the drain, Hildy (Sigourney Weaver) always
finds joy while walking her dogs with longtime friend Frank (Kevin Kline).

Sigourney Weaver’s Hildy Good constantly breaks the fourth wall to address us viewers directly, while sharing her thoughts, opinions, vexations and disappointments regarding the friends, neighbors and fellow citizens in the Massachusetts town of Wendover. Born and bred in this adorable coastal community, Hildy regards herself as its unofficial matriarch.

Outwardly, she’s the embodiment of the Puritan work ethic: industrious, practical and self-reliant, having raised herself up from working-class “townie” to become the most successful Realtor on Boston’s tony North Shore.

 

But as a longtime alcoholic who refuses to acknowledge that she has a problem, Hildy also is a wholly unreliable narrator.

 

Weaver makes her tart, witty, well-read and acutely perceptive; her snarky line deliveries and authoritative body language brook no dissent. Hildy is descended from witches, and may be a “Gammy” herself, given an uncanny ability to “read” people while holding their hands.

 

She also has two adorably cute dogs, who follow her every move.

 

As this story begins, though, Hildy has just returned from an enforced rehab intervention staged by her daughters, Tess (Rebecca Henderson) and Emily (Molly Brown). Tess is married, with a family; as we initially meet her, Henderson makes the woman seem severe, strict and judgmental … borderline unlikable. (Savvy viewers will understand that this often is inevitable, in children raised by alcoholics.)

 

As time passes, though, Henderson’s subtle performance reveals the unfairness of that initial reading.

 

Brown’s Emily, still in college, is rather obtuse: wrapped up in herself, and definitely exuding an aura of entitlement.

 

Hildy is snappish and humiliated by the embarrassment of having been “outed” so visibly, by her family and close friends. She also doesn’t understand what the fuss is all about; she never met a problem that couldn’t be solved over two glasses of Pinor Noir, and besides … she’s more fun when she’s drinking.

 

Until she isn’t.

Beauty and the Beast: Stick to the original

Beauty and the Beast (2017) • View trailer 
3.5 stars. Rated PG, for fantasy violence
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 3.17.17

This is a curious beast.

Try as she might, Belle (Emma Watson) cannot dissuade Gaston (Luke Evans) from
attempting to win her hand in marriage. Sadly, this dynamic will become quite
uncomfortable, once Gaston becomes vengeful.

Every frame of director Bill Condon’s film looks terrific. Sarah Greenwood’s production design is breathtaking, from the gingerbread quaintness of Belle’s adorable town of Villeneuve; to the Lovecraftian opulence of the Beast’s labyrinthine castle, with all of its brooding corridors and shambling minarets; to the darkly spooky, wintry forest that separates the two.

Visual effects producer Steve Gaub seamlessly integrates the live-action characters with their enchanted comrades, and the voice acting is superlative: Ewan McGregor as the ever-gracious candelabra, Lumière; Emma Thompson as the kindly teapot, Mrs. Potts; Ian McKellen as the blustery mantel clock, Cogsworth; Stanley Tucci as the defiant harpsichord, Maestro Cadenza; Audra McDonald as the operatic, overly enthusiastic wardrobe, Madame de Garderobe; and Gugu Mbatha-Raw as the coquettish feather-duster, Plumette.

The primary characters are equally well cast, their performances admirably suited to the story’s fairy-tale atmosphere. Luke Evans steals the show as the arrogant, boorish Gaston, determined to wed Belle by any means necessary; the always impish Josh Gad — apparently Disney’s new secret weapon — gets all the best lines as Gaston’s snarky sidekick, LeFou.

Kevin Kline is sublime as Belle’s doting father, Maurice: a role that easily could slide into cliché, with all of the aging gentleman’s quirks, eccentricities and easily flustered nature. But Kline surmounts such stereotyping with a persuasive blend of dignity, devotion and vulnerability; he sets a new standard.

It’s difficult to determine how much credit Dan Stevens deserves, as the Beast, given that he’s completely concealed beneath Jenny Shircore’s extraordinary make-up. But we’re seeing plenty of evidence of Stevens’ extensive acting chops, on TV’s Legion, so I’m willing to believe that he deserves plaudits for the credibility of the Beast’s complex emotional swing. And Stevens certainly does a lot with his eyes and voice, giving us the very definition of a tragic, doomed character.

And then there’s Belle, the story’s anchor, played with pluck, sincerity and resourcefulness by Emma Watson. Belle is delightfully bookish and ingenuous as the story begins, and yet bold enough to reject Gaston to his face; Watson’s early scenes with Evans are marvelous, as Belle struggles to remain polite while her eyes convey utter disgust for this boastful creep.

Ricki and the Flash: Rock on!

Ricki and the Flash (2015) • View trailer 
3.5 stars. Rated PG-13, for dramatic intensity, sexuality, brief profanity and mild drug content
By Derrick Bang

I haven’t been this nervous about a wedding toast since the aggressively unstable Anne Hathaway seized the microphone, in 2008’s Rachel Getting Married.

Come to think of it, that film also was directed by Jonathan Demme. He must have a thing about weddings...

Julie (Mamie Gummer, far left), Ricki (Meryl Streep) and Pete (Kevin Kline) chortle over
fading photographs and other memorabilia from long-ago times, when they still lived
together as an actual family.

Meryl Streep’s Ricki Rendazzo isn’t unstable, but she’s a social misfit and family pariah in every other respect: a free spirit who, decades earlier, abandoned a husband and three children — Julie, Joshua and Daniel — in order to pursue a rock ’n’ roll career in sunny California. Now reduced to leading the house band at a hole-in-the-wall San Fernando bar dubbed the Salt Well, Ricki’s few faithful fans number bar flies and struggling blue-collar regulars who show up nightly to stave off lives of (we assume) quiet desperation.

But one thing: an important thing. Ricki truly can rock, as proven each evening, when she and her band cover popular power anthems such as “American Girl,” “Wooly Bully” and “Keep Playing that Rock ’n’ Roll.” Which begs an obvious question: Is there anything Streep can’t do? Because yes, that’s her own voice and bad-ass self, and she also learned enough rhythm guitar licks to look credible on camera.

Ricki and the Flash represents a crowd-pleasing comeback for scripter Diablo Cody, who stalled after winning that well-deserved Academy Award for 2007’s Juno. The immediate follow-ups — Jennifer’s Body and Young Adult — were disappointing, to say the least; happily, Cody once again has found her groove. This new dramedy has the tart dialogue, fractured family dynamics and sly social observations that made Juno so beguiling.

And if Ricki occasionally feels like a rock-inflected Hollywood fairy tale, it’s hard to complain when such a stellar cast handles the material with sharp-edged aplomb.

Ricki’s nightly sessions at the Salt Well don’t pay the rent; by day, she struggles to maintain a sunny smile while selling overpriced gourmet foods as a cashier at Goodwill, an upscale, Whole Foods-ish supermarket where all employees are expected to maintain pod people-style grins. (Wish I could credit the actor who does so well in his tiny role as Ricki’s micro-managing boss, but — alas — the press notes aren’t that complete.)

Even with the two gigs, Ricki barely makes ends meet. Sadder still, her off-stage self-esteem is so low that she can’t even acknowledge the sincere romantic overtures coming her way from Greg, the band’s lead guitarist (rock legend Rick Springfield, looking very fine). She can’t quite make the “L” word pass between her lips.

Then, unexpected catastrophe: Ex-husband Pete (Kevin Kline) calls from Indianapolis, where he lives in a hilariously ostentatious mansion with second wife Maureen (Audra McDonald). Pete is worried because Julie has returned home, completely unhinged, after being dumped unexpectedly by her husband. Bewildered but also oddly flattered by the call — Streep fine-tunes this wealth of emotions with such subtle skill — Ricki responds to vestiges of maternal instinct and hops a plane.

Rarely, upon her arrival, has a fish been so far removed from water.

Last Vegas: A reasonable bet

Last Vegas (2013) • View trailer 
3.5 stars. Rating: PG-13, for sexual candor and occasional profanity
By Derrick Bang

Old pros are a Hollywood treasure.

They make everything look effortless, bringing warmth and depth even to ordinary material, transforming simple scenes into memorable dramatic moments.

Safely deposited in a trendy Las Vegas hotel/casino, our heroes — from left, Sam (Kevin
Kline), Archie (Morgan Freeman), Paddy (Robert De Niro) and Billy (Michael Douglas) —
wonder how to begin their "fabulous weekend." As it turns out, a poolside bikini contest
will become the perfect ice-breaker.

The bonus, in the case of Last Vegas, is that Dan Fogelman’s script isn’t merely The Hangover for the geezer set; his little story is alternately funny and poignant, with mildly earthy touches that draw laughs while never straying into vulgarity.

As the cherry on top, we even get a solid moral: Life ain’t over unless we lay down and give up. Every new day, no matter what our age, brings the potential for fresh magic and unexpected delights ... as long as we’re willing to risk the unexpected.

Back in the day, the “Flatbush Four” were inseparable best friends: scrappy kids convinced that anything was possible, as long as they looked out for each other. Director Jon Turteltaub conveys this dynamic with a charming photo booth montage that plays behind the opening credits: a giddy burst of youthful energy that defines relationships and, yes, reveals that two of these boys are sweet on the same girl.

Flash-forward to the present day, and — ennui being inevitable — that enthusiastic youthful fire has dimmed to a flickering spark. Pulsating embers, if any still exist, are buried beneath graying ash. These former friends stay in touch, but only fitfully.

Archie (Morgan Freeman), following an “episode” that sent his adult son into a panic, has been put under well-meaning but soul-draining lockdown, constantly cautioned against doing anything more strenuous than picking up a book. Sam (Kevin Kline), although boasting a long and happy marriage with Miriam (Joanna Gleason), spends his days surrounded by elderly friends who reaffirm his own vanishing vitality.

A senior center regimen of swimming pool exercises is both hilarious and tragic, the misery evident in Sam’s resigned expression. Resigned, but never quiet; Sam isn’t one to suffer silently ... which makes his despair that much more obvious to Miriam.

Paddy (Robert De Niro) has become a virtual recluse, refusing to budge from the apartment he shared for so long with his own adored wife, dead now for a year; the home has become a photograph-laden tribute to her memory. A well-meaning young neighbor regularly brings soup, probably as an excuse to verify that he’s still alive; Paddy grumpily insists she shouldn’t bother.

Billy (Michael Douglas), the most financially successful of the quartet, has remained single all this time, perhaps hoping that youth can be retained by surrounding himself with a lifetime’s supply of willing young women. Now, however, he has impulsively popped the question to his current girlfriend, Lisa (Bre Blair); she has accepted.

Their striking age difference — she’s in her early 30s — raises eyebrows. So do the circumstances under which the proposal emerges.

The Conspirator: Rule of panic

The Conspirator (2011) • View trailer for The Conspirator
Four stars (out of five). Rating: PG-13, and much too harshly, for brief violence
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 4.15.11


Trust Robert Redford to find a historical courtroom drama that shrewdly echoes current events.

The Conspirator, set in the aftermath of President Abraham Lincoln’s assassination, focuses on what many view as a moral imperative: the need to adhere to the rules of American law, even — and most particularly — during times of national crisis. Vengeance, bloodlust and perceived expediency cannot be allowed to dictate our behavior, lest we sink to the level of those we presume to judge.

Having won his client, Mary Surratt (Robin Wright), the privilege of some fresh
air and sunshine after having been confined to a dingy, straw-filled cell, attorney
Frederick Aiken (James McAvoy) accepts an invitation to sit with her. Much to
his surprise, he's beginning to see this woman less as a "heinous Confederate,"
and more as a human being.

One cannot imagine a better project for Redford, who has based his recent directing career on politically charged content. While not nearly as shrill as 2007’s Lions for Lambs, this film is just as likely to divide viewers along predictable party lines, and that’s a shame; the message here is equally crucial for those on either side of the partisan divide.

For if nobody is safe from the possibility of a witch hunt dressed up to resemble a court of law, then we’re all vulnerable ... depending only on who’s in charge, or shouts the loudest, at any given moment.

That’s ... unsettling.

We tend to forget, all these years later, that Lincoln wasn’t the only target that fateful night of April 14, 1865; the assassins who shot him while the president enjoyed an evening of theater also attempted to kill Vice-President Andrew Johnson and Secretary of State William H. Seward. The goal was nothing less than a complete overthrow of government, arranged by ultra-loyalist Southerners inflamed by the outcome of the Civil War, just five days after Gen. Robert E. Lee had surrendered to Gen. Ulysses S. Grant.

The man responsible for killing Johnson succumbed to nerves and never made the attempt. Seward, recovering from a nasty fall a few weeks earlier, probably survived his attack thanks to the neck brace that deflected his would-be assassin’s numerous knife blows.

Lincoln died at 7:22 a.m. the following day. This film’s distributor, Roadside Attractions, deserves credit for cleverly releasing The Conspirator on April 15.

Historians generally agree that the plot was orchestrated by popular stage actor John Wilkes Booth, who was killed during the subsequent manhunt. Numerous other conspirators were rounded up, some of whom made no attempt to conceal their actions.

This film’s storyline, thoughtfully scripted by James D. Solomon and Gregory Bernstein, focuses on one alleged conspirator whose involvement seemed open to doubt: Mary Surratt, who ran the boarding house where Booth and his cronies frequently met to discuss their plans. Initially, Surratt was but one of scores of people arrested and imprisoned solely because they may have known or come into casual contact with Booth and his fellow plotters. But the suspects eventually were narrowed down to the eight people brought before a military tribunal that began May 1; Mary Surratt was the lone woman among the eight.

All were civilians, and all were tried not by a jury of their peers, but in front of a military court of nine officers who needed only reach a simple majority for conviction, and a two-thirds majority for a death sentence.

No Strings Attached: Make a date

No Strings Attached (2011) • View trailer for No Strings Attached
3.5 stars (out of five). Rating: R, for profanity, sexual candor, vulgar humor, brief nudity and minor drug use
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 1.21.11


Once it settles down and turns into the film we all paid to see, No Strings Attached is an alternately hilarious and touching romantic comedy, positioned nicely a few weeks ahead of Valentine’s Day.

Rather earthy, as well.

When Emma (Natalie Portman, on the couch) and her roommates -- Shira
(Mindy Kaling, standing) and Patrice (Greta Gerwig) -- retreat into their
apartment because it's "that time of the month," Adam (Ashton Kutcher)
surprises them all by arriving with cupcakes and a rather unusual mix CD.

And therein lies the initial problem. For about the first 15 minutes, writers Elizabeth Meriwether and Michael Samonek try much too hard to enter smutty Judd Apatow territory, and the results are cringe-worthy. The first eye-poppingly vulgar one-liner, exchanged between a boy and girl at a summer camp, delivers a galvanic shock: Did we really just hear that?

(A more apt question: Would a boy that age ever say such a thing to a girl that age? Not for a heartbeat, which is precisely the problem. It ain’t funny.)

Similar raunchy comments flow during the next few sequences, which might be veteran director Ivan Reitman’s version of fair warning, and an effort to clear the theater of patrons too easily offended. But then an odd thing happens: The banter turns measurably milder – if still quite randy – and Reitman manages the deft trick so frequently attempted, without success, by American filmmakers.

He gets very close to the playfully erotic tone of a French sex farce.

Never a bad thing.

All the elements are in play, starting with nice guy Adam (Ashton Kutcher), a mid-level TV production company flunky forever standing in the shadow of his more flamboyant father, Alvin (Kevin Kline), an aging celeb still milking the signature line (“Great Scott!”) that netted him so much willing female companionship back when he starred on a hit sitcom. Not long into this tale, Adam suddenly discovers that his recent ex, Vanessa (Ophelia Lovibond, appropriately sultry) is boinking dear ol’ dad ... which leads to all sorts of uncomfortable questions. (“When did this start, exactly?!”)

After losing himself in an alcohol-fueled effort to find somebody – anybody – to bed that night, Adam wakes the next morning in an apartment shared by Emma (Natalie Portman) and her three med student friends, Patrice (Greta Gerwig), Shira (Mindy Kaling) and Guy (stand-up comic Guy Branum). Rather embarrassingly, Adam is starkers and stretched out on the living room couch; even worse, he has no recollection of the previous evening ... and the teasing descriptions supplied by Emma and the others do little to help him regain any composure.

Kutcher, it should be mentioned, does marvelous work in this scene. His confused, hooded, sidelong glances are priceless, his deft efforts to shield his dangly bits a masterpiece of towel manipulation. (Choreographing this scene, and getting it precisely right, must have been hilarious. Goodness knows, the results are suitably funny.)