Play Dirty: Should be dirtier

Play Dirty (2025) • View trailer

Three stars (out of five). Rated R, for strong violence, relentless profanity and mild nudity

Available via: Amazon Prime

By Derrick Bang

Although director/co-scripter Shane Black gets credit for momentum and audacity, this overcooked crime thriller frequently borders on ridiculous: not quite a cartoon, but darn close at times.

 

Ed (Keegan-Michael Key) pulls up a schematic, to explain a key part of the plan, while
his comrades — from left, Brenda (Claire Lovering), Zen (Rosa Salazar), Grofield
(LaKeith Stanfield) and Parker (Mark Wahlberg) — listen attentively.

A disciplinarian with a ruler also would have been handy, to cut back on the relentless barrage of F-bombs.

Given that this film’s script is based on the “Parker” book series by Donald E. Westlake, we can blame Black, along with co-writers Charles Mondry and Anthony Bagarozzi, for the often silly results here. They’d have done much better by adapting a specific novel.

 

A bit of history:

 

Parker — we never learn his first name — starred in 24 novels by Westlake, writing under the pseudonym Richard Stark: from 1962’s The Hunter to 2008’s Dirty Money. Parker is an amoral and coldly ruthless career criminal: fond of huge scores, and prone to being betrayed by a colleague, thereby setting up a vengeance sub-plot.

 

He has been a popular character in cinema practically from the beginning: played by Lee Marvin (1967’s weirdly existential Point Blank), Jim Brown (1968’s The Split), Robert Duvall (The Outfit), Peter Coyote (1983’s Slayground), Mel Gibson (1999’s Payback) and Jason Statham (2013’s Parker).

 

Now Mark Wahlberg has taken the mantle, and — in fairness — he makes a good Parker. Wahlberg displays the appropriate level of grim callousness, and is credibly physical during skirmishes. He also quotes a portion of Parker’s “code” at one point, elaborating that he prefers to avoid killing people: not out of morality, but because murder invites increased attention from the police.

 

The film opens midway through a heist of the vault at Meadowview Downs Racetrack: a caper that goes south due to an unexpected interruption. The subsequent eye-rolling vehicular chase along the track, amid a race, clearly didn’t involve actual horses, and is an early indication of Black’s tendency toward wretched excess.

 

The sequence also is rather tasteless.

 

Having recovered the score, Parker and his team return to their base, in order to split the proceeds ... at which point the sexy Zen (Rosa Salazar) abruptly pulls out a gun. Parker escapes, although badly wounded. After being nursed back to fighting health — apparently in no time at all! — he sets about finding Zen.

 

The Union: Spy VERY lite

The Union (2024) • View trailer

Three stars (out of five). Rated PG-13, for violence, sexual candor, and occasional profanity

Available via: Netflix

By Derrick Bang

The bar is getting awfully low, when it comes to spy thrillers.

 

Writers Joe Barton and David Guggenheim didn’t do much to earn their keep; you won’t find a single original thought here. Their barely-there premise lifts clichés from countless other (superior) films, adding just enough plot to justify the requisite half-dozen action and chase sequences.

 

Although every attempt to stay ahead of countless unspecified attackers fails miserably,
Mike (Mark Wahlberg) and Roxanne (Halle Berry) always survive to fight another day.

This script couldn’t have filled more than a single sheet of paper ... and that’s pretty much what wound up on the screen.

Events kick off during a prologue, as seasoned operatives Roxanne Hart (Halle Berry) and Nick Faraday (Mike Colter) lead a team to capture a guy planning to auction a suitcase that contains a priceless whatzit. The operation goes south; Roxanne’s entire team is killed, along with their target, and unspecified Bad Guys get away with the suitcase.

 

(We never know who any of these adversaries are, or for whom they work; they’re simply Black-Clad Bad Guys who arrive in Black Cars and Black Helicopters.)

 

Turns out Roxanne works for The Union, which — stop me, if you’ve heard this before — tackles worldwide catastrophes that other U.S. government spy agencies aren’t able to handle.

 

(“The Union”? Seriously? That sounds like a labor organization. Would it have been asking too much, for Barton and Guggenheim to come up with a catchy acronym?)

 

The sought-after whatzit is a computer file that contains a list of every individual working for Western-allied agencies throughout the world: CIA, FBI, MI5 and MI6, France’s DGSE, and so forth.

 

(One wonders how such a list could have been assembled. Do they all subscribe to the same magazine? Share the same Amazon shopping account?)

 

Those in possession of the suitcase intend to sell it to the highest bidder, during a black-market auction. Union head honcho Tom Brennan (J.K. Simmons) hopes to put one of his own “friendly” bidders in play, to surmount offers from five international bad actors: China, North Korea, Syria, Russia and Iran. But since all active agents would be recognized — due to the aforementioned list — this “friendly” must be some sort of regular guy.

 

Which — and this is an awfully big leap — makes Roxanne think of her former high school boyfriend, Mike McKenna (Mark Wahlberg), who remained in New Jersey and is employed as a blue-collar bridge worker. Wahlberg doesn’t need to stretch, since such roles have become his signature: a hard-working, hard-partying good ol’ boy with a solid moral compass and limited ambition.

 

He's also sleeping with his seventh-grade school teacher: a “gag” that doesn’t begin to work (and suffers more from repetition).

Arthur the King: Needlessly overcooked

Arthur the King (2024) • View trailer

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

Available via: Movie theaters

By Derrick Bang

Director Simon Cellan Jones’ modest drama has three highlights: an extreme sport that’ll likely be new to most viewers, a really cool dog, and the benefit of being inspired by actual events.

 

The kayaking portion their race would be punishing enough under ordinary circumstances,
but Leo (Simu Liu, foreground) and Michael (Mark Wahlberg) find it even more taxing
with the large, water-soaked Arthur as an additional passenger.

That said, Michael Brandt’s script — very loosely based on Mikael Lindnord’s popular 2016 non-fiction book — leans too heavily on melodramatic macho nonsense, and also stretches truth to a degree that’ll lift both eyebrows. The result often feels like a TV movie with delusions of big-screen grandeur, but — even so — it’s family-friendly entertainment, which has gotten rather rare lately.

The sport in question is “adventure racing,” a multidisciplinary team activity that typically involves alternately running, hiking, climbing, bicycling and kayaking over hundreds of miles of wilderness terrain. The clock never stops; competitors must choose if or when to rest — and for how long — while restocking supplies at mandatory “transition areas.” Route decisions and GPS navigation are up to each team.

 

Mark Wahlberg stars as Michael Light, an Americanized version of Lindnord introduced toward the conclusion of one such competition. He foolishly leads his team to failure during a final leg, when the tide goes out, and strands their kayaks in mud flats. The resulting tirade leaves Michael estranged from teammate Leo (Simu Liu), and one choice image of the messy disaster erupts on social media, subsequently haunting Michael at every turn.

 

Several years pass, during which Michael continues to train in the gorgeous terrain surrounding the Colorado mountain home he shares with wife Helen (Julie Rylance), who has retired from the sport in order to raise their young daughter. Michael is the epitome of stubborn single-mindedness; he’s determined to take one more shot at the world championship that has eluded him thus far.

 

(We wonder, at about this point, what Helen and the under-employed Michael are living on. Air?)

 

Elsewhere, in the Dominican Republic’s capital city, a scruffy brown street dog does his best to survive. As the story proceeds, Cellan Jones frequently cuts back to this bedraggled mutt’s wanderings.

 

Adventure racing is expensive, and requires sponsorship: a complication, given Michael’s well-known reputation for being bull-headed. He nonetheless perseveres with the executives at the sports firm Broadrail, albeit with conditions: most notably, their insistence that his now-nemesis Leo be on the team. 

 

Cue more snarky posturing between Wahlberg and Liu.

The Family Plan: Amiable spyjinks

The Family Plan (2023) • View trailer

3.5 stars (out of five). Rated PG-13, for comedic action violence, brief sexual candor and fleeting profanity

Available via: Apple TV+

By Derrick Bang

This one couldn’t be more ridiculous.

 

But it’s an enjoyable level of “silly,” which makes all the difference: perfect for a turn-off-the-brain Friday evening.

 

It's Vegas, baby! Only Dan (Mark Wahlberg, far left) knows why he has made this road
trip with the family — from left, baby Max (Iliana Norris), Jessica (Michelle Monaghan),
Nine (Zoe Colletti) and Kyle (Van Crosby) — but they're about to find out.

David Coggeshall’s larkish script is a far cry from the horror genre that has dominated his career until now. The premise here may be cliché in the realm of spy comedies, but he develops it well, and grants us an appealing set of characters. Director Simon Cellan Jones and editor Tim Porter maintain a reasonably brisk pace, although their two-hour film would be tighter with 10 to 15 minutes shaved off.

Even so, I didn’t mind the length.

 

Dan Morgan (Mark Wahlberg) has carved out a happy suburban life as a devoted husband and father of three children. He’s content in his career as a successful car salesman; he’s amiable and remarkably persuasive. The key word he’d use to describe his life is peaceful: no stress, no excitement, no grandiose desires.

 

The key word his family likely would use is boring. Wife Jessica (Michelle Monaghan), although happy, wouldn’t be bothered if Dan showed more ambition; teenagers Nina (Zoe Colletti) and Kyle (Van Crosby) roll their eyes at the day-to-day sameness.

 

Ten-month-old Max (Iliana Norris), cute as a button, isn’t old enough to be bothered.

 

Ah, but...

 

Sharp-eyed viewers may wonder, early on, why Dan takes such pains to avoid publicity. His caution goes up in smoke one day, thanks to a burst of unwelcome social media ... and suddenly he’s confronted by a hardened killer, while grocery shopping with Max strapped in a chest pouch.

 

This is each viewer’s make-or-break moment. If the resulting supermarket skirmish seems too silly — Dan doing his best to evade this thug, scrambling to improvise, while keeping Max out of harm’s way — then you may as well stop now. But if you’re able to roll with this cleverly choreographed fracas, what follows will be equally enjoyable.

 

(Frankly, I found it hilarious.)

 

Turns out Dan was an elite government assassin in his former life, tasked with eliminating the world’s deadliest threats. He racked up a sizeable stack of enemies in the process — most particularly the vengeful McCaffrey (Ciarán Hinds, suitably malevolent) — who now know where to find him.

 

Father Stu: A partial contender

Father Stu (2022) • View trailer

Three stars (out of five). Rated R, for profanity and coarse behavior

Available via: Movie theaters

By Derrick Bang • Published in The Davis Enterprise, 4.15.22

Faith-based films always run the risk of becoming too sentimental, maudlin and sappy.

 

To her credit, writer/director Rosalind Ross doesn’t fall into that trap here … at least, not until the final act. But even those heart-tugging details are justified by what befell the actual Stuart Long, who endured — and surmounted — a series of setbacks akin to the trials of Job.

 

While trying hard to turn his life around, Stuart Long (Mark Wahlberg, foreground) tries
to make amends with his long-estranged father (Mel Gibson), with less than ideal results.

Although deeply steeped in Catholicism, Ross’ adaptation of Long’s life is more redemption saga than crisis of faith … because, as portrayed here, Stu Long (Mark Wahlberg) hasn’t a shred of faith to begin with.

 

This is more the saga of two hard-charging, unrepentant ruffians — father and son — who, initially against their will, are forced to confront and re-evaluate their many shortcomings.

 

Initially, then, Stu and his father Bill (Mel Gibson) have a great time boozing and brawling, showing little regard for fellow man (or woman), while spouting a relentless stream of self-serving, profanity-laden social and theological “observations” that are — in fairness — quite funny at times.

 

Assuming, of course, that one can get past the coarse, egotistical misogyny.

 

The story begins in a working-class Montana community, where Stu is on the last legs of a minor boxing career, which brought in just enough money to keep him and his mother, Kathleen (Jacki Weaver), modestly fed, clothed and sheltered. But the battering has taken its toll, and wrought enough damage to become life-threatening, should he return to the ring.

 

On impulse, without a scintilla of performance experience — and to the dismay of his mother — Stu heads to Los Angeles, with dreams of Hollywood stardom dancing in his eyes. This also happens to be where the long-estranged Bill landed, although Stu has no intention of looking up his old man. At least, not initially.

 

Casting calls go nowhere; Stu winds up working in a supermarket meat department. One day he chances to spot Carmen (Teresa Ruiz), a Catholic Sunday school teacher who easily — even curtly — rebuffs his efforts at bad-boy charm. Not one to take a hint, and determined to win her over, the longtime agnostic begins attending her church.

 

But it won’t be anywhere near that easy. Aside from having to navigate her rigid Catholic chastity, Stu has to deal with her equally strict parents, along with the church’s priest, Father Garcia (Carlos Leal). The latter hasn’t the faintest idea how to cope with this interloper, and Stu’s first clumsy attempt at confession becomes a profanity-laden failure.

 

Despite Stu’s smug appeal — Wahlberg never has been short on charisma — it’s difficult to like the guy thus far. His churchgoing is superficial and self-serving, as befits Stu’s inherent nature; we can’t help feeling he just wants to score with Carmen … after which, what?

Scoob: A doggone hoot

Scoob (2020) • View trailer 
3.5 stars. Rated PG, for mild suggestive humor and fantasy peril
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 7.10.20

Scooby-Doo, the nervous Great Dane with a nose for supernatural-style trouble — and a manner of “speaking” borrowed from Astro, on The Jetsons — has covered an amazing amount of territory since solving his first cast back on Sept. 13, 1969.

Our young heroes — from left, Velma, Fred, Shaggy, Daphne and Scooby-Doo — don't
know it yet, but they're about to solve their first mystery.

The character and his human sidekicks have never notbeen ubiquitous on television, thanks to well over a dozen variations on their initial 17-episode run … not to mention numerous direct-to-video films and several (mostly) live-action entries.

It’s safe to say that Scooby-Doo has eclipsed Rin Tin Tin and Lassie as the world’s most famous canine screen hero. (No accident, these days, that we refer to a crime-solving detective’s posse as a “Scooby gang.”)

Director Tony Cervone’s Scoob, debuting on HBO Max and other video-on-demand platforms, is guaranteed to keep the lovable pooch vibrant for additional years to come.

Cervone’s pacing frequently has the frantic intensity of classic Warner Bros. cartoons, and the script — credited to no fewer than six hands — definitely captures the original Scooby vibe, while inserting snarky asides and droll one-liners that’ll keep adults equally entertained. The voice talent is solid, and longtime Saturday morning cartoon fans will have fun spotting all the supporting characters borrowed from other Hanna-Barbera shows.

The film is littered with additional Hanna-Barbera “Easter eggs”; you’ll want to pay careful attention to billboards and street signs.

Scoob also serves as an origin story, of sorts, with a lengthy prolog that shows how a clumsy puppy with hilariously oversized paws chances to meet 10-year-old Shaggy Rogers at California’s Venice Beach. Of course, they bond over a shared sandwich, and thereafter become inseparable best buds.

Halloween arrives shortly thereafter, at which point Shaggy and Scoob meet up with Daphne, Velma and Fred. During a pell-mell attempt to retrieve Shaggy’s bag of Halloween candy from a supposedly haunted house — with Scoob hindering as much as helping — the quintet exposes the actual culprit behind these faux scary doings.

(That’s key; classic Scooby-Doo adventures always seemed to involve dire supernatural events, ultimately revealed — after all manner of pratfalls and red herrings — to be the work of decidedly Earthbound human baddies.)

Mile 22: Breaks down

Mile 22 (2018) • View trailer 
Two stars. Rated R, for strong violence and relentless profanity
By Derrick Bang

This flick certainly doesn’t lack ambition.

That’s no compliment. Director Peter Berg’s newest collaboration with star Mark Wahlberg isn’t anywhere near as successful as their other efforts — Patriots Day, Deepwater Horizon and Lone Survivor — because they’re stuck with a script that is both overwrought and ludicrously over-plotted. Writers Lea Carpenter and Graham Roland obviously wanted to concoct a devious, twist-laden, politically hued action thriller, but they tried much, much too hard.

Having arranged to drive Noor (Iko Uwais, right) to a transport plane that'll fly him to the
safety of the United States, Silva (Mark Wahlberg) has no idea how dangerous the
22-mile trip is about to become.

The result is a mess, in terms of both narrative structure and execution. 

I’ve learned, over time, to be wary of films that begin in one of two ways: during a patient conference in a psychiatrist’s office; or during any sort of after-the-fact de-briefing. It’s a clumsy plot device that ruins suspense, often deceives viewers, and becomes increasingly frustrating — as in this case — when the director keeps interrupting the as-it’s-happening action, to cut back to the post-mortem.

No doubt Carpenter and Roland expected this gimmick to pique our curiosity: What is Wahlberg’s James Silva going on about? Doesn’t work that way. It’s just annoying.

Actually, Silva himself is annoying. Very annoying. Wahlberg apparently wanted a role with more than the stable, true-blue, baseball-and-apple-pie, real-life heroes he tackled in his earlier projects with Berg; James Silva is the result. He’s a capable assassin and senior field officer assigned to a CIA tactical command group known as Overwatch: the guy you definitely want handling a sensitive and/or dangerous operation.

He’s also an insufferable pain in the ass: a hyper-focused “spectrum baby” just this side of being bi-polar. He’s impatient, imperious, insubordinate, oblivious to social cues, and unwilling to suffer anybody gladly, whether fools or long-time colleagues. Wahlberg throws far too much twitch into the performance; five minutes into the film, it’s impossible to believe that Silva wouldn’t have been dismissed, decommissioned (with prejudice), jailed or flat-out terminated years ago.

But no: We’re expected to believe that Silva’s team — and his superiors — tolerate the rudeness, gruffness, nasty sarcasm and unpredictability because, y’know, he always gets results. Uh-huh.

We see an early example of this during a tense prologue, as Silva and his comrades infiltrate an American-based Russian safe house. The off-the-books goals: break up the operation, capture and identify the participants, and seize the intel. Things go violently awry, and Overwatch head Bishop (John Malkovich) — monitoring the operation via computer surveillance, from a distant command center — orders all the Russians killed.

“You’re making a mistake,” warns the final victim, as Silva coldly executes him.

All the Money in the World ... can't guarantee a perfect film

All the Money in the World (2017) • View trailer 
3.5 stars. Rated R, for profanity, dramatic intensity, violence and drug use
By Derrick Bang

This film’s Christmas Day release couldn’t be more appropriate: Rarely has a real-world individual been depicted in a manner so reminiscent of Charles Dickens’ Ebenezer Scrooge.

Invitation to catastrophe: Gail (Michelle Williams) and her husband John (Andrew Buchan,
right) assume that being embraced by his father, J. Paul Getty (Christopher Plummer)
will be the best possible thing for their family, and particularly for their eldest child Paul
(Charlie Shotwell). How wrong they are...

Although All the Money in the World draws its stomach-clenching suspense from the uncertain fate endured by its young victim, director Ridley Scott’s film gets most of its juice from Christopher Plummer’s mesmerizing portrayal of billionaire J. Paul Getty: an avaricious, repugnant monster whose breathtakingly awful behavior knows no bounds.

Indeed, each example of cruelty is topped by one that’s much worse. We’re frequently inclined to believe that scripter David Scarpa fabricated this or that jaw-droppingly ludicrous detail ... but no. Getty really was that stingy and parsimonious, particularly with family members, and Plummer’s performance oozes heartless contempt. (How artistically fitting that Plummer recently played Scrooge in The Man Who Invented Christmas.)

Scarpa’s script is drawn from the relevant portion of John Pearson’s 1995 book, Painfully Rich: The Outrageous Fortunes and Misfortunes of the Heirs of J. Paul Getty. One can’t help feeling that it ain’t easy to be wealthy (although everybody would love to try).

I also can’t help wondering if Scott, Scarpa and Plummer intend this performance as a thinly veiled indictment of the similarly callous behavior currently emanating from the unfeeling über-rich in Washington, D.C.

Plummer is so perfect — so contemptibly vile — that it’s difficult to imagine anybody else in the role. And yet he was a last-minute replacement for the publicly disgraced Kevin Spacey, who had completed work on the film. Assuming Scott and Sony are willing to release that footage, it’ll be fascinating to compare the two performances, once this drama hits home video.

(Actually, 88-year-old Plummer seems a better choice than 68-year-old Spacey, given that Getty was 81 when these events went down.)

All the Money in the World concerns one of history’s most unusual — and protracted — crimes: the 1973 kidnapping of Getty’s 16-year-old grandson, John Paul Getty III, affectionately known as Paul. He endured half a year of imprisonment, from mid-July through mid-December, while his captors’ demands encountered a brick wall of refusal from the old man.

Transformers: The Last Knight — Should be junked

Transformers: The Last Knight (2017) • View trailer 
No stars (turkey). Rated PG-13, for relentless sci-fi action violence
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 6.23.17

This isn’t even a good video game.

As a movie, it’s a $260 million disaster.

When Col. William Lennox (Josh Duhamel) inexplicably decides that the über-evil
Megatron might help U.S. forces find some all-important Transformers tech, he okays
the release of a ferocious quartet of evil Decepticons. Which immediately start fragging
every human being in sight. Like, anybody expected otherwise?

Actually, the term movie doesn’t even apply. Movies have plots. And characters. This cacophonous monument of soulless wretched excess has neither.

I’m frankly astonished that Art Marcum, Matt Holloway, Ken Nolan and Akiva Goldsman have the audacity to claim credit for a script. The spoken lines in this junkyard dog are so sparse — often limited to monosyllabic exhortations such as “We’ve got to go!,” “Hang on!,” “Good job!” and “Jump!” — and the action so haphazard, that one could watch the entire 149-minute mess with the dialog track eliminated entirely, and have just as much success trying to extract meaning from the bonkers narrative.

That also would spare us from the faux profundities in the film’s hilariously overwrought voice-over narration. The Monty Python gang, at their prime, could not have concocted more ludicrously silly monologues. But helmer Michael Bay intends us to take them seriously.

Bay began his career as a director of music videos, and it could be argued — particularly during the past decade — that he never shifted gears. Such video shorts are no more than a series of flamboyant, hyper-edited visuals solely in service of the music; with very rare exception, there’s no such thing as “story” or “character.”

The same could be said of Transformers: The L(e)ast Knight, fifth entry in this increasingly dismal franchise, which is no more than an overlong showcase reel for numerous special effects companies. Bay couldn’t care less about story, and he obviously couldn’t care less about character; his notion of an “emotional moment” starts and stops with a tight-tight-tight close-up of a given actor’s face, always bearing a silent, stricken, gape-mouthed expression. Pause and hold for what seems an eternity.

Tears are optional (but desired).

The result would be laughable, if the process of watching the damn thing weren’t so relentlessly repetitious, predictable, exhausting and tediously dull.

Bay doesn’t make movies; he makes product. Noisy, lowest-common-denominator trash designed for an indiscriminate international market.

Expensive and impressively mounted trash, to be fair ... but trash nonetheless.

Patriots Day: Triumph snatched from tragedy

Patriots Day (2016) • View trailer 
Four stars. Rated R, for graphic violence, frequent profanity and some drug use
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 1.13.17

It seemed too soon.

Mounting a big-screen project based on a recent real-world tragedy carries the whiff of tawdry, opportunistic network TV movies, which almost always exploit such events in pursuit of viewership ratings.

As FBI Agent Richard DesLauriers (Kevin Bacon, left) and Boston Police Commissioner
Ed Davis (John Goodman, right) watch hopefully, veteran policeman Tommy Saunders
(Mark Wahlberg) scrutinizes area surveillance footage, trying to anticipate which
cameras had the best chance of recording a glimpse of the bombers.

Not quite four years have passed, since the Boston Marathon bombing. Transforming that ghastly — albeit, ultimately, victoriously bonding — crisis into a high-profile mainstream drama, this quickly, couldn’t help raising eyebrows.

Ah, but I should have trusted director/co-scripter Peter Berg. He demonstrated appropriate restraint and respect, while crafting last year’s Deepwater Horizon into a solid suspense drama, and the same is true here. Although he rather shamelessly yanks our tear ducts in the final few minutes, supplying on-camera interviews with the actual people depicted in the preceding film, by that point Berg has earned enough good will to get away with it.

And besides: The interviews are cathartic, and well deserved in their own right.

Berg and his four co-scripters wisely designed their film as a straight-ahead police procedural, emphasizing dogged, ground-level detective work — and, eventually, indispensable public support — while carefully handling the actual bombings. The result is a tribute to both the impressive resources brought to bear, in the aftermath, and the stirring “Boston Strong” solidarity that united the first-responders and investigative entities.

Events begin on April 14, 2013, the day before the marathon; onscreen time and location stamps introduce a wide variety of individuals soon to be linked by circumstance. Some are immediately recognized by name and/or reputation: Boston Police Commissioner Ed Davis (played here by John Goodman), FBI agent Richard DesLauriers (Kevin Bacon), and marathon watchers Patrick Downes and Jessica Kensky (Christopher O’Shea and Rachel Brosnahan).

A few others are likely to remain a mystery, at first, to all but those who followed every detail of the unfolding situation, back in 2013: MIT policeman Sean A. Collier (Jake Picking), and Chinese-American college student Dun Meng (Jimmy O. Yang).

These preliminary sequences are casual, even light-hearted: Patrick tries to teach his wife Jessica how to speak with a proper Boston accent; Collier flirts with a couple of university women, trying to cajole them into joining him at an upcoming concert; Meng explains the virtues of a newly designed delivery app to a potential investor.

Deepwater Horizon: An honorable, action-packed tribute

Deepwater Horizon (2016) • View trailer 
Four stars. Rated PG-13, for dramatic intensity and brief profanity
By Derrick Bang

Actor-turned-filmmaker Peter Berg has run hot and cold during his directing career, from well-received inspirational drama (2004’s Friday Night Lights) to laughable popcorn dreck (2012’s Battleship).

Having learned that a crucial performance and safety check was skipped after the
installation of a fresh cement seal, Deepwater Horizon's offshore installation manager,
"Mr. Jimmy" (Kurt Russell, foreground), orders a supplemental pressure test, as equally
concerned members of his crew — from left, Curtis (Jason Pine), Clark (Ronald Weaver)
and Anderson (Ethan Suplee) — watch with apprehension.

He also has a fondness for wartime drama, although his gung-ho, America-first sensibilities sometimes slide into uncomfortable xenophobia, as with 2007’s deplorable The Kingdom.

But Berg’s skill as an old-school action director cannot be denied; even when the story leaves something to be desired, he exhibits a muscular filmmaking style that evokes the likes of John Sturges, Robert Aldrich and even John Ford. Berg simply needs to choose his projects more carefully, and resist the temptation to shove his politics down our throats.

Under optimal circumstances, the results can be both exciting and deeply moving, and that’s definitely the case with Deepwater Horizon: without question, Berg’s best film since Friday Night Lights.

This calamitous real-world event remains recent enough to resonate uncomfortably with viewers, who may recoil from being reminded that just shy of a dozen men died on April 20, 2010, under circumstances that absolutely were preventable. And, yes, at times Berg’s persuasive reconstruction of these events is grimly realistic and very, very hard to watch.

But the tone is never exploitative; indeed, scripters Matthew Michael Carnahan and Matthew Sand — drawing their material from a New York Times article by David Barstow, David Rohde and Stephanie Saul — take an honorable and even heroic approach. Berg’s film celebrates bravery and courage, and serves as a deeply moving memorial to the 11 men who lost their lives, each of whom is cited by name and photo, just prior to the end credits.

Try not to choke up during that montage.

On top of which, as a meticulous account of recent history — allowing for some climactic exaggeration, for dramatic impact — this film stands quite nobly as a lingering indictment of the corporate bastards at British Petroleum (BP), who placed penny-pinching shortcuts ahead of human lives. In that respect, Berg has done us an incalculable public service.

It’s an old and sadly familiar story, brought to the big screen in numerous variations: mine workers exploited by callous supervisors; shop workers harassed by cruel owners; field laborers all but imprisoned on company farms. Hard-working “little people” at the mercy of smiling, condescending, immaculately dressed — and often indifferently ignorant — administrators.

Ted 2: Insufficiently stuffed

Ted 2 (2015) • View trailer 
Three stars. Rated R, for drug use, crude and sexual content, and pervasive profanity
By Derrick Bang

Let’s cut to the chase.

Films like this are critic-proof. If you enjoyed Ted — if the notion of a foul-mouthed, substance-abusing stuffed bear hit your sweet spot — then you’ll certainly enjoy this sequel just as much. Perhaps even more so.

En route to New York, in hopes of getting some desperately needed legal assistance,
John (Mark Wahlberg), Ted and Samantha (Amanda Seyfried) playfully bicker about who
gets to drive next. Naturally, Ted wants his turn behind the wheel...

But if equal-opportunity race-, gender- and religion-baiting profanity and vulgarity are apt to send you into a froth, prompting letters to your Congressperson regarding the dangerous decline of Western civilization ... better steer clear.

Hey, I thought 2012’s Ted was a giggle. At times. The same is true of this one. That said, both films suffer from the malady that often afflicted Monty Python’s big-screen efforts: the tendency to exploit a joke that’s amusing the first time, by beating it to death. Most potty humor does not become funnier through repeated exposure.

At 106 minutes, Ted was at least half an hour too long. At 115 minutes, this sequel is at least 45 minutes too long.

It’s simply impossible to shake the feeling — in both cases — that an admittedly hilarious Saturday Night Live sketch has been stretched way beyond its ability to amuse.

Still, creator/director/co-scripter Seth MacFarlane deserves credit for fitful attempts to stretch the envelope. This new film’s Busby Berkeley-style opening credits are quite a surprise, well deserving the special credit given First Assistant Director David Sardi. (I suspect, however, that those who show up for Ted’s profanity-laced tirades will be bored by these credits, despite their choreographed opulence.)

A few surprise guest stars are cleverly used, notably Jay Leno and Liam Neeson, both of whom obviously have a healthy sense of humor. Michael Dorn does some very cute stuff with his longtime Star Trek persona. Sam Jones also returns, playing himself and still capitalizing on his long-ago stint as Flash Gordon. Always a funny bit.

And — wait, could it really be true? — the script actually flirts with honest-to-God social relevance. MacFarlane and co-writers Alec Sulkin and Wellesley Wild paint with awfully broad strokes, but they definitely score a few provocative jabs at discrimination issues. That’s unexpected, given the delivery system’s overall tone.

On top of which, I never tire of visual effects supervisor Blair Clark’s impressive work. It’s one thing to fabricate imaginary creatures on distant planets or alternate-universe fantasy realms: quite something else to so seamlessly integrate an 18-inch stuffed bear into our own workaday world. Hey, I’ll buy into the premise: Ted is real.

He simply isn’t somebody with whom I wish to spend so much time.