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.

Oppenheimer: Bravura filmmaking

Oppenheimer (2023) • View trailer

4.5 stars (out of five). Rated R, for profanity, nudity and strong sexual content

Available via: Movie theaters

By Derrick Bang • Published in The Davis Enterprise, 7.21.23

This is, without question, one of the most ambitiously powerful films ever made.

 

Director/scripter Christopher Nolan’s attention to detail, and his flair for dramatic impact, are nothing short of awesome. Viewed on a giant IMAX screen, the result often is overwhelming.

 

U.S. Army Corps of Engineers veteran Leslie Groves (Matt Damon, left), tasked with
running the Manhattan Project, is constantly vexed by the demands that come from
head scientist J. Robert Oppenheimer (Cillian Murphy).

This deep dive into the tortured life of J. Robert Oppenheimer also boasts a panoply of well-sculpted characters: many familiar by reputation (or notoriety), others just as fascinating. All are played by an astonishing wealth of top-flight acting talent.

Best of all, Nolan’s adaptation of Kai Bird and Martin J. Sherwin’s Pulitzer Prize-winning American Prometheus: The Triumph and Tragedy of J. Robert Oppenheimer — published in 2005, and written over a period of 25 years — has the political complexity and narrative fascination that we’ve come to expect from Aaron Sorkin and William Goldman. Jennifer Lame’s pow-pow-pow editing also is terrific.

 

All that said, Nolan does himself no favors with a needlessly outré prologue that blends ostentatiously surreal imagery — representing the anxiety-laden guilt and terror that later plagued Oppenheimer — with Ludwig Göransson’s shrieking loud synth score. It’s much too intentionally weird and off-putting.

 

Göransson’s score and the film’s equally thunderous sound effects remain distracting during the first half-hour, obscuring dialogue while we struggle to absorb the initial character and information dump.

 

Nolan eventually settles comfortably into a multifaceted storytelling structure that cuts back and forth between Oppenheimer’s post-WWII security clearance hearing, held in the spring of 1954; and the June 1959 Senate hearings over whether former Atomic Energy Commission (AEC) chairman Lewis Strauss would be confirmed as President Eisenhower’s choice pick for U.S. Secretary of Commerce.

 

The former was a one-sided witch hunt deliberately kept out of the public eye, the latter a headline-generating circus very much in the public eye.

 

Oppenheimer, present throughout his 1954 hearing, reads a statement that opens the film’s third — and primary — narrative focus: his own life and career.

 

These sequences, as Oppenheimer’ history unfolds, are filmed in glorious 65mm color. (It remains true: Well-crafted film stock still is more satisfying — sharper, warmer, more vibrant — than digital.) 

 

The Strauss Senate hearings — an event beyond Oppenheimer’s control, in which he plays almost no role, although his presence is felt throughout — is shot in grainier black-and-white. The result feels more sinister and mysterious; first impressions of the key players ultimately prove misleading, as Nolan craftily moves his film into its third act.

 

But that comes much later.

Air: A perfect swish

Air (2023) • View trailer

4.5 stars (out of five). Rated R, for frequent profanity

Available via: Movie theaters

By Derrick Bang • Published in The Davis Enterprise, 4.7.23

Nothing beats a story well told.

 

Nike’s early effort to partner with basketball’s Michael Jordan seems an unlikely topic for a fact-based mainstream drama, but in director Ben Affleck’s hands, the result is mesmerizing.

 

The magic moment: Nike creative guru Peter Moore (Matthew Mayer, left) outlines his
innovative shoe design plan for sports scout Sonny Vaccaro (Matt Damon, center) and
marketing VP Rob Strasser (Jason Bateman).

And that remains true, every minute, even though we all know this saga’s outcome.

 

Credit Affleck’s sublime handling of a cast that dazzles in every scene, along with William Goldenberg’s staccato editing and scripter Alex Convery’s sharp, shrewd and thoroughly absorbing script; it positively roars with captivating, Aaron Sorkin-style dialogue that sizzles when delivered by this roster of accomplished scene-stealers.

 

Who knew sports endorsements could be so fascinating?

 

Affleck opens with a lightning-quick montage of iconic early 1980s moments, movies, products, TV commercials and cultural touchstones: the perfect way to establish the struggling effort of distant-third Nike to establish itself as a basketball-branded shoe, running dead last behind Converse and Adidas.

 

The former had Magic Johnson and Larry Bird; the latter had the “cool” factor that made it the shoe kids wanted to wear. Adidas also had its eyes on draft pick Michael Jordan, a hot-prospect guard from the University of North Carolina.

 

The problem, as former NBA draft pick-turned-Nike exec Howard White (Chris Tucker) explains to colleague and basketball scout Sonny Vaccaro (Matt Damon), is one of image. In a ferociously funny, rat-a-tat lecture delivered in Tucker’s inimitable style, Howard points out that Nike is “known” for making jogging shoes … and no Black kid would be caught dead jogging.

 

Up to this point — as the story begins — Sonny hasn’t had much success recruiting top players to the Oregon-based company’s basketball division. The situation has become so dire, the board of directors is threatening to shutter the basketball division. 

 

“I told you not to take the company public,” Sonny laments, to friend and Nike founder/CEO Phil Knight (Affleck).

 

Sonny — who lives and breathes basketball, and has an instinct for talent — can’t get enthusiastic about any of the other draft pick candidates; he’s interested solely in Jordan. But the rising young star has eyes solely for Adidas, and doesn’t even want to hear from Nike. Nor will Jordan’s shark-in-the-waters agent, David Falk (Chris Messina) — despite a respectful professional kinship with Sonny — do anything to facilitate such a meeting.

 

Sonny shares his frustration with longtime friend and Nike marketing VP Rob Strasser (Jason Bateman), who is sympathetic but similarly stymied. And it must be noted that the dynamic between these four men — Sonny, Phil, Howard and Rob — is strained, as is the atmosphere within Nike’s headquarters. 

 

Even so — even when tempers are so frequently frayed — Affleck and Convery never lose track of the camaraderie, friendship and loyalty that bond these guys.

 

The Last Duel: Grimly absorbing medieval drama

The Last Duel (2021) • View trailer

Four stars (out of five). Rated R, for strong violence, sexual assault, graphic nudity and profanity

Available via: Movie theaters

By Derrick Bang • Published in The Davis Enterprise, 10.15.21

Does actual truth exist?

 

Or is “truth” inevitably shaded by the perception and biases of the person claiming to present it?

 

Honoring a degree of chivalry neither man feels at this point, Jacques Le Gris (Adam
Driver, left) and Jean de Carrouges (Matt Damon) clasp hands prior to the duel that
will leave one of them dead.

Director Akira Kurosawa famously explored this notion with 1950’s Rashomon, in which numerous characters deliver subjective, alternative and contradictory versions of having witnessed the murder of a samurai. Actual “truth” proves to be elusive.

Scripters Nicole Holofcener, Ben Affleck and Matt Damon — adapting Eric Jager’s 2004 historical study of the same title — have taken a cue from Kurosawa, with their intriguing approach to director Ridley Scott’s lavish new film. The “last duel” refers to the last official judicial duel permitted by the French King (Charles VI, at the time) and the Parliament of Paris, which took place on Dec. 29, 1386.

 

(Let me pause, to acknowledge mild surprise; I’d have expected such duels to continue for many centuries beyond that date.)

 

The death match resulted from Norman knight Jean de Carrouges’s accusation that his wife, Marguerite, had been raped by squire Jacques Le Gris, who denied the charge. When existing legal options for redress were thwarted by Count Pierre d’Alençon — under whom both men served, but who favored Le Gris — Carrouges cleverly (rashly?) demanded a “trial by combat,” wherein the survivor’s version of events would be “sanctified by God’s judgment.”

 

Interesting times, the 14th century…

 

This era has been persuasively established by Scott, production designer Arthur Max, and cinematographer Dariusz Wolski. Everything looks and feels authentic: the harsh, unforgiving landscape; the massive, fortified castles and estates; costume designer Janty Yates’ myriad creations for nobles, commoners and serfs; and the boisterous, bedraggled, grime-encrusted cast of many, many hundreds (if not the iconic thousands).

 

Damon’s scruffy, hulking Jean de Carrouges is bold, rash and a formidable warrior. He’s also emotionally adrift, having lost his wife and only son to the plague. Uneducated and unable to properly manage his estate, he’s forever behind in the “rent” owed Pierre d’Alençon (Affleck, initially unrecognized beneath curly blond hair and beard), which annoys the count.

 

Carrouges and Le Gris (Adam Driver) began as neighbors and friends; the latter became godfather to Carrouges’ ill-fated son. They serve in bloody battle together, an example of which opens this film: a brutal, gory scrum of iron-clad men bashing each other to death. With horses, swords, daggers and battle axes. 

 

Several such melees take place as the story progresses, staged for maximum impact by editor Claire Simpson, fight choreographer Troy Milenov and stunt coordinator Rob Inch. They’re not for the faint of heart.

 

As to where the relationship between Carrouges and Le Gris goes from there…

Ford V Ferrari: Turbo-charged!

Ford V Ferrari (2019) • View trailer 
Four stars. Rated PG-13, for dramatic intensity and occasional profanity
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 11.15.19

Christian Bale never ceases to amaze.

His performances are “all in” to a degree most actors couldn’t even contemplate, let alone accomplish. Nor is it merely the surface gimmick of his extreme weight losses and gains; Bale never appears to be “acting.” He simply becomesthat person, whether an industrial worker fearing for his sanity (The Machinist); a former boxer turned crack addict (The Fighter); or an ex-neurologist-turned-stock market savant suffering from Asperger syndrome (The Big Short).

Having made yet another series of adjustments, driver/engineer Ken Miles (Christian Bale,
left) prepares to test-drive their high-performance vehicle again, while designer
Carroll Shelby (Matt Damon) waits apprehensively.

Or, in this case, feisty English sports car racing engineer and driver Ken Miles. Five minutes into this film, Bale ceases to exist. He is this guy. The mannerisms, posture, short temper and pugnacious attitude are wholly unlike any other character he has played, during a career that began when he was 12. 

That said, Bale’s Ken Miles is by no means defined solely by his truculence; the scenes he shares with Caitriona Balfe and Noah Jupe — also excellent, as Miles’ wife Mollie and their young son Peter — depict a kinder, gentler and loving man wholly at odds with the automotive genius who suffers fools not at all, let alone gladly.

(For the record, Bale dropped 70 pounds to play Miles, after having plumped up for Dick Cheney, in Vice.)

The notion that Bale has yet to win a Best Actor Oscar defies comprehension.

His sublime performance is far from the only high point in Ford V Ferrari, director James Mangold’s consistently absorbing, fascinating and suspenseful depiction of the American automobile company’s hare-brained, mid-1960s decision to challenge Italy’s boutique car-maker in the annual 24-hour Le Mans endurance race. Despite a running time of 152 minutes, Mangold’s film is never less than compelling … and the racing sequences are breathtaking. 

Cinematographer Phedon Papamichael and a trio of editors — Andrew Buckland, Michael McCusker and Dirk Westervelt — deserve considerable applause. Sound designer Jay Wilkinson deserves an Academy Award.

Kudos, as well, to scripters Jez Butterworth, John-Henry Butterworth and Jason Keller, for bravely tackling the corporate back-story and hijinks that led to this automotive clash. The narrative execution is never less than enthralling, to the same degree that 1976’s All the President’s Men turned plodding investigative journalism into a gripping suspense thriller.

Nor do the writers fill time with the soapy relationship melodrama relied upon by 1969’s Winning and 1971’s Le Mans. This film is cars, cars and nothing but cars … and that’s not a bad thing. If you’re not a racing fan prior to seeing Ford V Ferrari, you certainly will be 152 minutes later.

Suburbicon: It's a con, all right

Suburbicon (2017) • View trailer 
One star. Rated R, for violence, profanity and sexuality
By Derrick Bang

Bad movies prompt all manner of conversational snorts and giggles, while heading home and often well into the following day.

Gardner (Matt Damon) and his sister-in-law, Margaret (Julianne Moore), react in stunned
silence to the newest ludicrous indignity inflicted upon their family.

Really bad movies leave us in stunned silence, unable to process the why and how such a travesty could have survived the lengthy vetting process that must be endured by all major studio productions.

This is a really bad movie.

The Coen brothers have hit both extremes during a long and productive career, and of late they’ve been getting sloppier; A Serious Man, Hail, Caesar! and their misguided 2012 remake of Gambit are a far cry from Fargo and No Country for Old Men.

Suburbicon may be their worst stinker yet.

As a satire — and I admit, that’s speculation — this film’s message is too garbled, sloppy and tasteless. But it’s far too weird, random and exaggerated to be taken seriously, with almost every character an overblown burlesque. They may as well be wearing clown suits.

Co-scripters George Clooney (who also directs) and Grant Heslov appear to have been inspired by the post-WWII, postcard-perfect Levittown suburban communities: the sort of cheerful towns characterized in TV shows such as Father Knows Best and Leave It to Beaver. What’s often lost to history is the fact that Federal House Administration lenders restricted housing rental and sales agreements, in all Levittown developments, to (and I quote) “the Caucasian race.”

That issue came to boil in August 1957, when William and Daisy Myers moved their family into a section of Pennsylvania’s Levittown community, becoming the first African-Americans in the all-white enclave. The nasty results were captured by filmmakers Lee Bobker and Lester Becker in a documentary titled Crisis in Levittown, Pa., which remains jaw-dropping, cringe-worthy viewing (and is readily available online).

So: Part of Cooney’s film, set in the late 1950s in a Norman Rockwellian, Levittown-esque community, depicts — with impressive authenticity to actual events — what occurs during the first few weeks after an African-American family moves into a home that shares a back fence with the house belonging to Gardner Lodge (Matt Damon), his wife Rose (Julianne Moore) and their adolescent son Nicky (Noah Jupe).

The problem is that this concept has been married — by shotgun — to a shelved Coen brothers script called Suburbicon, populated by the usual Coen misanthropes and overwhelmed “regular folks” with poor judgment, and a proclivity for ill-advised decisions.

It’s not a good fit.

The Great Wall: Great fun!

The Great Wall (2016) • View trailer 
Four stars. Rated PG-13, for dramatic intensity and fantasy action violence
By Derrick Bang

According to report, this film cost $150 million.

Rarely will you see money spent so well. Every dollar is visible on the screen.

As a monstrous assault threatens to overwhelm the Great Wall's resident army, Lin Mae
(Jing Tian) and her most trusted warriors — from left, William Garin (Matt Damon),
Strategist Wang (Andy Lau) and an Imperial Guard soldier (Cheney Chen) — lead a
small unit in a stealth mission, hoping to out-flank the creatures.

Mayes C. Rubeo’s costumes alone probably stretched the budget to the limit. If she doesn’t win the 2017 Academy Award for costume design, there is no justice.

The Great Wall is one of the fabled “cast of thousands” sagas that we’ve not seen for decades. Director Zhang Yimou’s period adventure is a stylish, rip-snortin’ thrill ride that hits the ground running and never lets up: an exciting and thoroughly entertaining blend of Aliens and 1964’s Zulu, with the athletic grace of Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon.

It is, and well deserves to be called, a true epic. And we also don’t get those very often, these days.

Granted, the deliberate inclusion of Western actors — apparently essential, to court the all-important American market — is a bit of an eyebrow-lifter. Placing Matt Damon and Pedro Pascal in 12th century China, with little more than a token explanation of how their characters could have gotten there, is quite contrived; no surprise that this film’s six (!) credited scripters didn’t try hard to explain it.

But once beyond that hiccup, the story zips right along; Zhang paces and choreographs the complex action sequences with the authority of a master conductor. That’s no surprise, coming from the director who similarly entertained us with Hero and House of Flying Daggers, along with equally compelling “straight” dramas such as Raise the Red Lantern and The Flowers of War.

Even the establishing tableaus are breathtaking, as cinematographers Stuart Dryburth and Xiaoding Zhao traverse the expanse of John Myhre’s production design. We’ve not seen world-building on this scale since Peter Jackson’s Lord of the Rings trilogy.

That comparison is apt for another reason, since Damon’s amazing bow-and-arrow skills can’t help evoking fond memories of Orlando Bloom’s Legolas.

The story begins with a prologue of sorts, as William Garin (Damon) and his quintet of battle-scarred mercenaries attempt to outrun a much larger desert tribe. Our mercenary heroes (?) have come to Northern China in search of a fabled “black powder” that is capable of making great weapons.

They successfully escape, camping down for what they hope will be a restful night. But they’re suddenly attacked by an unseen something that quickly eviscerates all but William and Pero Tovar (Pascal). William manages to hack a limb off the beast, which then plunges to its doom down a deep canyon. But the severed claw is terrifying in its own right: huge, reptilian and unlike anything they’ve ever seen.

Jason Bourne: One helluva ride

Jason Bourne (2016) • View trailer 
4.5 stars. Rated PG-13, for intense action and violence, and brief profanity
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 7.29.16

Wow.

Director Paul Greengrass certainly hasn’t lost any of his juice. This newest installment in the Bourne franchise is relentless: It hits the ground running, never lets up for two full hours, and is bookended by a pair of spectacular action sequences.

After learning that Nicky (Julia Stiles) has obtained proof of CIA black-ops programs that
relate to his past, Bourne (Matt Damon) arranges to meet her at an Athens plaza, where
they hope to blend into a melee between rioting civilians and local police officers.
Unfortunately, this chaos does nothing to stop the efforts of pursuing CIA teams.

I wouldn’t have thought Greengrass ever could top the mano a mano melees in 2004’s Bourne Supremacy, but he has ... and then some. Jason Bourne is a taut, breathtaking experience, its giddy momentum the result of equally fine work by editor Christopher Rouse, a longtime Greengrass colleague (and Academy Award winner, for 2007’s The Bourne Ultimatum).

Greengrass and Rouse also collaborated on the timely, ripped-from-the-headlines script, which references the “safety or security?” argument at the heart of the recent spat between Apple Inc. and the FBI. The players have been altered to avoid lawsuits, but there’s no question which side of the fence our filmmakers occupy. Having navigated conspiracy-laden waters for more than a decade, Greengrass clearly doesn’t trust government agencies to have their citizens’ best interests — or privacy — at heart.

And with paranoia running rampant these days, this film definitely captures the national zeitgeist.

When last seen, Bourne (Matt Damon) had successfully back-tracked his actual identity, along with those responsible for the CIA training that transformed him into a hardened assassin. The victory was pyrrhic, as it left him without friends or a country. Convinced that the CIA would have him “erased,” he simply vanished.

Having remained off the grid for nearly a decade, Bourne has become a ragged, rootless shell, subsisting on meager earnings from underground bare-knuckle boxing matches. Damon’s grim features are weary and despondent during this introductory montage: the quiet despair of a man lacking purpose.

Then, suddenly, a blast from the past: He gets a message from former CIA colleague Nicky Parsons (Julia Stiles), who — also long on the run — has joined a hacking collective with the goal of exposing CIA dirty tricks. Her quest has borne fruit: 30 years’ worth of black ops files that include Operation Treadstone — which “created” Bourne — and something new called “Iron Hand.”

Even more damning, Nicky has uncovered additional details pertaining to Bourne’s actual identity — David Webb — along with the strong suggestion that his father, Richard (Gregg Henry), was directly involved with Treadstone. This revelation lends context to another of Bourne’s still fragmented memories: something having to do with a long-ago lunchtime meeting with his father.

The Martian: Out-of-this-world suspense

The Martian (2015) • View trailer 
Four stars. Rated PG-13, for profanity and brief nudity
By Derrick Bang

The most impressive aspect of 1995’s Apollo 13 lay in the tension that director Ron Howard generated, despite our certain awareness of the film’s outcome.

After all, history had spoken: Everybody knew that the astronauts got back safely. So, since Howard couldn’t concoct any suspense from the what, he concentrated on the how ... as in, how in the world did they survive?

Having realized that his only hope for survival involves the long-term rationing of his
supplies — along with figuring out some what of "creating" more food and water — Mark
(Matt Damon) begins a careful record of his days on Mars.

There’s something enticingly absorbing about watching engineers work a particularly difficult problem. In the realm of fiction, this is why caper thrillers and the Mission: Impossible franchise remain so popular: We love to see unworkable puzzles solved via triumphant bursts of ingenuity.

No surprise, then, that director Ridley Scott’s handling of The Martian is 141 minutes of nail-biting anxiety. Andy Weir’s 2011 novel (which has its own amazing history) is a crackerjack sci-fi thriller to begin with, and Scott and scripter Drew Goddard have pumped it up with an engaging blend of quiet agitation and gallows humor.

Best of all, this is smart science-fiction: a rigorously technical narrative that we rarely get from a Hollywood factory that equates the genre with the zap-gun antics of Star Wars and Guardians of the Galaxy (which, let’s face it, are — at best — equal parts sci-fi and fantasy). In the literary realm, Weir’s book is regarded as “hard” science of the sort written by Isaac Asimov, Larry Niven and Kim Stanley Robinson.

Such stories are harder to bring to the big screen, because they don’t grant actors many opportunities for showboating or melodramatic interpersonal dynamics. But exceptions do exist — 2009’s Moon comes to mind — and if Robert Redford and Dustin Hoffman can generate unease from plodding investigative journalism, then surely talented filmmakers can do the same with a clever sci-fi premise. Right?

Indeed. To give further credit where due, Scott has packed his film with an impressive cast, assigning strong actors to even the smallest of roles. Top marks go to star Matt Damon, who anchors most of the film with a compelling, deeply expressive, one-man performance on par with what we’ve seen from Tom Hanks (Cast Away) and Robert Redford (All Is Lost).

The story, then:

The time is an unspecified point in the near future, after NASA has successfully sent a six-person mission to Mars. The Ares 3 crew has established a good-sized working habitat within the Acidalia Planitia plain, and has spent some number of days collecting samples and conducting experiments.

The Monuments Men: An unfinished sculpture

The Monuments Men (2014) • View trailer 
Three stars. Rating: PG-13, for relatively mild war violence, and fleeting profanity
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 2.7.14

What a disappointment.

Despite the considerable charm of George Clooney and his fellow scene-stealers, this is a flat and uninvolving film.

Knowing that time is running out, Stokes (George Clooney, foreground) and Granger
(Matt Damon, right) scramble to protectively wrap artworks prior to moving them to
safety. They're assisted by, background from left, Epstein (Dimitri Leonidas), Garfield
(John Goodman) and Savitz (Bob Balaban).

The fault lies with the graceless script, which leaves the impression that we’re watching the Reader’s Digest condensed version of a much longer miniseries. This two-hour film dips only briefly into a dozen or so potentially fascinating incidents, any one of which could have been expanded into a taut, exciting narrative; as it is, we get only the “calm” bits, leaving the impression that all exciting scenes were confiscated and dumped elsewhere.

Clooney deserves the blame; aside from starring and producing, he also directed and co-wrote the script with longtime colleague Grant Heslov. They’ve done a poor job of adapting the 2010 nonfiction book by Robert M. Edsel and Bret Witter: The Monuments Men: Allied Heroes, Nazi Thieves and the Greatest Treasure Hunt in History.

Edsel also co-produced the 2006 documentary, The Rape of Europa, which covered the same territory in a vastly more satisfying manner.

Part of the problem is Clooney’s apparent desire to transplant the droll Ocean’s Eleven vibe into this grim World War II setting, while also conveying the barbaric behavior of Nazis who cheerfully practiced human and cultural genocide. It’s a bit jarring to smile at some witty banter between Bill Murray and Bob Balaban at one moment, and then, in the next, be confronted by barrels containing gold fillings extracted from the teeth of thousands of holocaust victims.

Mostly, though, I lament the utter absence of suspense. This is a fascinating, fact-based story that should have kept us at the edge of our seats. Clooney’s film, however, is a jokey affair that meanders throughout Western Europe: more travelogue than drama.

The saga begins in 1943, when Harvard art historian Frank Stokes (Clooney) briefs President Roosevelt on the pressing need for the Allies to avoid destroying European civilization, in their efforts to save it. By this, Stokes means that more care must be taken to preserve the cultural heritage of these various countries: their art and museums; their churches, cathedrals and synagogues; their architectural marvels.

As Edsel mentions, in the press notes, the Allies very nearly destroyed, entirely by accident, da Vinci’s “The Last Supper” in August 1943.

Elysium: District 10?

Elysium (2013) • View trailer 
3.5 stars. Rating: R, for profanity, gore and strong bloody violence
By Derrick Bang

Based on the evidence thus far, filmmaker Neill Blomkamp has only one story to tell.

Elysium feels much like his previous film, District 9, writ larger: another saga of oppressed “aliens” seeking a way to rebel against their cruel and privileged overlords. The setting and opposing teams have changed slightly, and Blomkamp clearly has a bigger budget this time at bat, but the key plot points are essentially the same; even the hardware and weaponry look familiar.

His impulsive plans having failed yet again, Max (Matt Damon) finds himself trapped on
a medical table, while the coldly arrogant Delacourt (Jodie Foster) orders some
purloined computer data stripped from his brain ... not at all bothered by the fact that
this process will kill him.

That said, political oppression has been a big-screen sci-fi staple going all the way back to 1927’s Metropolis, and it often produces great drama. So we can forgive Blomkamp the familiarity ... this time. (He would be wise, however, to move in a different direction henceforth.)

The South African-born filmmaker has a solid eye and ear for social strife — no surprise, given his homeland — which contributed, in great part, to the narrative power of District 9. Now embraced by the seductive lure of Hollywood, Blomkamp has turned his disapproving eye on the United States, and its dysfunctional immigration policy; the results aren’t likely to be embraced by red staters.

The year is 2154, and the entire Earth has become an environmental wasteland, ruined by industrial excess, land mismanagement, resource depletion and various other unchecked global horrors we currently practice, with no eye toward future consequences. Every country, in turn, has become part of a planetwide ghetto, the 99 percent left to scrabble and squabble among themselves.

But not entirely. Movement and behavior are monitored by android peacekeepers that employ computer-chip tracking to maintain a veritable police state bereft of basic human decency. And humor: Just as it isn’t smart, in our here and now, to crack wise when stopped by a traffic cop, it is sheer folly to act smug with one of these gun-toting “law officers.”

George Orwell’s influence weighs heavily, and his vision has come to pass: Big Brother really is watching, and doing so from a massive orbiting space station dubbed Elysium, where the very wealthy have fled in order to enjoy a life of pleasure and privilege among lush gardens and sparkling architecture. Automated med-bays can repair, reconstruct or eradicate anything, from broken bones to cancer.

Blomkamp knows his science-fiction, Elysium being a verdant cross between the domed forests of 1972’s Silent Running, and the technological wonders of Larry Niven’s Ringworld novels.

Promised Land: Rock-solid advocacy cinema

Promised Land (2012) • View trailer
Four stars. Rating: R, for profanity
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 1.9.13


Matt Damon hasn’t written many scripts since 1997’s Good Will Hunting, his Academy Award-winning debut effort with Ben Affleck. His prudence is understandable; where does one go, from up?

Hoping to undo the doubts raised by a local farmer who warns that fracking is anything
but a safe means of obtaining "clean" natural gas, Steve Butler (Matt Damon) takes
the microphone during a McKinley town meeting. Unfortunately, his usual smooth
patter will fail him a bit here, leading to a divided community ... and displeasure on the
part of Steve's corporate bosses.

Good Will Hunting was directed by Gus Van Sant; no surprise, then, that they collaborated on Damon’s next script, 2002’s little-seen (with good cause) Gerry.

Perhaps chastened by that experience, Damon put his word processor in the closet for a decade, while crafting an impressive acting career as both action hero — the Bourne series — and overall international film star.

But writers never quit; telling stories is in their blood. No doubt Damon was waiting for just the right property, and he certainly got it with Promised Land. Once again under Van Sant’s capable guidance, this captivating drama gets its juice from well-crafted characters, tart dialogue, a solid ensemble cast and a hot-button scenario ripped from real-world headlines.

Damon shares scripting duties with John Krasinski, a rising film star making good on the promise he has shown for so many years, on television’s The Office. Krasinski isn’t known as a writer — unless once includes 2009’s best-forgotten Brief Interviews with Hideous Men — but he certainly rises to the occasion here. He and Damon have deftly adapted a story by Dave Eggers, who burst on the scene a few years ago, with scripts for Away We Go and Where the Wild Things Are.

Good screenplays get their power from many elements. It’s not enough to craft piquant one-liners; they must be true to a well constructed plot. (They also must be delivered well by actors who understand how to maximize the impact of crisply timed dialogue, and that’s where we credit Van Sant.) The characters themselves must be interesting, efficiently sketched and cleverly integrated with all the other players on stage. We must care about them, either as good guys or bad guys.

Most of all, they must change — mature, regress, whatever — as a result of what happens to them.

A tall order all around.

Factor in a desire to be relevant — to indict a topic of the day — and most writers fail to juggle all those fragile eggs.

Damon and Krasinski, in welcome contrast, never err. Even casual exchanges of dialogue have consequences; watch for the payoff on a passing reference to a little girl selling lemonade outside a high school gymnasium. Goodness, it could be argued that she carries the moral weight of the entire film. That is sharp scripting.