Showing posts with label Rami Malek. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Rami Malek. Show all posts

Friday, April 11, 2025

The Amateur: Could be more professional

The Amateur (2025) • View trailer
3.5 stars (out of five). Rated PG-13, for strong action violence and some profanity
Available via: Movie theaters
By Derrick Bang • Published in The Davis Enterprise, 4.13.25

Robert Littell’s long reign as an espionage author got an early start with this 1981 novel, which jumped to the big screen that same year, as a tidy little thriller starring John Savage, Christopher Plummer and Marthe Keller.

 

Despite his best efforts, Charlie (Rami Malek) simply lacks the killer instinct required of
a good CIA field agent, as his handler, Henderson (Laurence Fishburne) points out.

Despite — or because of — its fidelity to Littell’s book, most critics pooh-poohed a plot they found laughably contrived. (Hey, I liked it anyway.)

Perhaps bearing that in mind, scripters Ken Nolan and Gary Spinelli have retained only the bare bones of Littell’s plot for this remake, while modernizing events with all sorts of computer modeling, surveillance technology and satellite spycraft that didn’t exist in the early 1980s.

 

Ironically, the result becomes just as unlikely and increasingly contrived, as the solid first act moves into the second and third. That said, director James Hawes and editor Jonathan Amos move events at a briskly enjoyable pace, and everything is anchored by Rami Malek’s richly nuanced and persuasively credible performance.

 

Charlie Heller (Malek) is a brilliant but deeply shy and introverted CIA decoder, who works in a basement office at the agency’s Langley headquarters. He has three passions in life: his work, his beloved wife Sarah (Rachel Brosnahan) and solving puzzles.

 

Sarah is his polar opposite: vivacious and outgoing ... but gently understanding and tolerant of Charlie’s preference for isolation. She therefore isn’t surprised when he declines to join her for a trip to London, to attend a conference.

 

His world collapses, upon arriving for work the next day. His Langley superiors — Moore (Holt McCallany), head of the covert Special Activities Center; and Alice O’Brien (Julianne Nicholson) CIA director — inform him that Sarah has been killed by terrorists who invaded the London conference.

 

(Even at this moment, when compassion seems called for, McCallany plays his role so aggressively, that he may as well have “Doing And Concealing Bad Stuff” tattooed on his forehead.)

 

Standing in O’Brien’s office, Charlie wilts like a stalk of old celery. Malek’s performance is shattering: the epitome of loss, grief, shock and a level of rage that has no outlet.

 

Back at his desk, as the next few days pass, Charlie employs his computer skills to identify and compile detailed dossiers of the four terrorists involved. But when he presents this information to Moore and his close colleague Caleb (Danny Sapani) — head of the CIA’s Nuclear Proliferation branch — Charlie is stunned to discover that a) they already know; and b) apparently aren’t doing anything about it.

 

Moore threatens Charlie with insubordination, if he doesn’t drop the matter.

 

Wrong move.

 

By coincidence — and thanks to a mysterious, heavily encrypted online source dubbed Inquiline — Charlie has gained possession of damning information about unsanctioned covert CIA operations. Armed with some of these documents, he blackmails Moore and Caleb into sending him to “agent training school,” so that he can travel overseas, track down the terrorists, and execute them himself (!).

 

As an added threat, Charlie promises that — if anything should happen to him, in the meanwhile — copies of said documents will be distributed to major news outlets.

 

He’s sent for a crash course in field work, under the tutelage of Henderson (Laurence Fishburne), a retired CIA colonel who coldly assesses Charlie’s lack of physical prowess. Even so, Charlie proves quite adept at some tasks — improvising tactical explosives, as one example — but utterly hopeless at even holding a gun, let alone shooting one.

 

One of Fishburne’s many fine moments concerns the latter, when Henderson challenges Charlie to point a loaded gun at him ... and, despite teeth-gritting effort, he can’t.

 

“Some people are killers,” Henderson finally says, gently. “You aren’t.”

 

Charlie eventually heads to London and then — following his own leads — Paris, where he knows how to find the first terrorist.

 

And we’re off to the races.

 

Nolan and Spinelli concoct clever — if improbably elaborate — ways for Charlie to proceed with his mission. On the other hand, he doggedly proceeds through unfamiliar locales — eventually including Marseille and Istanbul — like a seasoned tourist, which he obviously isn’t, and always is able to determine exactly where to go.

 

Setbacks abound, and it’s frankly amazing that no matter how many times Charlie is forced to abandon his equipment — and everything else — he’s always able to buy a fresh set-up, and continues to have money for lodging, meals and so forth.

 

As if the terrorists aren’t bad enough, he’s soon being followed and attacked from all sides, including the KGB (!). At one point, finally desperate, he reaches out to Inquiline ... about which, I’ll say no more.

 

The film is saved by the fact that all characters are portrayed convincingly by each member of the large ensemble cast. Malek’s delicately shaded performance contains multitudes; he’s thoroughly engaging in every scene. Charlie veers from stubborn determination to lingering grief, and Malek’s expression is particularly heartbreaking when Charlie keeps “seeing” Sarah at unexpected moments.

 

“You should go home,” he’s told, at one point.

 

“I can’t,” he replies, forlornly. “She’s not there.”

 

Henderson’s transformation from compassionate instructor to implacable pursuer is jarring — but not unexpected — and Fishburne makes the guy quite lethal. Nicholson is terrific as O’Brien, unimpressed by Moore’s glib assurances, and clearly underestimated by him. Jon Bernthal is appropriately mysterious as a field agent dubbed The Bear, who owes a debt to Charlie; Michael Stuhlbarg is chilling as Schiller, the guy who led the London terrorist attack.

 

The ubiquitous Adrian Martinez is a welcome ray of sunshine as Carlos, one of Charlie’s CIA techie colleagues, and it’s a shame his role wasn’t expanded.

 

In a droll nod to this film’s 1981 predecessor, Marthe Keller pops up briefly, as a florist.

 

Hawes and cinematographer Martin Ruhe make ample use of the many international backdrops, none more charming than the fishing community setting that dominates Charlie’s time in Marseille.

 

Although this obviously is a check-your-brains-at-the-door thrill ride, Malek and his co-stars make it more compelling than the plot deserves.


And, sometimes, that’s enough. 

Friday, July 21, 2023

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.

Friday, October 7, 2022

Amsterdam: A great place to visit

Amsterdam (2022) • View trailer
Four stars (out of five). Rated R, for violence and bloody images
Available via: Movie theaters
By Derrick Bang • Published in The Davis Enterprise, 10.7.22

“Some of what follows actually happened,” the initial title card promises.

 

And how.

 

Our heroes — from left, Burt (Christian Bale), Valerie (Margot Robbie) and Harold
(John David Woodman) — finally realize that Henry (Michael Shannon, far right) and
Paul (Mike Myers) haven't been entirely candid with them.


Writer/director David O. Russell’s audacious new film is a cheeky banquet of historical fact and fiction, served up as a comedic thriller about loyalty, love and the dogged determination to do the right thing, even in the face of overwhelming odds.

The impressive ensemble cast is highlighted by fascinating performances from leads Christian Bale (once again, almost unrecognizable), Margot Robbie and John David Washington.

 

Russell’s story hits the ground running and never lets up, its twisty plot unfolding against a slightly stylized tone that begins as mild burlesque, but soon turns increasingly, believably sinister.

 

And — let it be stated — there’s no question Russell also intends this as a strong cautionary parallel to our current times. 

 

As philosopher George Santayana famously observed, Those who do not learn history are doomed to repeat it.

 

The setting is 1933 in uptown New York, where WWI comrades Dr. Burt Berendsen (Bale) and attorney Harold Woodman (Washington) have become “fixers of last resort” for those down on their luck or low on money, and particularly for the many physically and emotionally shattered veterans who’ve been ignored by the U.S. government.

 

(Although granted so-called “bonus certificates” with a face value equal to each soldier’s promised payment with compounded interest, these scripts could not be redeemed until 1945 … which hardly helped unemployed individuals during the height of the U.S. Depression. In July 1932, President Hoover ordered the U.S. Army to clear the campsites of 43,000 desperate demonstrators who had gathered in Washington, D.C. The soldiers, along with their wives and children, were driven out, after which their shelters and belongings were burned.

 

(Sound familiar?)

 

Burt is quite the flamboyant kook, forever “inventing” restorative and pain-relieving medicines that won’t be available for decades — if ever — and cheerfully testing them on himself. His dilapidated office is filled with suffering veterans hoping to feel better — and in some severe cases look better — while Burt does everything to help cheer them up.

 

Bale’s performance is sublime, starting with the unreliable — and persuasively realistic — glass eye that constantly pops out of its socket: the result of a war injury. Burt is unkempt, unshaven, seemingly flustered and reckless … and yet possessed of acute intelligence and sharp perception.

 

Bale appears to be channeling Peter Falk’s Detective Columbo, with a superficially harmless and disarming manner that conceals razor-sharp awareness.

Friday, October 8, 2021

No Time to Die: A gilt-edged Bond

No Time to Die (2021) • View trailer
4.5 stars (out of five). Rated PG-13, for intense action violence, disturbing images and fleeting profanity
Available via: Movie theaters (where it belongs!)
By Derrick Bang • Published in The Davis Enterprise, 10.08.21

It’s bloody well about time.

 

Back in 1969, On Her Majesty’s Secret Service was jeered by critics and the public because a) George Lazenby wasn’t Sean Connery; and b) the script had the audacity to present a James Bond with genuine feelings for the woman with whom he’d fallen in love.

 

While James Bond (Daniel Craig, left) and Moneypenny (Naomie Harris) nervously
wait, Q (Ben Whishaw) struggles to crack the security on a computer network that may
reveal crucial information about the mysterious "Heracles" project.


History has validated what some of us knew all along: Lazenby held his own just fine, and those very story elements — the injection of authentic emotion — cemented its status as one of the all-time best Bonds.

Over the course of Daniel Craig’s five-film arc, his Bond has been defined by loss: the loss of Vesper, in Casino Royale, and M, in Skyfall; and the dismissal of his profession, in Spectre. He has endured along the way, battered and bruised, becoming as recognizably human as one could hope for, in such an action franchise.

 

It’s certainly no accident, mere minutes into this new epic, when Hans Zimmer’s score injects an echo of “We Have All the Time in the World,” the poignant anthem from On Her Majesty’s Secret Service. One has to smile.

 

Indeed, No Time to Die is laden with similar echoes of the past: from a title credits sequence that opens with the colored polka dots employed in the credits of Dr. No, to Vic Flick’s unmistakable heavy guitar twang — elsewhere in this film’s score — in John Barry’s classic arrangement of “The James Bond Theme.”

 

The impressively ambitious script — by Neal Purvis, Robert Wade, Phoebe Waller-Bridge and director Cary Joji Fukunaga — even works in a hitherto-untapped bit of Ian Fleming: Dr. Guntram Shatterhand’s “Garden of Death,” from the novel You Only Live Twice.

 

But that comes later. No Time to Die — a much harsher affair than most Bonds — opens on a flashback involving a terrified adolescent girl and a kabuki-masked assassin. The encounter proceeds in several surprising directions, concluding as a shuddery memory for Madeleine Swann (Léa Seydoux), emerging from the sea as an astute Bond notices her uneasy mood.

 

They’re enjoying the carefree life chosen when they walked away from Bond’s career, at the previous film’s conclusion. But despite their mutual devotion, these are two people with secrets; we know Bond’s, from previous adventures, and we’re about to discover Madeleine’s.

 

It proves … complicated.

 

But that, too, comes later. We’re first blown away by the longest pre-credits sequence in the entire series, which climaxes with an audacious car chase through the tight corners and narrow, labyrinthine streets of Matera, in Southern Italy. Although plenty more action is yet to come, this opener is the film’s most audacious, edge-of-the-seat sequence.

Friday, February 19, 2021

The Little Things: A big mistake

The Little Things (2021) • View trailer
Two stars. Rated R, for violence, disturbing images, nudity and profanity
By Derrick Bang • Published in The Davis Enterprise, 2.26.21 

You don’t often see three Oscar winners starring in the same film.

 

Too bad they’re so ill-served by this inept crime drama.

 

Looking to show off in front of visiting veteran detective Joe "Deke" Deacon (Denzel
Washington, center rear), homicide Det. Jim Baxter (Rami Malek) browbeats a junior
officer, while Det. Jamie Estrada (Natalie Morales) watches nervously.

The Little Things, exclusive to HBO Max, benefits from the participation of Denzel Washington and Rami Malek, both of whom bring far more to the table than writer/director John Lee Hancock deserves.

 

In fairness, Hancock can be a talented director. He guided Sandra Bullock to an Academy Award in 2009’s The Blind Side, and I thoroughly enjoyed how he handled Kevin Costner and Woody Harrelson, in 2019’s The Highwaymen.

 

But as a writer, he record is spotty at best; his best efforts are adaptations of existing books, as with The Blind Side and 1997’s Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil. He certainly has no flair for concocting a psychological crime thriller such as this one, which repeatedly screams for the superior touch of a seasoned mystery author.

 

As Clint Eastwood’s Harry Callahan observes, in 1973’s Magnum Force, “A man’s got to know his limitations.”

 

Hancock obviously doesn’t.

 

The year is 1990, likely to avoid the intrusion of cell phones, social media and DNA evidence. Kern County Sheriff’s Deputy Joe “Deke” Deacon (Washington) is sent down to Los Angeles, for what should be a quick evidence-gathering assignment. He runs afoul of preppy L.A. County Sheriff’s Homicide Department Sgt. Jim Baxter (Malek), whose “college boy” condescension provokes little more than an amused smile from Deke.

 

Washington delivers it with quiet élan. Actually, pretty much everything Washington does, emerges with elegance and dignity.

 

Turns out Deke has “history” with this Los Angeles department, having departed under something of a cloud. (Hancock shares these details via maddeningly sparse and fleeting flashbacks, as the film proceeds.) Deke left behind a few friends — Det. Sal Rizoli (Chris Bauer), and L.A. coroner’s assistant Flo Dunigan (Michael Hyatt) — but most other department stalwarts were happy to see the back of him.

 

Baxter heads the task force charged with tracking down a serial killer who has been doing nasty things to attractive young women. Perhaps as a passive/aggressive means of showing up the old-timer, Baxter invites Deke along to a fresh crime scene, where the newest victim has just been discovered. This ploy fails, forcing Baxter to reluctantly admire Deke’s methodical analysis and careful eye for “the little things.”

 

The two men begin an initially prickly — but soon mutually respectful — partnership.

 

Because, as it turns out, the details of this current murder spree have uncanny similarities to the equally morbid serial killer case that Deke obsessively pursued, back in the day: to the cost of his health, his marriage and his job.

 

Friday, January 17, 2020

Dolittle: Animal crackers

Dolittle (2020) • View trailer 
Three stars. Rated PG, for no particular reason

By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 1.17.20


Hollywood had a distressing habit, in the 1960s and early ’70s, of turning classic children’s books into musicals.

Having joined the unlikely crew of a ship heading for an island that never has been found,
young Tommy Stubbins (Harry Collett) is befriended by a frigophobic polar bear (named
Yoshi) and an uncharacteristically meek mountain gorilla (Chee-Chee).
This lamentable trend started with 1964’s Mary Poppins, which — by becoming that year’s third most popular film — lit the fuse on what followed. Subsequent entries, most with positively dire songs, included 1968’s Chitty Chitty Bang BangCharlie and the Chocolate Factory (as 1971’s Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory) and — I positively shudder — 1973’s Tom Sawyer.

Not to be left out, animated examples included 1966’s Winnie the Pooh and the Honey Tree, 1970’s The Phantom Tollbooth and 1973’s Charlotte’s Web.

Every one of which, without exception, destroyed the gentle tone so carefully wrought by the authors of the respective books. A few of these films may have been popular — most were just this side of awful — but many loyal young readers felt utterly betrayed, with ample justification. Hollywood didn’t “get” children’s literature any better than it understood the decade’s counter-culture revolution.

All of which brings us to 1967’s Doctor Dolittle, arguably one of the worst offenders. Rex Harrison may have been suitably refined and British in the title role — albeit much too old — but the film is a bloated, over-produced train wreck that pleased nobody, but nonetheless pulled nine Academy Award nominations (including, the mind doth boggle, Best Picture) … only because 20th Century Fox bought votes by serving fancy buffet dinners, cocktails and bottomless champagne at all pre-nomination screenings.

(The ploy succeeded, if only partially. The film won two Oscars — Special Effects and Song — the latter robbing Bacharach/David’s vastly superior “The Look of Love” from its rightful statuette.)

Harrison turned British author Hugh Lofting’s quiet bachelor veterinarian, who operates a clinic in the small village of Puddleby-on-the-Marsh, into a creaky song-and-dance man. Eddie Murphy made him a wise-cracking animal rights advocate in a 1998 comedy that borrowed little but the title and premise of Lofting’s books.

Robert Downey Jr., in turn, has turned Dolittle into a superhero.

Friday, August 24, 2018

Papillon: Doesn't fly quite as high as its predecessor

Papillon (2017) • View trailer 
3.5 stars. Rated R, for strong bloody violence, nudity, profanity, dramatic intensity and sexual content

By Derrick Bang

Prison dramas, a cinematic staple since 1932’s I Am a Fugitive from a Chain Gang, have long attracted big-name stars: Alec Guinness and William Holden (The Bridge Over the River Kwai,), Paul Newman (Cool Hand Luke), Daniel Day-Lewis (In the Name of the Father) and Steve McQueen and Dustin Hoffman (Papillon).

Although initially worried that he might be making a deal with a different sort of devil,
Louis Dega (Rami Malek, left) agrees to accept protection from Henri "Papillon"
Charrière (Charlie Hunnam), in exchange for using some of his artfully concealed cash
to help finance a potential escape attempt.
More recent examples have increasingly depicted a level of brutality that never would have been possible during Hollywood’s golden age — 2014 Unbroken comes to mind — but, at their core, the best examples have endured because of their memorable character dynamics. That’s certainly true of the McQueen/Hoffman pairing in 1973’s Papillon, which remains a classic.

Mounting a remake of that film requires considerable chutzpah, since it’s akin to taking a fresh look at, say, Citizen Kane or Casablanca.

That said, director Michael Noer’s new handling of Papillon is a worthy effort, thanks mostly to the riveting performances from — and crackling chemistry between — stars Charlie Hunnam and Rami Malek. While likely to remain in its 1973 predecessor’s shadow, Noer’s film deserves a chance to acquaint newcomers with this thoroughly gripping saga.

Aaron Guzilowski’s screenplay is adapted from the two memoirs — Papillon and Banco— written by Henri Charrière, the man who supposedly lived these events. (His nickname, “Papillon,” referred to the butterfly tattoo on his chest.) That disclaimer is more necessary today than it was in 1973, because ongoing research suggests that the events in Charrière’s books were endured by multiple individuals, and not just him alone … and that he also may not be the most reliable of narrators.

But the key details are undeniable: Charrière/Papillon was a Parisian safecracker and thief who ran afoul of an underworld gangster, and in return was framed for murder, and sentenced in 1931 to “life” in French Guiana’s notoriously harsh St-Laurent-du-Maroni prison camp: an isolated setting from which escape was “impossible.”

Since Charrière did not complete the sentence that was extended repeatedly due to his “bad behavior,” and given the existence of his two books — published in 1970 and ’73, respectively — we know immediately that “impossible” was an overstatement. Even so, the suspense derives from how things went down. The possibility that Charrière may have exaggerated details scarcely matters; Noer, Guzikowski and their two stars deliver a gripping, wincingly grim drama.