The Mandalorian and Grogu: Solid sci-fi action

The Mandalorian and Grogu (2026) • View trailer

Four stars (out of five); rated PG-13, for sci-fi action and violence

Available via: Movie theaters

By Derrick Bang • Published in The Davis Enterprise, 5.31.26 

You simply cannot ask more of a Star Wars movie.

 

The Mandalorian has been — by far — the most popular streaming series set in the Star Wars universe, and considerable credit goes to writer/director/producer Jon Favreau, who created the show and shepherded it to greatness.

 

Having tracked the notorious crime lord Janu to his opulent lair on the planet Shakari,
the Mandalorian (Pedro Pascal) and little Grogu are about to confront an unpleasantly
vicious welcome.

(It must be remembered that Favreau also kick-started the Marvel Cinematic Universe franchise, by directing 2008’s Iron Man and its 2010 sequel. He firmly establishing the winning blend of action, peril, well-played characters by top-flight actors, and — most crucially — welcome dollops of wry humor ... all of which made subsequent MCU entries far more entertaining than their DC Universe cousins.)

Given that The Mandalorian is Favreau’s baby, it’s no surprise that he serves here as director, co-producer and co-writer, the latter alongside Dave Filoni and Noah Kloor.

 

The wildly entertaining result is as carefully structured as a Shakespeare play, with a thrilling prologue followed by two lengthy acts.

 

(By way of reminding folks who may have forgotten, all Mandalorian stories are set roughly five years after Return of the Jedi, in the optimistic New Republic era, and 25 years before things go awry again in The Force Awakens.)

 

This new adventure begins as the vile Commander Barro (Hemky Madera), an escaped Imperial warlord, terrorizes the serf-like clan leaders of a distant planet by demanding larger tributes in exchange for his “protection.” Madera capably establishes Barro’s credentials as A Thoroughly Nasty Fellow, but — happily — his despicable behavior is destined for a quick end.

 

Barro doesn’t realize that he’s one of many such Imperial loyalists identified in a card deck of notorious figures held by Col. Ward (Sigourney Weaver), leader of the New Republic Adelphi Rangers, and a former pilot for the Rebel Alliance. She, in turn, has hired veteran bounty hunter Din Djarin — better known as the Mandalorian (Pedro Pascal) — to deal with the guy.

 

Mando’s arrival is timely, his battle prowess impressively versatile. As always, he’s accompanied by his tiny companion, Grogu, a mute “Force-sensitive” creature belonging to the same rare and unspecified species as Jedi Master Yoda. Their unusual father/son dynamic has long been the heart of this franchise, transforming Mando — over time — from reluctant protector to proud and devoted surrogate parent.

 

Grogu’s Force powers notwithstanding, in many ways he’s still an innocent child, prone to getting into trouble ... as when he must be stopped from randomly punching buttons on the command deck of Mando’s spaceship. That aside, everything about Grogu is adorable, from his diminutive size and the way he waddles, to his unexpectedly expressive eyes, ears and the set of his head, which speak volumes even without words.

 

The blend of puppetry and CGI is seamless, and it’s easy to believe that Grogu is as “present” as Pascal’s Mando.

Dust Bunny: Should have been left undisturbed

Dust Bunny (2025) • View trailer

2.5 stars (out of five); rated R, for considerable violence, implied gore and child endangerment

Available via: HBO MAX

By Derrick Bang

File this one under “Be careful what you wish for ... you might get it.”

 

Writer/director Bryan Fuller developed a reputation in the early 21st century for creating adorably quirky television shows such as Dead Like Me, Wonderfalls and — most particularly — Pushing Daisies. He then got more serious last decade, putting his spin on television adaptations of established properties such as Hannibal, American Gods and Star Trek: Discovery.

 

The restaurant setting may be attractively benign, but the barely veiled conversation that
flows between Aurora (Sophie Sloan, left), 5b (Mads Mikkelsen) and Laverne
(Sigourney Weaver) is anything but.

Surprisingly — after all this time — Dust Bunny is his first theatrical feature (although almost nobody noticed its fleeting big-screen appearances last December). It’s quintessentially a work of his wildly outré imagination, but his attempt to blend the whimsy of Pushing Daisies with the brutality of American Gods fails miserably, and succeeds at neither.

Frankly, the result is a mess: a failed effort to re-invent 1994’s Leon: The Professional as an absurdist fantasy.

 

The film begins late at night, as a tiny swirling dust mote grows larger by bumping into other dust chunks, gradually assembling itself into a small, rabbit-shaped dust bunny that scuttles beneath the bed of 8-year-old Aurora (Sophie Sloan). She lives in a fifth-floor New York City apartment with her parents (Line Kruse and Caspar Phillipson).

 

The dust bunny growls at a volume far beyond its tiny size, prompting Aurora to shriek in terror, waking her parents. She insists there’s a monster under her bed; they naturally don’t believe her.

 

(“Grown-ups pretend not to be afraid,” she later comments, “but they are, all the time.”)

 

Aurora clearly is an imaginative child, sharing her bed with all manner of stuffed critters, in a bedroom that production designer Jeremy Reed clearly enjoyed filling with all manner of not-quite-right accessories: dolls with the heads of animals, clocks that don’t show the time, and other mildly disorienting touches.

 

Cinematographer Nicole Hirsch Whitaker amplifies the sense of unreality with all manner of cockeyed, vertigo-inducing camera angles, some shifting in mid-scene.

 

Still frightened, Aurora climbs out her bedroom window and onto the fire escape. A fluttering firefly calls her attention to the neighbor in 5B (Mads Mikkelsen). She follows when he leaves his apartment, and — wide-eyed — watches as he kills a dragon ... actually killing the members of an armed gang in a dragon dance parade puppet.

 

The following morning, a still-terrified Aurora warns her parents to “stay off the floor.” They ignore her, and — as Aurora listens, from her bed, to the sounds on the other side of the closed door — they’re devoured. By something huge.

 

Avatar: Fire and Ash — Smoke and murk

Avatar: Fire and Ash (2025) • View trailer

2.5 stars (out of five). Rated PG-13, for action violence, bloody images, profanity and dramatic intensity

Available via: Movie theaters

By Derrick Bang • Published in The Davis Enterprise, 12.21.25

James, James, James.

 

Why give editing credits to five people — not including you, as the sixth — if you won’t let them do their jobs?

 

Neytiri (Zoe Saldaña) and Jake (Sam Worthington) realize that their sky-faring Na'vi
clan may not be enough to combat the newest assault by Earth's Resources
Development Administration forces.

Calling this film tedious, at a butt-numbing 195 minutes, isn’t sufficient. This slog also is repetitive, insufferably boring and — as we ultimately approach the climax — completely predictable.

Meaning, no dramatic tension.

 

As was the case with 2022’s second film in this ongoing series, director/co-scripter James Cameron spends far too much time on tight close-ups of slow, thoughtful takes; and half-baked lines delivered with artificially measured, melodramatic pauses and intensity.

 

Granted, the production design and SFX work continue to be jaw-droppingly amazing; this truly is a marvelous example of imaginative world-building, down to the tiniest detail of flora and fauna. 

 

The underlying environmental message also continues to be welcome, and increasingly timely. It’s impossible to watch Pandora’s massive, ocean-going tulkun — pursued and killed by rapacious Earthers, in order to harvest amrita, a substance in the creature’s brain with the medical power to halt human aging — and not think about how our own Earth’s whale population has been hunted to near-extinction.

 

Events resume where the previous film concluded, with Jake (Sam Worthington), Neytiri (Zoe Saldaña) and their family — Lo’ak (Britain Dalton), young Tuk (Trinity Jo-Li Bliss) and adopted mysterious daughter Kiri (Sigourney Weaver) — now fully embraced by the ocean-going Metkayina clan headed by Tonowari (Cliff Curtis) and his wife Ronal (Kate Winslet), the Shamanic Matriarch.

 

Lo’ak is haunted by the recent death of his older brother Neteyam (Jamie Flatters), who perished during the previous film’s climactic melee. In typical teenage fashion, Lo’ak disobeys his father’s orders, chafes at often being left behind, and also has distanced himself from Tonowari and Ronal’s daughter, Tsireya (Bailey Bass), much to her sorrow.

 

The latter is a shame, since the developing relationship between Lo’ak and Tsireya was one of the previous film’s high points.

 

The Gorge: Not quite deep enough

The Gorge (2025) • View trailer

3.25 stars (out of five). Rated PG-13, for intense action and violence, brief profanity and dramatic impact

Available via: Apple TV+

By Derrick Bang

TheWrap cheekily dubs this “The romantic sniper monster movie you’ve been waiting for,” and that’s a fair description.

 

When Levi (Miles Teller) and Drasa (Anya Taylor-Joy) finally figure out a way to meet in
person, the flickering sparks of mutual attraction become incandescent.

I’ll go a step further: For the first hour or so, while director Scott Derrickson and scripter Zach Dean keep their cards concealed, this is a highly intriguing thriller fueled by two compelling characters, played superbly by Anya Taylor Joy and Miles Teller. This movie would be a silly little trifle without them.

Unfortunately, it’s eventually necessary to Provide Answers, and this film’s second half — although a rip-snortin’ roller coaster of pell-mell action — loses its smarts. The Reason For All This leaves far too many questions, hanging chads and plot holes large enough to fill the gorge in question.

 

Many films of this nature conclude with viewers sputtering “But, but, but...!” and wondering what logically would happen next, but this one’s in a league all its own.

 

Events begin as professional assassin Drasa (Joy) — a Lithuanian frequently employed by the Kremlin for covert ops — successfully completes an assignment with a long-range sniper rifle. She carefully retrieves the single spent cartridge shell and — during a subsequent meeting with her father, Erikas (William Houston) — hands it to him by way of purging her “sorrow.” He places it into a pouch laden with scores (hundreds?) of such shells.

 

But she’s shattered to learn that he’s dying of cancer. Unwilling to succumb slowly and painfully, he announces that he’ll end his life early the following year, on Valentine’s Day. Her chagrin is complex: Aside from not wanting to lose him, how will she then exorcise her sorrows?

 

Joy and Houston play this scene masterfully. She has long been adept at finely nuanced expressions and body language, since bursting onto the scene in the 2020 miniseries, The Queen’s Gambit. A wealth of emotions come into play here, particularly during the silences between sparse dialogue.

 

Elsewhere, in the States, former U.S. Marine scout/sniper Levi Kane (Teller) has lost his psychological edge; he suffers from nightmares about previous assignments. He’s nonetheless recruited by Bartholomew (Sigourney Weaver), a high-level spook of some sort, for a highly unusual, year-long assignment.

Avatar: The Way of Water — Waterlogged

Avatar: The Way of Water (2022) • View trailer

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

Available via: Movie theaters

By Derrick Bang • Published in The Davis Enterprise, 12.23.22

Well, it happens to the best of us.

 

James Cameron has run out of ideas.

 

Realizing that their presence puts the entire Na'vi clan in peril, Jake (Sam Worthington,
far right) insists that his family — from left, Kiri (Sigourney Weaver), Neytiri (Zoe
Saldaña), Neteyam (Jamie Flatters) and Lo'ak (Britain Dalton) — must leave their
home, and move far away, to another part of Pandora.

There’s no shortage of opulent, eye-popping imagination in this long-overdue sequel to his 2009 hit; this is sci-fi/fantasy world-building on a truly monumental scale. Every frame could be extracted and admired, for the meticulous detail and all the “little bits” that you’ll likely overlook during first viewing.

That said, sitting through this semi-slog a second time, won’t ever make my to-do list.

 

Writer/director Cameron, with a scripting assist from Rick Jaffa, Amanda Silver, Josh Friedman and Shane Salerno, has basically recycled the first film’s plot, along with — thanks to cloning — the exact same primary villain: Col. Miles Quaritch (Stephen Lang). He and his elite team of kill-crazy mercenaries have been transformed into “recombinants” : artificial 9-foot-tall avatars embedded with the memories of the humans whose DNA was used to create them.

 

The character template has broadened a bit, and the setting has shifted from the forest-dwelling Omatikaya Na’vi clan to the ocean realm of the Metkayina clan. But the conflict is identical: Earth’s nasty-ass Resources Development Administration (RDA) returns in force, this time determined to colonize all of Pandora, as the new home for humanity.

 

“Earth is about to become inhabitable,” RDA’s Gen. Francis Ardmore (Edie Falco, appropriately callous) intones, “so Pandora’s natives must be … tamed.”

 

And, as if this bit of déjà vu all over again weren’t enough, Cameron’s climactic third act includes a re-tread of Titanic’s ultimate fate … except, instead of a sinking ocean liner, our heroes wind up scrambling about the shifting decks of a 400-foot-long attack vessel, as it slowly slips beneath the sea. Heck, we even get the same “climb this way … now this way” scramble involving two key characters.

 

All that said, this still could have been a reasonably engaging 150-minute film … were it not expanded into an insufferably self-indulgent 192 minutes. Cameron clearly didn’t trust his three co-editors.

 

The second act, in particular, accomplishes little beyond filling time. So many tight close-ups of slow, thoughtful takes; so many half-baked lines delivered with measured, melodramatic intensity.

 

The Good House: Reasonably well constructed

The Good House (2022) • View trailer

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

Available via: Movie theaters

By Derrick Bang

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

 

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

 

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

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

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

Until she isn’t.

My Salinger Year: Book it!

My Salinger Year (2020) • View trailer

3.5 stars. Rated R, for profanity and sexual candor

By Derrick Bang • Published in The Davis Enterprise, 5.7.21

This is a valentine to writers.

 

Director/scripter Philippe Falardeau’s gentle drama — adapted from Joanna Rakoff’s 2014 memoir, and available via Amazon Prime — is as delightful as her book. Imagine a less acerbic take on The Devil Wears Prada, set instead in New York’s mid-1990s literary world, and boasting a truly droll (mostly) off-camera supporting character.

 

Finding it increasingly difficult not to empathize with so many of the adoring fans who
write passionate letters to J.D. Salinger, Joanna (Margaret Qualley) grieves over
the way this correspondence is treated by the author's literary agency.

The charm of Rakoff’s memoir derives from her witty, often self-deprecating glimpse back at her impulsive, fresh-faced younger self. Falardeau maintains this authorial presence by granting star Margaret Qualley (as Joanna) plenty of narration: both off-camera voice-over and, rather cheekily, with occasional break-the-fourth-wall glances at us viewers. Cinematographer Sara Mishara frames her in a lot of tight close-ups.

 

In most cases, so much narration would become a tiresome gimmick, but not here: Qualley is so endearing, so wide-eyed and ingenuous, that we can’t spend enough time with her.

 

The story begins as Joanna impulsively abandons UC Berkeley’s graduate school, without a formal farewell to her musician boyfriend (Hamza Haq, as Karl), and moves to Manhattan with dreams of becoming a poet (having placed two pieces in the Paris Review). Lacking a job or place to live, she moves in with tolerant best friend Jenny (Seána Kerslake).

 

Joanna makes the rounds, and eventually sits across from Margaret (Sigourney Weaver), who heads her own modest literary agency. It’s a stubborn remnant of the mid-century publishing world, with plush, wood-paneled offices occupied by professionally dressed staffers who still rely on typewriters and Dictaphones, and where agents doze after three-martini lunches.

 

Margaret, needing an assistant, is impressed by Joanna’s enthusiasm. “Be prepared for long hours,” Margaret archly warns. “A lot of college graduates would love this job.”

 

The work load does prove grueling, particularly when Joanna — wholly unfamiliar with Dictaphones — initially can’t transcribe more than two or three words at a time. (I’ve been there; I recall how gawdawful that process was.) But while Margaret is stoic and old-fashioned, her work-related demands aren’t unreasonable; she’s far from the savage martinet Meryl Streep made Miranda Priestly, in The Devil Wears Prada.

 

The “surprise” lands when it turns out that Margaret has long represented J.D. Salinger, whom she — and everybody else in the office — refers to as Jerry. Joanna is tasked with processing his voluminous fan mail, all of which must be answered via decades-old form letters. 

 

All the fan mail then is shredded: which is to say, Salinger never sees it. As he wishes.

 

Margaret therefore is less the reclusive Salinger’s literary agent — he hasn’t published anything since a short story in 1965 (!) — and more his protector. “Never, ever give out his address,” she cautions.

 

A Monster Calls: An enchanting fable

A Monster Calls (2016) • View trailer 
Four stars. Rated PG-13, for dramatic intensity and scary images
By Derrick Bang

Some children’s books — even incredibly popular ones — are structured in a way that resists big-screen adaptation.

As Conor (Lewis MacDougall) grows more concerned about his mother's increasingly
frail condition, the visits from a parable-spinning monster become more serious,
intense ... and dangerous.

(Consider, as one of the most famous examples, how much time has passed since Madeleine L’Engle’s A Wrinkle in Time debuted back in 1963. We finally have an adaptation scheduled for release in the spring of 2018.)

A Monster Calls was published in 2011; the illustrated children’s novel — story by Patrick Ness, art by Jim Kay — went on to win Britain’s prestigious Carnegie and Greenaway medals. It’s a poignant, deeply thoughtful and at times elliptical fantasy about a boy working his way through extreme grief; as such, it’s also an instructive and extremely clever parable for readers seeking similar solace.

The book has a sobering back-story, having been conceived by British author Siobhan Dowd during her unsuccessful battle against breast cancer. She died before being able to write it; her editor passed Dowd’s notes along to Ness.

It’s a sensitive and delicate tale, enhanced in great part by Kay’s often ragged — but always beautiful — black-and-white illustrations. The mere attempt to bring such a story to the big screen is audacious; that director J.A. Bayona has done such an exemplary job, with Ness adapting his own book, is nothing short of remarkable.

We meet 13-year-old Conor O’Malley (Lewis MacDougall, in a sublime starring debut) as he wakens from what obviously has become a recurring dream: one in which the landscape surrounding his home is rent asunder, and he’s unable to save his terrified mother (Felicity Jones) from falling into a bottomless pit. Conor always wakens just as he loses his grip on her clutching hand.

As a typical day then begins, we note unusual independence: Conor makes his own breakfast, which he eats alone; he runs a load of wash and dresses for school. In the background, at one point, we hear a feeble, deeply congested cough. The inference is easy.

School, sadly, is its own waking nightmare. Although isolated at the rear of his various classrooms — teachers giving him a wide berth, making allowances for his solemn failure to participate — Conor nonetheless is an ongoing target of the sadistically cruel school bully, Harry (James Melville, impressively nasty). Then it’s back home, where his mother, wan but feigning cheer, is up and about. They share a movie, but she’s unable to stay awake to the conclusion.

Chappie: Too many nuts, not enough bolts

Chappie (2015) • View trailer 
Three stars. Rated R, for violence, gore and constant profanity
By Derrick Bang

The best part about Chappie is the title character: not the robot per se, but the marvelous motion-control “performance” given by Sharlto Copley, which was built into a CGI character by the film’s video effects wizards.

Once Chappie falls in with rather evil companions, his "maker" Deon (Dev Patel) tries to
share some important moral imperatives ... such as Thou Shalt Not Kill. But while this
suddenly sentient robot understands the notion of conscience, his "monkey see, monkey do"
tendencies often yield less than ideal results.

We never see Copley on screen, of course, and there’s certainly no way that he could be concealed within this robot’s streamlined mechanical form ... but the actor grants this character a personality, awareness and sense of presence that evoke the similarly brilliant manner in which Andy Serkis brought Gollum to life, in Peter Jackson’s Lord of the Rings and Hobbit films.

I only wish that director Neill Blomkamp’s film were the equal of its star.

The South African-born Blomkamp burst on the cinematic scene with 2009’s stunning District 9, a thoughtful sci-fi parable that explored racism, class divides and political skullduggery, while simultaneously building to a rip-roaring climax: a neat trick in all respects.

But Blomkamp has recycled many of the same story elements in subsequent projects, to diminishing returns. Its much bigger budget notwithstanding, 2013’s Elysium played the same narrative card: the violent efforts of an oppressed underclass to rebel against a harsh and long-established social order, with the catalyst being a lone individual who undergoes a spiritual and even physical transformation.

And here we are at Chappie, Blomkamp’s third sci-fi epic, and — as in District 9 — our central character once again is an innocent forced to adapt to horrific circumstances, while unwittingly becoming the face of social upheaval.

This time, though, Blomkamp and co-scripter Terri Tatchell have compounded the sense of déjà vu by borrowing heavily from previous cinema sci-fi. The result too frequently feels like a clumsy blend of Robocop (the 1987 original) and Australian director George Miller’s savage, post-apocalyptic Mad Max series, stitched together like Frankenstein’s monster.

Along with elements that have become Blomkamp clichés after only three films, most particularly the testosterone-enraged, alpha-male villain who comes after our hero with bigger, badder hardware: David James’ Koobus, in District 9; Copley’s Kruger, in Elysium; and now Hugh Jackman’s Vincent Moore, in Chappie. They’re all the same character: unhinged psychopathic thugs. Been there, grimaced at that.

Paul: Sci-fi nerd delight

Paul (2011) • View trailer for Paul
3.5 stars (out of five). Rating: R, for profanity, occasional rude humor and brief drug use
By Derrick Bang


Genre geeks who flocked to 1999’s Galaxy Quest will get an equal kick out of Paul, and for many of the same reasons; this new comedy sends up the whole sci-fi nerd universe with equal mischief.

On top of which, we know we’re in for a good time when the British writing/acting team of Simon Pegg and Nick Frost uncorks a fresh endeavor. And if this new effort isn’t quite as sharp as Shaun of the Dead or Hot Fuzz, it’s still an amusing romp with enough satiric zingers — and affectionate pokes at sci-fi fandom — to satisfy its target audience.

Graeme (Simon Pegg, far left) and Clive (Nick Frost) have plenty to worry
about, once their extraterrestrial new friend takes the wheel of their RV, in
order to escape pursuit. Matters are further complicated by the fact that they've
sorta-kinda kidnapped Ruth (Kristen Wiig), a devout Christian whose close
encounter with this alien visitor proves, ah, life-changing.

Pegg and Frost star as Graeme Willy and Clive Gollings, two British genre geeks who’ve taken the vacation of their dreams in the United States, by starting at San Diego’s annual Comic-Con and then touring UFO-themed “hot spots” in the American heartland — Area 51, the “black mailbox” — in a rented RV.

They also possess a smattering of their own geek cred: Clive has written a sci-fi novel, Jelva, Alien Queen of the Varvak, which Graeme has illustrated. Most infamously, the book’s cover sports a sexy drawing of a green-skinned alien babe with three breasts ... an anatomical curiosity that prompts commentary from everybody who sees it.

Granted, it’s not hard to send up the whole Comic-Con experience, but Pegg and Frost nonetheless have a good time during the montage prologue that opens this film; they cover everything from the crazed costumes to the outrageously overpriced genre paraphernalia. Clive has his eye on an awe-inspiring, bushido-style sword, but he can’t surmount the four-figure price tag; naturally, the poor guy leaves the booth muttering dire imprecations in flawless Klingon.

The boys also queue up in order to get a signature from their idol, renowned sci-fi author Adam Shadowchild (Jeffrey Tambor, appropriately condescending). The hilarious running gag here is Shadowchild’s list of credits; later, on several occasions, as Graeme and Clive are forced to explain who the author is, they rattle off increasingly wacky lists of the guy’s published books.

Once on the road, our heroes turn camera-crazy at each significant UFO tourist site ... and, before long, wind up with a most unusual hitchhiker. That would be Paul, a bona-fide extra-terrestrial on the lam from “The Big Guy” back at Area 51, who wants to remove his brain in order to study some of this alien’s more, ah, unusual talents.

Paul has been a “guest” of the U.S. government since the 1940s, when he had a spaceship mishap. Ever since, he has been something of an informational and psychological resource for shadowy federal agents. This story’s central conceit is that Paul — a not entirely random name given this unusual visitor — has been responsible for helping our government “shape” the American perception of life on other worlds. Paul’s input has even influenced several generations of sci-fi writers and filmmakers; you’ll quickly recognize the voice of the famous director who, in a brief flashback, is heard seeking advice on a project.

And, needless to say, Paul’s “office” is amid the stacked contents of a huge warehouse that looks every inch like the final shot from Raiders of the Lost Ark.

Cedar Rapids: Droll undercurrents

Cedar Rapids (2011) • View trailer for Cedar Rapids
Four stars (out of five). Rating: R, for profanity, crude humor, sexual content and drug use
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 3.18.11


Mark Twain’s innocents abroad never had it this rough.

Tim Lippe is a small-town guy through and through: an unsullied soul who seems quite content to remain within the sheltering boundaries of tiny Brown Valley, Wis. He sells peace of mind as an agent for locally based BrownStar Insurance, and he’s good at it; people trust his utterly sincere face — which is genuine, not a calculated façade — and acknowledge the wisdom of dealing with somebody who resides no more than a few blocks away.

Although Joan (Anne Heche) insists that Tim (Ed Helms, center right) shouldn't
have any trouble with an indoor climbing competition, our hero is far from
convinced. And once he's 20 feet off the ground, he'll naturally do the opposite
when some helpful soul warns him not to look down...

Tim lives alone in the house where he grew up, and seems content to do so. In the manner of an honest, guileless individual who lacks cynicism and fancies himself a moral clean spirit, he doesn’t miss what he can’t imagine. Whatever the greater world holds, somewhere Out There, he genuinely couldn’t care less. This isn’t a guy who lives vicariously through his Netflix subscription; he probably peruses nothing more progressive than Readers Digest.

But then ... disaster.

When a BrownStar colleague dies suddenly under eyebrow-raising circumstances — the details of which Tim refuses to contemplate — our sheltered adult waif is ordered to take the guy’s place at the industry’s annual ASMI convention in the free-wheeling, hothouse atmosphere of ... wait for it ...

Cedar Rapids, Iowa.

Instant panic attack.

Indie director Miguel Arteta’s Cedar Rapids starts slowly, almost somnambulantly, but gradually builds its way into the sort of hilarious, full-out raunchy comedy that the Farrelly brothers wish they could make, but haven’t near the talent — or artistic sensibilities — to pull off. But while Arteta deserves the credit for tone and pacing, and for encouraging precisely modulated performances from his talented ensemble cast, the true hero of the moment is screenwriter Phil Johnston.

You’d never know it from Johnston’s few credits: a couple of shorts and a forgettable made-for-TV sci-fi comedy. But he must’ve been shopping the script for Cedar Rapids around, because he made Variety’s 2009 list of “10 screenwriters to watch,” an accolade he clearly deserves. Cedar Rapids makes excellent use of a successful comedy’s essential ingredients: a simple yet captivating premise, well drawn characters, funny but wholly credible plot hiccups, and — most important — a solid moral center that allows us to root for the protagonist.

Not to mention a pitch-perfect performance from star Ed Helms, cast as poor, beleaguered Tim. The long-time veteran of TV’s The Office got his big screen break with 2009’s The Hangover, and knew just what to do with it. His work here in Cedar Rapids merely illustrates the obvious: Helms knows how to carry a starring role.

And it’s not an easy part. Too much clowning, too much infantile behavior, and Tim would devolve into the sort of man-child caricature that Will Ferrell has turned into such a tiresome cliché. Alternatively, too much aggressive compensation — too large a dose of the inner wild child encouraged to escape during this life-changing ASMI weekend — and Tim would cease to be sympathetic.

Avatar: Myth-making

Avatar (2009) • View trailer for Avatar
Four stars (out of five). Rating: PG-13, for violence, sensuality, brief profanity and dramatic intensity
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 12.18.09
Buy DVD: Avatar • Buy Blu-Ray: Avatar (Three-Disc Extended Collector's Edition + BD-Live) [Blu-ray]



This is cinematic world-building on an epic, jaw-dropping scale.

Berkeley Breathed, late of Bloom County and Opus, delivered an entertaining rant in the Nov. 19 Los Angeles Times, and complained about the rampant complacence of the modern movie viewer. Computer-enhanced graphics make the fantastic far too ordinary, he argued; movie patrons have seen it all before, and yawn at what should astound them.

I can think back to seminal moments in filmmaking history: the ones that generated a sense of wonder that only a well-crafted science-fiction film can deliver. For example, we've no concept — at this great remove — of how viewers went absolutely nuts over Walt Disney's 1954 adaptation of Jules Verne's 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea. Movie audiences simply hadn't been taken to the ocean depths before, and folks were utterly knocked out.

Thanks to the data gathered by Jake (Sam Worthington, left) while in his avatar
form, Grace (Sigourney Weaver, foreground) and Norm (Joel David Moore)
learn more about the fascinating symbiosis between this planet's indigenous
people and every plant and animal in their environment. Trudy (Michelle
Rodriguez, background), a tough-talking gunship pilot who has come to respect
this scientific work, waits for instructions about their next mission.

I was around, however, for the similar thrill afforded by the opening of 1977's Star Wars, as Princess Leia's consular ship was pursued by the massive Imperial star destroyer: so huge it seemed to emanate from the space behind us in the theater. The deep-space thrills only got better, building to the vertigo-inducing climax when Luke Skywalker made his strafing run on the Death Star.

Many years passed before another movie delivered a similar eye-popping jolt, when 1993's Jurassic Park had me half-convinced that Steven Spielberg and Michael Crichton had found a scientist who really did grow dinosaurs with cloning techniques.

And now, with Avatar, writer/director James Cameron's crew has taken us to another whole planet, with its own extremely complicated eco-system. The breathtaking attention to detail covers everything from topography to the nighttime sky, from the tiniest insect to the most massive lumbering predator, from huge trees to the yielding moss that glows green when trod upon.

Some of this newness and strangeness, due to narrative necessity, is highlighted and commented upon. Most of it, however, is just there: alternately dazzling or simply different things to see and hear, which quietly contribute both to the otherworldliness of this environment, and the notion that we are, indeed, no longer in Kansas.

Enormous care has been taken, while creating an entire interconnected ecosystem.

Very, very impressive.