Movie Nation

“Painless” is a thoughtful, lightly-affecting drama about a lonely man’s search for feeling in a life without pain. It has an affecting gimmick, but lives on its engaging performances, good actors playing lived-in, flawed and realistic characters.

It’s a breakthrough film from writer-director Jordan Horowitz, a sensitive, spare story told mostly in elegant, simple strokes.

Henry is introduced in the opening credits, snippets of home movies that capture an accident-prone, awkward childhood characterized by a lack of crying. His mother knew before the doctors did. Henry can’t feel pain.

The adult Henry, played by Joey Klein of TV’s “This Life,” has been obsessed with his condition since he was diagnosed. He drops ice cubes into coffee, and into home delivered Chinese noodles. When you can tell something is too hot, you can’t take chances.

He doesn’t make eye contact, bundles up against weather when he cannot tell if the cold will weaken him or the sun might burn him.

Henry is now a scientist and a loner, testing away with his chemicals and his lab rats in a loft he’s turned into a laboratory/apartment in Red Bank, Brooklyn.  He’s always bursting in on his specialist, Dr. Parks (Kip Gilman), demanding this or suggesting that.

“I need TREBAINE!” “I need STEM CELLS!”

And he narrates this lonely life, the way characters do in movies whose filmmakers cannot give up their Voice Over Training Wheels.

“Aristotle said, “You cannot learn without pain..,Every once in a while, nature makes a mistake.”

But Henry HAS learned — to support his research by synthesizing pain drugs for a low-level drug dealer (Tommie Sox). And he’s learned to see pain in others, the “tells,” signs of other people’s aches, the obvious winces and more subtle give-aways.

Everybody has them and the guy who cannot feel them sees them all around him, even in the pretty redhead (Evalena Marie) who spills hot coffee on him on the subway.

Eddie the drug dealer would like to expand operations. Shani the redheaded waitress might want to get to know him. Dr. Parks would love for him to visit a clinic which treats kids who face some of the same medical problems Henry does, out of support and concern.

“I don’t have time for distractions,” is what he tells them all. Even Dr. Andrews (Pascal Yen-Pfister), a researcher who would love Henry’s help in a study that will take the inevitable shortcuts that might lead to a breakthrough, gets that brush-off.

“Painless” is thus set up as a battle for Henry’s soul, conscience and future, a man trapped inside himself, insulated from the world, who might have to poke his head through the bubble to develop empathy, affection, to realize “life’s too short” and maybe living it would be more productive than manically striving for a cure.

Will he open up to Shani, whose attraction has more to do with curiosity than pity? Will he stick to the rigid regimen of The Scientific Method or gamble on his own theories about instant cures?

Klein makes Henry just charismatic enough to warrant Shani’s attention, just clueless enough to not “get” why she only uses marginally effective “organic” bug repellents in her swath of the Red Hook Community Greenhouse. He’d just zap the plants with pesticides.

“That’s the point of science. Find the flaws in nature and fix them.”

Yen-Pfister’s Dr. Andrews is like every French-accented “scientist” since “Raiders of the Lost Ark” — ambitious, egotistical, an ethically shady risk-taker who doesn’t play by the rules.

“I can give you what you want, Henry.” “Oh yeah? What’s that?”

“Pain.”

Horowitz gives his debut feature the foreboding of horror, or at least melodrama. But he keeps everything close to the vest, not giving away the picture’s secrets too easily, not giving in to cant situations and plot twists.

The voice-over gets old, and he’ll look back on this one someday and see it for the anti-cinematic crutch it is. But arch as that device is, Henry and “Painless” pull us in, creates suspense in Henry’s pursuit of a cure and let us feel his pain when he opens himself up to another heart for the first time in his closed-off life.

MPAA Rating: unrated

Cast: Joey Klein, Evalena Marie, Kip Gilman

Credits:Written and directed by  Jordan Horowitz. An Indican release.

Running time: 1:21

Space is lived-in, worn, not polished and pristine in “Prospect” — more “Outland” and “Alien” and “The Martian” than the Apple Store design showpieces in shades of white that are Hollywood’s preferred way of transporting humans through the void.

And the work? Looking for buried treasure, of a sorts, has always drawn and always will draw the more ruthless and desperate among us.

A fine vehicle for Pedro Pascal and Sophie Thatcher, “Prospect” goes into limited release Nov. 2.

I just reviewed this movie on Netflix, right? “Nightworld” it was called — ex cop takes job as night watchman in a haunted apartment building.

Oh, right. In “The Super” the guy (Patrick John Flueger) is…a SUPER.

The frights appear to be more plentiful, the threats (including Val Kilmer, great to see him working again) more palpable.

“The Super” finally sees the light of day Oct. 18.“The Super” finally sees the light of day Oct. 18.

Yes, there were black people in Nazi Germany. So “Where Hands Touch” is a World War II drama on solid ground, historically.

And the film does not trivialize or otherwise dilute The Holocaust in remembering that along with six million Jews, hundreds of thousands of Romani (Gypsies), Slavs and Afro-Germans and “Mischling” (mixed blood) and members of other ethnic minorities were rounded up and herded into camps to “purify” the Master Race.

But get past the “You learn something every day” aspect of writer-director Amma Asante’s follow-up to “Belle” and “A United Kingdom,” and the picture grates and annoys and falls to pieces, and not quietly.

It’s so wrong. And there’s so much of it.

Amandla Stenberg (“Everything, Everything”) plays another dewy-eyed romantic as Leyna, one of Germany’s so-called “Rhineland Bastards,” born to a German mother (Abbie Cornish) and an Afro-French father she never knew, part of the occupation force in the contested Rhineland in the years after World War I.

She is forever talking about how “German” she is, how proud of that. But Germany, even in the middle of a war, doesn’t want her or millions of its other citizens.

Her mother’s solution? Hide in plain sight. Move from the Rhineland to Berlin. Send her to school, where she’s held up by racist teachers as a national embarrassment.

Leyna is 16 in the spring of 1944, and as much as she and her mother want her to “be like everyone else,” she isn’t. And the endless demands for “Your PAPERS” should warn her and her mother about keeping a low profile.

The Russians are pushing towards Der Vaterland from the East and the other Allies are about to mount D-Day in the West. But those officious Germans have their priorities. Berlin’s last Jews are being rounded up. Leyna sees a friendly baker boy murdered, right in front of her.

Lutz (George MacKay of “Captain Fantastic”) is a loyal member of the Hitler Youth eager to do his part in the military, “to fight, to stand up for Germany like my father did.”  His officer/father (one-time Doctor Who Christopher Eccleston) isn’t having it.

Eccleston gets a nice World War I veteran’s speech about learning the futility of war, and how Lutz’s main task in this war is to make sure he survives it. Father knows best.

But then Lutz sees Leyna, standing out in the crowd. And all of Dad’s Billie Holiday records flash before his eyes. He is smitten and all bets on “surviving the war” are off as they begin a forbidden romance, not unlike the one Leyna’s mother embraced 16 years earlier.

Leyna may hear that she’s “the best of everything,” being of mixed race. That’s not what her culture and her country tell her. And even though there’s little sign of the war — intact factories and neighborhoods (Isle of Man locations), spotless newish clothes, no war wounded walking the streets — the clock is ticking on her life and liberty, such as they are. If only she and her mother could read the obvious clues.

Assante aimed to strike another blow for love that crosses artificial barriers here. But turning Lutz into a romantic Nazi is a stretch. Suggesting his widowed father values him above all else is muddled, too. And Stenberg’s girl’s-first-crush take on Leyna is shockingly myopic, romance novel mush, and utterly tone-deaf.

The couple’s every scene together makes eyes roll as they tapdance around the biggest issues to talk about jazz and follow their hormones. Yeah, teens are like this, no matter what is going on around them (Read “The Diary of Anne Frank”). But Assante’s antiseptic, romanticized view of war through the lens of love doesn’t work as drama or romance.

The accents are Community Theater-“Sound of Music” amateurish, the dialogue varying shades of drivel.

Stenberg is wise to seek films that take her away from these objectified, moony romances where boys pine for her on first sight. The films are insipid and some of that falls on her callow, gooey way of playing these innocent objects of desire. The upcoming “The Hate You Give” is her big chance to escape this genre.

But the adult in the room, Assante, takes the big hit here. She can put Lenya in peril and stick her in a concentration camp as the film goes on and on, struggling to gain gravitas. The longer it lasts, the more insipid “Where Hands Touch” gets.

MPAA Rating: PG-13 for thematic elements, violence/disturbing images, sexuality and language

Cast: Amandla Stenberg, George MacKay, Abbie Cornish, Christopher Eccleston

Credits: Written and directed by Amma Assante. A Vertical release.

Running time: 2:02

Some myths die harder than others.

But the self-sustaining hype of horror mogul Eli Roth was never much more than smoke and torture porn mirrors. Removed from that hype and outside of his narrow genre, as “Death Wish” made clear and “The House with a Clock in Its Walls” emphatically underlines, Eli Roth is mendacious mediocrity in movie director form.

A stillborn kiddie fright-fest that sucks the through the residual goodwill of Jack Black and Oscar winner Cate Blanchett in about 30 increasingly airless minutes, Roth’s adaptation of  John Bellairs novel (script by that titan of cinematic letters, Eric Kripke) is an essay in “I don’t know how to make this work.”

It’s deathly slow, deadly-dull and makes one long for the days when it looked like he was shifting, full-time, into producing. As a director, Roth is Brett Ratner without #MeToo problems. And Brett Ratner, at least, knows that comedies and comic thrillers have to have pace.

In 1955, ten year-old Lewis (Owen Vacarro of “Daddy’s Home”) is packed off to New Zebedee, Michigan with a set of bow-ties, a pair of Captain Midnight goggles, two silver dollars and a bus ticket. His uncle Jonathan (Jack Black) has brought him there after the death of the kid’s parents.

And Lewis, in mourning still, trying to communicate with his mom (Jonathan’s sister) and dad through his Magic 8-Ball, doesn’t know what he’s in for.

Jonathan picks him up in colorfully bizarre attire.

“Is that a robe?”

“It’s a KIMONO.”

The house is this Queen Anne revival relic that the local kids call “The Slaughter House.” And everything about it is weird, from the self-playing organ and animated stained glass windows to the whimpering, puppy of a chair and the sphinx topiary that’s always pooping in the garden.

“Use the LITTER box!”

Jonathan’s neighbor Florence (Blanchett) is, like him, strange. Turns out he’s a warlock and she’s a witch. And their lovably-testy banter (“Tired old hag!”) promises a movie with the American whimsy and democratic meritocracy that the insufferable “Chosen One” Harry Potter movies lacked.

Lewis will learn the dark arts and earn his way into the profession, picking up life lessons about when to use magic and when not, the morality of unfair advantages and how it can help you realize who your true friends are.

Alas, no.

Roth and his screenwriter make an utter hash of things, leaning almost entirely on special effects and overly baroque production design for entertainment value. There’s a lot of gawking at this monstrous Jack’O Lantern or that galaxy contained in a reflecting pool, glimpses of this critter and lessons on that spell.

Just like the worst of the Potter pictures.

The sweet spot here would have parked this somewhere between “Goosebumps” and “Goonies,” with Roth providing genuine frights for the little dears. He never finds that sweet spot.

The driving force of the story, that there’s this evil wizard’s clock hidden inside the walls, is never more than an afterthought. Kyle MacLachlan, playing that dead-spell-tosser in flashbacks and in moments of post-necromancy menace, has nothing funny or threatening to do.

The odd laugh interrupts the tedium, a classmate running for class president (Sunny Suljic of “The Killing of a Sacred Deer’) warning Lewis about the ax murder potential in that uncle — “I’m just trying to help us both out. You can’t VOTE for me if you done have arms.”

Roth gives himself a cameo as Captain Midnight. Perhaps acting’s where his real interest lies. Or he could have skipped that and concentrated on making the colorless kid a little more interesting and animated.

One hears from actors and filmmakers how little they watch movies outside of the ones they’re working on. And this tone-deaf blunder makes one wish Roth had watched Black’s scary and comical “Goosebumps” turn.

Perhaps Black should have watched that himself. He turned down the “Goosebumps” sequel for the chance to spar with Blanchett (not really) and tilt at the windmill that is Eli Roth and finds his comedy stylings frittered away into the ether instead of finding grounded laughs here.

In this case, the windmill simply unhorses the funnyman, and in the least funny way imaginable. And the windmill could have used a stiff breeze, or at least the breath of life.

MPAA Rating: PG for thematic elements including sorcery, some action, scary images, rude humor and language

Cast: Cate Blanchett, Jack Black,Owen Vaccaro, Kyle MacLachlan, Colleen Camp

Credits:Directed by Eli Roth, script by  Eric Kripke, based on the John Bellairs novel. A Universal/Dreamworks release.

Running time: 1:44

If nothing else, kudos are due to the creators of “Nightworld” for casting Jason London and Robert Englund in the leads.

If only Michael York had been available.

It’s a moody, nightmarish story of night watchman work in a mysterious building in Sofia, Bulgaria. There are hints of a “Twilight Zone” of long ago, of Mummy movies and tales of gateways, portals and what not.

All it lacks are frights.

London, best known for “Dazed and Confused” at the beginning of his career 25 years ago, plays Brett, a retired-youngish LA cop mourning his late wife and the life they shared in Varna. Bloody visions of his wife Ana (Diana Lyubenova) haunt his dreams.

A pal has just the thing for that — a night watchman job in Sofia. The ornate Zaharian Building has four apartments on three floors, a troubled history, mysterious, unknown owners, unseen tenants and seriously squirrelly managers (Gianni Capaldi, Nikolay Valentinov Lukanov) who give him cryptic “cloak and dagger” instructions about the work.

The job is mainly in the basement. Check the CCTV monitors, be sure this gigantic, ornate and oddly decorated door does not open. See “anything unusual,” call it in.

“When was the last time something came up?”

“Never.”

It takes 30 minutes of screen time for that to change. That gives Brett time to puzzle over the job and take up with the cute coed barista (Lorina Kamburova). A retiree and a coed — how Eastern European.

Brett’s nightmares continue once he’s moved into the Zaharian — go figure. Now they’re gory mid-intercourse hallucinations, visions of long-dead twins and the like.

Then the cameras catch motion in the vast underground vault everyone calls “The Hangar.”

“I never go in there?”

“Never.”

The expert on-call comes running. But Jacob (Englund, of Freddy Krueger fame) is blind, and has to interpret the tape by description. Not to worry, he knows his business.

“We are running out of time. I think it has started.”

“It?” Really?

The mystery isn’t enough to hang this picture on, and unraveling it with a few dope-slap special effects doesn’t improve the scary movie-going experience.

We know Brett, and maybe Jacob and Zara and others, will have to go where no one ever is allowed to go, and we have a pretty good idea of what we’re going to see when we do.

Englund’s an old pro, but never developed range, and sadder still, neither did London. Flat performances lower the stakes and rob the picture of any sense of impending doom.

Covering such well-worn horror territory requires novel touches, fresh sources of fear, committed-to-the-terror performances, but above all a dread that “Nightworld” never manages.

MPAA Rating: TV-MA

Cast: Jason London, Robert Englund, Lorina Kamburova, Gianni Capaldi,  Diana Lyubenova

Credits:Directed by Patricio Valladares , script by Barry Keating, Milan Konjevic and Dimitar Hristov. A Gravitas Ventures release.

Running time:1:31

Brie Larson has the title role, one small step for Marvel to get some of that “Wonder Woman” buzz, crossover appeal, etc. etc.

“Captain Marvel” is a March release, opening in that “Black Panther” (broadly speaking) window. Directors of modest repute, zero big budget experience.

I guess I’m the only one who finds Brie Larson’s taking on this after that crap ape movie (and “The Glass Castle” and “Unicorn Store”) something of a post-Oscar “Let’s get paid” letdown.

One of the great sea changes in American culture over the past 60 years has been in attitudes toward and treatment of the mentally disabled.

From the gradual abandonment of “labeling” via outmoded IQ tests and “warehousing” people we used to call “feeble minded” to mainstreaming into schools, daily life, from the Special Olympics and the world-altering Americans with Disabilities Act, it’s a Civil Rights revolution that’s happened almost under the culture’s radar.

“Intelligent Lives” celebrates the fruits of this change in the more enlightened corners of America. The film introduces us to a special needs artist in Boston with dreams of art school and college, a Rhode Island woman of Haitian descent being prepared for a more independent life that includes her first real job in a hair salon and a graduate of InclusiveU at Syracuse University who has become an advocate for the disabled.

Oscar winner Chris Cooper (“The Orchid Thief”) talks with great passion about his son, Jesse, born with cerebral palsy that left him mute, suffering from quadriplegia.

“The neurologist told us, in front of our son, that he would never be intellectually normal and that we should think of having another child.”

The Coopers became tireless advocates for including the disabled in general education, dedicating increased resources that would grant access to computers (allowing Jesse to communicate, became an A student and a poet) and far wider horizons for kids like Jesse.

Cooper introduces the film and quickly transitions to an attack on the century-old practice of IQ testing, “misguided and false measurements of worth.”

When the outdated Stanford Binet IQ test was built on “antiquated questions” — “Do you dust a dresser?” — how accurate can it be, for starters?

Whatever the original purposes of the test, it has been used historically to discriminate against non-native English speakers (at Ellis Island), African Americans and other minorities.

“The IQ test told me nothing about my child’s potential,” Cooper declares. “Can any attempt to measure intelligence predict a person’s value or ability to contribute meaningfully to the world?”

As the United States comes to realize it is throwing away six million potential workers, people with “the ability to contribute meaningfully to the world,” schools such as Henderson School in Boston, an “inclusion” school, abandon IQ tests and settle in for the long, hard, hands-on and labor intensive work of preparing people like Naieer, a gifted painter, for a productive and more independent life.

Rhode Islander Naomie was institutionalized in what amounted to a Dickensian “workhouse” during her teens, until the state realized that the operators weren’t doing much more than grossly underpay for simple, manual labor that wasn’t helping students grow and prep for the outside world. We meet her as she takes the first steps — co-running a coffee cart in the state capital building — towards building a self-supporting life.

And wee Micah as he takes disabilities studies courses at Syracuse University, living in an assisted living environment and dabbling in OKCupid, a young man given the chance, for the first time, to think about the future.

We’re also introduced to several progressive educators, people who demonstrate the patience of those who know how long the journey is, from first classes in childhood to the college and post-graduate potential life Micah can see before him.

“Intelligence looks different on everybody,” one teacher says.

Cooper’s place in the film is talking about his son’s experiences (Jesse eventually died, but not without making a mark) and giving us the history of IQ tests and the shifts in America’s attitudes toward the mentally disabled. America went so far as to dabble in eugenics, sterilizing the “feeble minded” in some states.

The Kennedy Administration, headed by a president and attorney general whose sister, Rosemary, was institutionalized in the 1940s, started the national conversation.

Eunice Kennedy Shriver was a founder of the Special Olympics.

By 1975, equal opportunities in education were enshrined in law and in 1990, George H.W. Bush signed the Americans with Disabilities Act with a flourish, “Let the shameful wall of exclusion finally come tumbling down.”

But in the trenches, the advocacy, protests and lobbying goes on. And the teachers struggle, fretting over Naieer and “erratic” behavior that could cause him trouble should this tall young black man ever encounter the police, worrying about Naomie’s ongoing needs even as Micah’s parents celebrate his college graduation.

“Intelligent Lives” is far from a representative sample of such people — these are exceptions, outliers with access to resources and family support the vast majority of the disabled have fewer opportunities to access. And “introduced” is the right way to characterize everyone we meet in the movie. It’s not much deeper than a superficial introduction.

But as history, “Intelligent Lives” is invaluable at reminding us of the speed of change, once such change is recognized and accepted as necessary. As a journalist, I remember writing stories about non-profits fretting over the expensive and seemingly onerous demands ADA was about to place upon them as it was implemented — access ramps and hearing assistance and braille signage in elevators and elsewhere.

Most of us came to accept these measures as a small price to pay, and those who did became more enlightened, part of a change that broadened our ideas of civil liberties in America and our concept of an inclusive culture.

Those who didn’t found themselves on the wrong side of history.

MPAA Rating: unrated

Cast: Chris Cooper, Naomie Monplaisir, Naieer Shaheed

Credits:Directed by Dan Habib, script by Dan Habib and Jody Becker. A Right Now Films release.

Running time: 1:11

Even those of us who adore Emily Blunt would be ever-so-quick to say that she’s no Julie Andrews.

And Dick Van Dyke is every bit as irreplaceable. He’s here, just not in the same guise.

But damned if Angela Lansbury isn’t in the thing, this sequel “Mary Poppins Returns.” 

With Meryl and Colin and Ben and Emily Mortimer.

And the omnipresent Lin-Manuel Miranda.

I had no idea David Warner was still living and working, but hiring him seems a smart stroke.

Dec. 18, we see if the magic indeed has returned. Or if Rob Marshall gets the spanking of his directorial life.

Boy, talk about a light, dullish teen dramedy that turns icky on a dime.

“Face 2 Face” is one of the most striking miscalculations in movie tone in recent memory. From light, right on the cusp of sweet, to just dark and grim and unable to pull off that transition. The leap to thriller will give you whiplash.

It’s a not-quite-charming cheat, a two-hander about former childhood friends who reconnect as teens, start sharing and helping, coaching and advising each other via a Facetime clone called “Face2Face.”

“Teel,” who goes by “Teel-Riffic” online, tracks down “Madison, “Mad-I-Sing” across country and across the years. It’s been a decade or more since they were acquainted.

Her “Do I know you?” response to his “friend” query earns an entirely-too-quick “Can I call you?” from him.

She is beautiful, bubbly and outgoing, a school principal’s daughter out in California. He’s a loner, introverted, nerdy and friendless and stuck back in Michigan. Why would she even accept a call?

She plays with her hair and practically lives her life on social media, inviting him (via her phone) to a party where she makes a bit of a scene. He’s too introverted to even be on social media. The computer and their face chats are his lifeline. We learn his mother won’t let him get his driver’s license and that he isn’t even on Facebook.

Teel (Daniel Amerman) shows up late for school and classes, “so everybody will think I’m in a rush and not realize I don’t have anybody to talk to.”

Madison (Daniela Bobadilla) is little too eager to fill him in on her plans to snag the cute boy in her school she obsesses over — Cole (Enspirit). The garish lipstick and heavy makeup give her away. A little.

Two guys named Toronto concocted this in the “Unfriended/Friend Request/Searching” mode — split screen, real time online conversations, every camera angle achievable by a teen holding up her phone to show a party, his room, their share-everything lives.

But these kids — one, seemingly an open book, the other a sealed one — have secrets.

Teel is so dorky and fey he’s never heard of “ping pong” (something teens play in parties in the movies). Madison is so instantly trusting that she confides in Teel about her scheme to get Cole “jealous” by shamelessly making out with another guy right in front of him. Or them.

“Hey, HAND dog. Get OFF her!”

Her retiring, nightcap drinking widowed Dad is micro-managing her life, leading to her complaints about “wife” duties in her life.

Teel confesses he has “no ambition in the jock arts,” not up for the sports “auditions” his parents push him into. He’d rather try out for “Bye Bye Birdie” or “Romeo and Juliet.”

Madison is a little too fond of lollipops, is insecure about her looks, her charisma,  her sex appeal. She gets grounded and loses custody of her phone.

“But he (her father) DIDN’T take my computer, just my phone. He thinks I’m doing homework on it. I guess I’ll be doing you every afternoon after school.”

Girlish giggles, and “Girls are allowed to have our minds in the gutter.” Besides, he’s in The Friend Zone. But does he want to be?

The limited point of view turns the picture dull long before we find out the obvious answer to that. There are only so many games you can play with making your face pop in the side or the top of the screen, only so much you can do with bad stage makeup (he’s beaten up) or his tips about hers — “It hides everything that’s beautiful about your face.”

“Are you saying I look like a whore?”

Bobadilla of “The Middle” has a winsome screen presence, bubbly with the confidence of the preternaturally cute. Amerman of TV’s “The Shy Ones” and “Freak Out” has the tougher job, going morose, trying to convince us he’s really auditioning to play Romeo with an energetically off-key rehearsal.

Tacky moments overwhelm the supposedly tender ones, and no “big reveal” in the middle acts prepares us for the nasty one in the film’s final act.

It’s set up and foreshadowed, but not with any of the gravitas, horror or shame its victims attach to it.

Like the split screens and limited POV of the camera, it’s a gimmick and an ugly one that doesn’t save a flailing dramedy, doesn’t lift a thriller where the “thriller” part is a screenplay afterthought.

That twist makes “Face 2 Face” icky enough to be something both its stars shave off their resumes in the very near future.

MPAA Rating: TV-MA

Cast: Daniela Bobadilla, Daniel Amerman, Kevin McCorkle, Enspirit, Emily Jordan

Credits:Directed by Matthew Toronto, script by  Aaron Toronto, Matthew Toronto. A Candy Factory release.

Running time: 1:28