Took opera world by storm, loved Onassis before he married Jackie, embraced in a heartbeat by the early adapters (check out who swoons over her in ticket lines), interviewed for TV for decades, this Tom Volf film, opening in November, may not start a Maria Callas revival.
‘Her glory years came long before digital recording, and opera hasn’t really gotten the hipster comeback it might have.
But “Maria by Callas” looks like something resembling the last word on the diva’s diva.
It lacks the familiar logo — the giant stylized “W” on its distinctly-angled slab sides.
But there’s no mistaking the metal box on wheels that flashes its lights at a passing kid, then flings open a door to invite him in, into “The TOYBOX!”
Sorry, the all-caps are mine, the title is “The Toybox.”
Just the place, a Winnebago, “grandpa’s new toy,” for an extended family of five Californians, to vacation — a road trip to TERROR.
Sorry.
A father (screenwriter Jeff Denton), his 20something brother (Brian Nagel, the director’s brother), a wife and mom (Denise Richards), a little girl and grandpa (Greg Violand) board the killer RV for a trip.
The “old mare may have a few more starts left in her,” but the AC doesn’t work, most of the windows don’t open. So of course, they’re headed to the desert.
“It’s OK, Olivia. We can watch a little TV.”
“TV doesn’t work.”
When they stumble upon siblings Samantha (Mischa Barton) and Mark (Matt Mercer) broken down on the side of the road, it’s “We can give you a ride.” Because noooo, there aren’t not enough people on board this 31 footer.
‘”Dad! Why are you SPEEDING UP?”
“It’s not me…”
Wrecked, in the desert, with a Winnie who Wants to Whack Us!
We’re going to be out here for days or weeks!
Sam barely has time to get out, “I have a BAD feeling about this” when death and destruction arrive. Mother Jennifer (Richards) sees a bloody ghost on board, and little Olivia (Malika Michelle) is drawing grisly ghouls in crayon.
“There is SOMETHING going on IN THERE!”
No working engine no cell service — because phones are USEless in horror movies — no hope. Or IS there?
Foreshadowing — a knife loose on a dinette table as the RV hurtles out of control, the ominous cooling fan blades as somebody reaches into the engine bay of a motor that doesn’t start, until…
Black water in the tanks, blonde hair clogging the drains, the signs are all here. “The Ring” needs a ring job, “Christine” gave her engine to a new vehicle, or the desert takes no prisoners — something is sure to get them, preferably one by one.
A radio that tunes itself to Radio Music of the Dead (tunes in the public domain, “In the Pines”), ghostly voices in the desert, everybody has horrific visions –sometimes replaying moments with the recently-deceased, “don’t go in there” cabinets that open mysteriously…
“Mommy, can I play with the jump rope?
There’s nobility in work, and while it’s hard to imagine members of this cast tackling an indie horror picture whose chief expense was buying a seventh-hand RV if they had other choices, a few moments work — a death here, paroxysms of grief there.
But for a place with no cell service, there are plenty of people pretty much phoning it in, or simply not having the skills to act in the moment and react convincingly to terror, physical threats or the sudden death of a loved one right in front of you.
The “names” Barton and Richards give something like fair value, but the guys? They seem distracted, especially the two fretting about what they have to do NEXT behind the camera.
It’s an intriguing horror filmmaking exercise — a confined set moved to a deadly location, players inhabiting it as they’re picked off. Bit player turned turned director Brian Nagel (“The Retrieval”) doesn’t do much with it.
“It’s the ONLY thing that makes sense!”
“That makes SENSE to you?”
And “The Toybox” itself, like the movie about it, is never scary, just kind of grim and rusty and dogged. It obeys no “horror” or “ghost” rules and makes less sense the more you think about it.
But Barton plays moments and lines like she means them — “Your HELP got my brother killed!” With this and the similarly low-budget/no-budget “The Basement” earning limited release the same weekend, she doesn’t let on the struggle it is to find decent roles to play once you’re a dozen years beyond “The O.C.”
If only Tarantino would call.
MPAA Rating: unrated
Cast:Denise Richards, Mischa Barton, Jeff Denton,Greg Violand
Credits:Directed by Tom Nagel, script by Jeff Denton. An Uncork’d release.
Running time: 1:35
Praise the Lord, Netflix has gotten into the Nicole Holofcener business!
One of the cinema’s most independent, distinctly quirky, distinctly feminine voices should be right at home on the streaming network, where fans will have time to find her work — lots and lots of time.
Holofcener makes movies for adults about adults with adult problems, real or imagined. The director of “Friends with Money” and “Lovely and Amazing” and “Please Give” writes sparkling dialogue and created great parts for her muse, Catherine Keener and career-changing opportunities for Jennifer Aniston and Julia Louis Dreyfus as well.
“The Life of Steady Habits” gives Hollywood’s heavy of the moment, Ben Mendelsohn (“Rogue One,” “Ready Player One”) a chance to play the guy who gets the girl.
OK, “girls.” Women. Anders Hill is retired, newly single and spending a lot of time picking up women in home decor stores in the film’s opening. Holofcener sets her films in real world situations in a real world. The first scene is in Bed, Bath and Beyond, and it doesn’t get more real than that.
Edie Falco plays his ex, and her blurting out “God, I hate these f—–g SPANX” is pretty real world, too.
Anders used to be in finance and used to be married. Now he’s adrift, and so is his son (Thomas Mann). Out of college, out of rehab, Preston is living with his mother, trying to set a personal record for days not screwing something up — a job, his life.
And the sad thing is his dad is going through exactly the same thing. Anders gets blitzed at a party thrown by family friends “I can’t stand.” How? He lights up with the kids gathered around Charlie (Charlie Tahan of “Ozark”).
“Oh, I feel joyful, oh soooo joyful. And SAD, too. Jesus! This is some serious grass!”
It’s PCP, actually. Because Charlie, sweet and whimsical as he is, has a problem. He’s a younger version of Preston, gutting his future at an even earlier age than Preston did.
Anders is six months divorced and trying not to tell his ex that he hasn’t been paying the mortgage because “I can’t afford to retire AND pay for the mortgage.”
It’s the holidays and he’s making one mistake after another, like getting drunk and raiding his old homestead for photo albums, etc. — breaking in to do it. ‘
Helene (Falco) has taken up with a new guy, and Anders can’t get his head around it. They used to be friends.
“Acquaintances.”
She tells him, “It’s not my job, anymore, baby sitting you.”
But somebody should be. Drifting from bed to bed, maybe he’ll recognize quality when he stumbles across her in the strip club (Connie Britton, killing it as a brittle but hopeful divorcee).
The stoner Charlie ODs, and Anders brings him a book of Japanese erotica in the hospital — one he stole from the library. Bad choice after bad choice.
Holofcener scripts these marvelous, intimate conversations — men debating the value of a house one doesn’t want to sell, women “mothering” each other’s adult kids, kids confiding to a friend of their parents what they hate about those parents, pillow talk confessions about “the final straw” in a divorce.
No, that’s not necessary. REALLY.
“No no no no. It’s RIDICULOUS.”
Mendelsohn, a great character actor, has unforced, natural and funny scenes with everybody, delicious moments with Falco, Mann, Tahan, Britton and Everyman Character Actor Camp.
She’s seeing you? “I don’t GET it!”
Little grace notes abound — home movies, a holidays “tip” envelope that holds a picture of a mother and son in happier times, in-depth consideration of the little dog the Russian/Soviet space program pointlessly murdered in the late 1950s, Charlie’s “clubhouse” where he hides out from his parents — their sailing yacht, covered in a boatyard, all the comforts of home — and later, a flare is set off, a kid in distress finally giving that away.
Everybody, especially Mendelsohn, revels in those grace notes and hits the punchlines and reveal little profundities as they figure out their failings and try to be funny about it.
“You have kids?”
“Yeah, a boy. Well, a man now, really. You?”
” have…women!”
Whatever the shifting business model of indie film has done to Holofcener’s career, it’s great that she gets this new lease on life from a streaming service.
Wherever else Netflix is spending its millions on product, “The Land of Steady Habits” demonstrates that Nicole Holofcener is their safest gamble, a smart lady making smart movies that her fans, and new converts, will have a chance to find.
MPAA Rating: TV-MA, drug abuse, sex, profanity, violence
Cast: Ben Mendelsohn, Edie Falco, Thomas Mann, Charlie Tahan, Connie Britton, Bill Camp
Credits: Written and directed by Nicole Holofcener, based on a Ted Thompson novel. A Netflix release.
Running time: 1:38
You’ve heard what Olivia Munn did — call out Shane Black, who thought he’d help out a convicted sex felon pal by sneaking him into a bit part in his smart-mouthed reboot of “The Predator” franchise.
The perv’s scene was cut out of the release print of the movie (“Director’s cut, here we come!”). But will that keep you from checking out this latest “Alien Whoopi Goldberg” killer thriller? How about bad reviews? Nooo, not just mine. Pretty much across the board — funny banter, hilarious characters, movie caves in on itself about 45 minutes in.
Box Office Mojo figures it’ll hit $29 million, and no more, thanks to the brand, the compliant target audience and the hype. It earned $2.5 million Thursday night, so Deadline.com believes $30 million is within reach.
“A Simple Plan” got terrific reviews and could have real girls-night-out legs to it once word gets around. A $16-18 million opening, with BoxOfficeMojo predicting the higher end of that range. I think it could make bank on into October — nasty/funny/empowering in a “Bridesmaids” meets “Gone Girl” (Paig Feig directed) way. We’ll see.
I liked “White Boy Rick” better than many. Actually, it’s that rare movie whose aggregate score on Rottentomatoes matches its score on the more selective, more discerning Metacritic.com.They both hit the sweet spot, “passing grade” or “fresh” rating of 61 as of Friday AM.
It won’t make a mint at the box office, Matthew McConaughey’s presence or not. $10 million if they’re lucky, $8.6 the more reasonable expectation, per Box Office Mojo.
The low budget Pure Flix sequel to La Jolie’s Oscar bait WWII picture “Unbroken” is titled “Unbroken: Path to Redemption,” and picks up Louis Zamperini’s story AFTER he came back home after the war. He found Billy Graham. Middling reviews for this one, though I thought the star was on the money and the production values top drawer.
“Redemption” is on a LOT of screens, and with a little push from America’s pulpits could better the $5 million opening weekend that Mojo sees as its ceiling.
The Old Guys Ride genre of “road picture” isn’t a new thing.
And “American Dresser” adds nothing new to the font of knowledge that, say, “Wild Hogs” fertilized.
A soapy, tame and dramatically-thin cross country odyssey, it’s “Last Flag Flying” on two wheels. “Dresser” gives us Tom Berenger and Keith David on two “dressers,” loaded touring bikes built for comfort, on a ride from Long Island to the West Coast.
The pleasures of some good acting by Berenger and David, Gina Gershon and Bruce Dern doesn’t overcome the over-familiarity of the journey, the stops along the way and the late life lessons learned as they “keep the chrome up,” or try to. It’s tired in every sense of the word.
We meet John (Berenger) as he’s late to his wife’s funeral. An alcoholic disappointment to his daughters, drinking as he reads a long-lost letter his late wife (Gershon) never sent him, he resolves to polish up his “dresser” and hit the road.
David is Charlie, his foul-mouthed “master sergeant” from back in Vietnam. Charlie’s about to lose a leg, and he “tags along” on this “last chance for the ride of a lifetime.”
The geezers hit biker bars, where “Redeck Pride” is the ethos and the Outlaws and Lynyrd Skynyrd never left the jukebox,. Dealing with belligerent “inbreeds” is how they meet Willie (writer-director Carmine Cangialosi).
A favorite moment — Willie looks them over and asks, “You guys were in Vietnam? You see any action?”
Berenger fixes him with a weary glower that says, “You didn’t see ‘Platoon,’ Sonny?”
Modest budget is no cardinal sin in the cinema, and if you choose to spend your limited funds on getting that shot of driving the road below Mount Rushmore and more on an afterthought scene at the famous Sturgis, S.D. biker rally, so be it.
But with cameos by Bruce Dern, Penelope Anne Miller and Jeff Fahey to get to, Cangialosi is his own worst enemy — or casting decision. “Willie” is forever taking a dramatic, slow drag on a cigarette or joint, taking too long to get to his line, vanity touches that are ill-suited to a film embracing the ageing Harley demographic that the picture celebrates and preaches to. He’s just not interesting as a character or an actor playing that character, even if Willie’s function is to be the “muscle” in a bar brawl, the love interest for a lady biker (Becky O’Donohue) whose path they cross on the blacktop.
Fahey chose not to get a regulation haircut before playing a rush-to-judgement, suspects-beating small town police chief That’s one good message “Dresser” delivers to its potential audience, one they don’t want to hear. A lot of cops in a lot of places away from media watchdogs figure they have license to do what they please with black folks.
“What is WRONG with you people? He’s a Vietnam veteran!”
Dern drops in as a homeless biker now living in a van and adds a little grizzled sparkle to the dramedy. Gershon, seen in flashbacks, has a lovely moment of hiding the grief of a scary phone call she won’t share with her husband — bad news about the disease that will kill her.
Everybody has a “past,” everybody has a crutch (Cangialosi’s prop cigarette, Berenger’s bottle, David’s profanity).
Aside from that, and figuring out which simple riding along scenes required stunt doubles and actors sitting on bikes on trailers (I’m not sure KD is up to it these days), there isn’t much other than scenery to recommend “American Dresser.”
MPAA Rating: unrated
Cast: Tom Berenger, Bruce Dern, Gina Gershon, Penelope Ann Miller, Keith David
Credits: Written and directed Carmine Cangialosi. A Cinedigm release.
Running time: 1:37
It’s become old hat to refer to any Emma Thompson performance these days as a crowning achievement in her screen career.
But if Helen Mirren was born to play “The Queen,” she simply had to age into the part, the actress’s actress Thompson is so naturally imperious as an I-won’t-be-second-guessed children’s court judge “The Children Act” that you’d swear that’s what she’s been doing, between movie, these past few years.
As Mrs. Justice Fiona May she is a workaholic, taking her Solomonic duties and herself seriously. She’s deciding custody, weighing court efforts to retrieve children removed from Britain illegally and when we meet her, wrestling with a very public case about conjoined twin babies.
“The welfare of the child is paramount,” according to the opening lines of Britain’s “Children Act,” and it is her cover for a wide range of publicly controversial rulings — deciding that the parents don’t get to choose not to separate twins who won’t live long without such surgery. As thoughtful as “My lady’s” rulings are from the bench, “the logic of the lesser of two evils” and all that, when she gets home it’s “I’ve given instructions to slaughter a baby,” she tells her American husband, a college classics professor played by the great Stanley Tucci.
Jack, however, is feeling neglected. And when he announces “I think I want to have an affair,” Fiona — “Fee” — is aghast. She doesn’t have time for this. He has a paramour picked out, and that’s that. Her only dismissive riposte is “I can’t believe how cool we are.”
Weekend duty at the court gets her mind back on work, the sudden call by a hospital trying to save an under-age-of-consent leukemia patient. He’s a Jehovah’s Witness and he’s refusing a blood transfusion.
The judge and the court hear from a hematologist, irritated by the boy and his parents’ posistion, and from the kid’s father (Ben Chaplin, sensitive, working class and passioate) who explains that they all believe the soul is in the blood, and “transfusions pollute it…It belongs to God,” and therefor it is wrong to accept blood from another.
This is going to be a tricky one, something the distracted judge — she is also an enthusiastic piano accompanist at annual legal profession parties — will have to weight carefully. She’s always short with her all-serving clerk. Now she’s downright snippy.’
The court case is the most interest section of this Richard Eyre film, based on a script by Ian McEwan, who wrote the novel it’s based on. The arcanna of the British legal system — the robes, the wigs, the works — is showcased, as is the belief system of Jehovah’s witnesses.
A passionate lawyer for the parents cites “Common Law, privacy and precious dignity” as what’s being debated here. The lawyer for the hospital reminds one and all just how secular Britain can be. arguing that “a religious cult” has convinced the kid to become “a pointless martyr” based on their interpretation “of an Iron Age text (the Bible).”
It’s when the judge takes the unusual step of going to see the lad (Fionn Whitehead) that Eyre’s film — he did “Notes on a Scandal” — takes a turn for the loopy. Adam is charming, breathlessly arguing for his sanity, his personal sanctity and against her acting as “an interfering busybody.”
He reasons with her, explains the merits of belief, that deep-seeded sense of right and wrong his upbringing gives him. And will not let her leave without playing her something on his guitar.
They duet on a folk song setting of a Yeats poem. Seriously.
And after she high-handedly does what she always does, rules from on high and thus “saves” his life, Adam only gets clingier. She has closed one world off to him and he’s scrambling to replace it with another, built on her “wisdom.”
The moral quandary of the film is interesting, but Mrs. Justice Maye’s role in it is more so. As she struggles to treat her marriage’s problems with the same edict-like finality, she fends off Adam’s post-court pleas and moves on to the next pronouncement.
Thompson plays the judge with a brittle, icy edge, firm with Adam even as you can see his plight has reached her humanity. Her performance pulls it back from “loopy” and the movie passes muster on the strength of that.
The domestic melodrama has sparks thanks to the fortuitous pairing of the Oscar winning Thompson with the formidable Tucci. What could play as trite and trivial next to the Big Issues weighed in the other scenes has actual gravitas thanks to the performers.
Thompson also plays the piano and sings, here and there, showing this iron-willed judge’s vulnerability as she does.
Young Whitehead (“Dunkirk”) makes Adam almost laughably overbearing, in an overeager boy’s way. The writer McEwan gets across what the kid’s about in a scene or two, and gives us one or two more for good measure.
This certainly played differently in the UK than it will in the US, where children’s rights appear to have more latitude, even if they can seem even more at the mercy of the caprices of the judiciary.
But what translates on both sides of the Atlantic is the acting, especially Thompson, finally starting to get the roles the Great Mirren began to land at her age, crowning yet another film with the latest in a long line of subtle, layer performances.
MPAA Rating:R for a sexual reference
Cast: Emma Thompson, Fionn Whitehead, Stanley Tucci, Ben Chaplin
Credits:Directed by Richard Eyre, script by Ian McEwan. An A24 release.
Running time: 1:45
John Goodman, Vera Farmiga, Madeline Brewer, D.B. Sweeney, Machine Gun Kelly and many others star in this sci-fi tale about an idyllic, worry free, poverty free future that is anything but idyllic.
I have to say, the giveaway at the end of the trailer to “Captive State” kind of deflates it. Next March, we’ll see how timely it still seems.
The Dutch Nazi Meinoud Rost van Tonningen smirks as he schools his German overseers about how things work in the Netherlands, even under German occupation.
“In this country, only the sun rises for free.”
If there is a Dutch Resistance, somebody is paying for it. Escaped political prisoners, Jews and others in hiding? Who buys their food and fuel for their stoves? Who financed the railway strike that crippled the movement of German troops and supplies?
The Dutch Collaborator in Chief doesn’t have to say what Deep Throat would famously say during Watergate — “Follow the money.”
“The Resistance Banker” is a Dutch film (in Dutch and German with English subtitles) about the logistics of resisting evil, the simple dollars and cents, or guilders and cents, of running an underground economy — paying men to fight, women to print and smuggle resistance newspapers — the cash, borrowed on credit, conjured up by those left behind to live under the Nazi terror, but guaranteed by the Netherlands Government in Exile in London against the day when the Germans would be wiped out or chased out.
Oh yes, “heroic bankers” is a new twist on the age-old Life Under Occupation thriller. But the tropes of what one hesitates to call a “genre “when this story is actual, historical fact are all here. Yes, this really happened and these are the people who made it happen.
As usual, we see jack-booted Nazis, furiously searching for those sabotaging, assassinating or simply talking and writing about the day they’ll be free. They face the embattled underground of brave but fearful, paranoid but purposeful members of a society, most of whom would have hidden Anne Frank, but any number of whom would have ratted her out for cash and official favor. There are traitors, betrayals, narrow escapes, murders and torture sessions, fake IDs and secret meetings, too many broken up when the Nazis are tipped off by a turncoat.
But Joram Lürsen’s film, concocted by a large team of screenwriters, has bankers wrapping wads of cash around their torsos, stashing boxes of bills in wine cellars and forging government bonds to float their next needed influx of guilders. It includes snatches of German raids, shootouts, street hunts and street executions, mass shootings in the snow and tiny but telling acts of disobedience.
And it has interrogations, including the one that frames the story. Gijs van Hall (Jacob Derwig) wants to know if he’s being “charged with anything.” No, they just want to know “how you did it.” So he tells “them.”
His brother and fellow banker Walraven van Hall, “Walli” (Barry Atsma, animated and sweaty) was just 35 in the second year of the German occupation when he was approached by a former Navy man (Raymond Thiry). Friends and business associates are disappearing, and a Jewish family he had dealings with has just committed suicide.
“Mr. van Hall, don’t you agree that it’s time to fight back?”
Walli used to be a sailor himself, and now in the darkest days of Occupied Europe, he has a chance to do something. It begins with an underground Seaman’s Fund, to feed and take care of the families of Dutch sailors serving the Allies out of Britain.
But it grows into a nationwide network of cash transport, printing operations, financing the spiriting of downed pilots out of the country and paying upkeep for those in hiding.
His wife (Fockeline Ouwerkerk) disapproves, “But of course you must do it.”
Even his buttoned-down banker brother Gijs is enlisted, but only Walli has the cool code name. He’s explained his seafaring past to his little boy on a Sunday sail on the Zuiderzee, wishing he could have been a pirate instead of a banker. Who? “Like Van Tuyl,” a famous Dutch pirate of the Age of Sail.
Walli is Van Tuyl, criminal mastermind of moving money around under the noses of the Germans (“We’re smarter than the Germans, anyway.”) and his penny-counting Dutch banking masters — some of whom are on board his scheme, most of whom are too fearful and entirely too comfortable to share the risks.
It is “bank fraud,” after all, they point out. Patriots.
“The Resistance Banker” takes the time to show just to what extent life went on for the rich and connected under the Nazis, the clubs that were still open, the cars they could still drive, the lifestyle they could still afford and the cinemas where they could go and secretly meet amidst the latest newsreels hailing the achievements of the Wehrmacht and Luftwaffe, even as the war turns decisively against them.
“I’ve seen this one,” Walli jokes to his comrade, Jaap (Jochum ten Haaf) when he gets up to leave. “Too many ‘bad guys.'”
There’s little of that “Great Escape” levity, here. This is deadly serious business. Even as they’re outsmarting the “best people” the enemy has on duty with bluffing brinkmanship and native cunning, repeated reminders of the stakes pop up.
People die, and as the Nazis retreat all over Europe, their desperation and that of their otherwise doomed collaborators rises. Manhunts and mass shootings increase, and the Allies are always just over the horizon, liberation so close but (for many months) just out of reach.
It’s all a bit too financial in the early acts, which makes “The Resistance Banker” informative and novel, but also patience-testing. It even manages the occasional poetic touch — memories of small boat sailing and the tragedy that almost separated the brothers in their youth. The serious action beats, the tragedies that loom for many of those with the guts to try this, that’s all in the very long and grueling second half of the film.
But the acting is across-the-board solid, and there’s entertainment value in having Gijs sputter, “We’re BANKERS, not Resistance fighters,” and righteous delight in rounding up the kids to watch the scheduled “fireworks” — the sabotage of a records repository that allowed the Nazis to more easily ferret out communists, Jews and veterans who might be inclined to fight back.
It doesn’t stand with the more exciting Dutch films on this era and on this subject, “Soldier of Orange” and “Black Book.” But it fills in a little more of the picture of how those soldiers fought, who paid for the Black Book and bought the car, filled the tank and rented the safe house. And it showcases the long-unknown risks even the money counters were willing to take to fight tyranny.
MPAA Rating: unrated
Cast:Barry Atsma, Jacob Derwig, Pierre Bokma, Fockeline Ouwerkerk
Credits:Directed by Joram Lürsen, script by Marieke van der Pol, Michael Leendertse, Joost Reijmer, Thomas van der Ree, Matthijs Bockting, Pieter van den Berg. A Netflix release.
Running time: 2:03
This Errol Flynn film biography, a little swashbuckling and with just a hint of silly, seems more malnourished than anything else.
Will it even play in the states? I get it. If you’re going to make a movie about the guy, it should by rights be made in the land of his birth by his fellow Aussies.
As Flynn’s tortured history and disreputable personal life enter into it, you’d think they could have landed a few bigger names for this Russell Mulcahy film. David Wenham and Callan Mulvey and Dan Fogler are in the credits. But…that’s it.
Then again, wouldn’t Mel Gibson be the first fellow you’d approach about directing it and not the fellow who peaked with “Highlander” way back in the last millennium?
“In Like Flynn” opens in Oz on Oct. 11.
Matt Bomer, Damien Young and Edie Falco co-star in this October thriller about the lengths — crowd funding bribes, publicity, legal and extra-legal — a mother goes to in order to retrieve her kidnapped war correspondent son.
“Viper Club” is slated for Oct. 26 release by Roadside Attractions (aka “Don’t get your hopes up about our movie.”)
Movie Nation 