Box Office: “Incredibles 2” just cleared the $600 million mark

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It happened Saturday. It’s keeping “Kin” out of the top ten. Still pulling in viewers on a fraction of the screens it held when it opened. In June.

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Documentary Review — “Kusama: Infinity”

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In art, the story of the artist, their “journey,” trials and narrative can often overwhelm the work itself.

That was never going to happen to Yayoi Kusama.

She might be an art product of wartime Japan, a publicity hungry provocateur of the New York of the ’60s whose failure to break through led to suicide attempts.

She might have been “rediscovered” in a Japanese mental institution — still drawing, painting, sculpting, collaging and polka-dotting away.

But the scale of the works, the innovations, the stark originality, no matter how many Oldenbergs and Warhols stole her Big Ideas, was never going to drown in “The Artist as Tragic Figure,” “The Creator as Brand.”

Almost. But not quite.

Kusama is an artist of rare obsession,, a woman “traumatized” by something which happened in a poppy field in her youth in Matsumoto, scarred for life by stumbling upon her wealthy father, in flagrante delicto with one of his many paramours. idolizing George O’Keefe, craving attention, recognition and fame so much she risked infamy and humiliation.

“Kusama: Infinity” captures the most famous female artist of the day at her peak — right now. And it remembers the 89 year-old’s half century of struggle, her artistic journey from watercolors to “infinity nets” — vast paintings of dots that challenge the viewer to decide where to look and wonder why may lie beyond. She created mirror rooms to display her soft sculptures (a cloth “accumulation” sofa now at MOMA, white-cloth-covered rowboat), matrices of flashing lights to further her explorations of the visual infinite, human bodies covered in polka dots. We see how she is ending her career as well, with large scale ceramics and the coiled fury of her anti-war collages, created in her twilight years.

At long last, when galleries from Japan to New York long refused to give her the time of day, when the only way she could get into MOMA (Museum of Modern Art) or the Venice Biennale was to crash the show with 1500 mirror balls which she rolled around in wearing first a kimono, then a leotard, when her nude art “happenings” once only got her arrested in New York, her work is selling for staggering numbers — millions.

Heather Lenz’s documentary relies mostly on Kusama, in her own words, speaking mostly Japanese about her life and the trials of her career. Experts, key friends and eyewitnesses to her slow rise recount the desperation, the many stunts she pulled to get her art — gimmicky in size and scope– noticed.

For much of her career, she has been Miró on a Christo scale, at least in ambition.

And while the psychoanalysis of an obsessive-compulsive creative’s mania and outlets for those obsessions is interesting, it’s that primer on “How to become a famous modern artist” that’s most fascinating.

Asexual in the extreme, she shamelessly courted potential patrons, playing up her exotic foreignness — kimonos, Geisha hairstyles — carried on a generally chaste affair with reclusive much-older artist Joseph Cornell for the attention and, in increasing desperation to “break through,” dabbled in nudity and publicity stunts that irritated the power structure she was hoping would embrace her.

She says that “everything is a gamble, a great leap into the unknown.” But her contemporaries — even her champions, recall how “blatant” she was at grabbing notoriety, how “aggressive” she was in pursuing patrons. Still, these are soft-gloved smackdowns, as the film entirely takes her point of view. More contrary voices would have enlivened it.

Visuals vividly demonstrate how the Modern Art Game is played. Whatever medium you work in, you are your greatest creation — hair, costume, trademark “look,” brand and pose, all vital ingredients in getting noticed and getting famous. From Gauguin to Picasso, Pollack to Schnabel, titanic ego, along with obsession and talent, is a fundamental requirement of a career.

So does having a story. Being poor, somewhat unpolished and dying young did it for Basquiat. Being prolific, ironic and an albino marked Warhol for stardom. Genius figured in, of course. But what’s marketable is “story,” and the perception of value, the art world’s embrace of your originality.

With Kusama, the older she gets, the more interesting her “story” becomes. But what makes that story connect is the art itself — dazzling, overwhelming, mesmerizing and playful. All the obsession and depression, brazenness and brass in the world wouldn’t matter if she hadn’t had the goods, all along.

3stars2

MPAA Rating: unrated

Cast: Yayoi Kusama

Credits:Directed by Heather Lenz, script by Heather Lenz, Keita Ideno . A Magnolia release.

Running time: 1:17

 

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Netflixable? Romantic comedy boils down to “The Laws of Thermodynamics”

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More clever than funny, “The Laws of Thermodynamics” is a feature length Spanish language (Catalan?) “Big Bang Theory,” without the punchlines, rimshots and rhythms of a sitcom.

A lovelorn astrophysics grad student falls for an “It” girl model in Barcelona, and the orbits, entropy, and inevitabilities of their relationship, and those of a handful of friends, are explained by a score of scientists who run through the assorted “laws that nothing and nobody can escape.”

Vito Sanz is Manel, who is working on his thesis and “star” and director of this documentary about all he’s learned and been through, “The Laws of Thermodynamics.”

He puzzles over these laws and how they work on our own emotional behavior, and stands outside the calamity of pursuing and winning — briefly — the fair Elena (Berta Vázquez). She is a model, and here’s how they meet.

Every man on a city square in Barcelona is distracted by the stunning vision of her on a digital billboard. Several notice the real Elena walking, smoking and staring into her phone beneath that billboard. A whole collection of people, including lawyer Eva (Vicky Luengo) and his rival-pal, the hunky womanizing ad-man Pablo (Chino Darín) literally crash into each other and Elena — the men distracted, poor Eva trapped in their collision.

Shockingly, Elena responds to Manel’s average looks and above average brains, and they connect. He bails out of a previous relationship, lured into her “orbit.” Every hetersexual man in that corner of Catalunya is drawn, by gravity, to her.

A clever moment — a special effect/graphic representation pf orbits around Elena on the dance floor of a vast, crowded Barcelona club.

It’s a movie peppered with explanations of the numbered laws of thermodynamics, the Law of Quantum Entanglement by scientists from the University of Cambride, University of Madrid, University of Durham, astrophysicists from the big Canary Islands telescope, etc.

The scientists speak English, Elena, Manel and those in their orbit speak Spanish with English subtitles.

Manel is a teaching assistant in a college thermodynamics course and working on his thesis. Pablo is working on sleeping with a lot of beautiful women.

And Elena chooses Manel, even as we learn that “”energy transforms” in atoms, the universe and love, that “the quality of the energy” changes if not the actual amount of it (quantity), that “inertia” and “entropy” set in as love turns into indifference.

“This bunch of organized atoms has decided it needs to go to the bathroom,” she says.

Einstein and Kepler, Copernicus and Newton are quoted and Elena submits to Manel’s charms, his analysis of the state and position in the energy-cycle of their relationship, until she gets offered first a short film, and then a feature.

We hear about “the degradation of good energy into a form of heat” and see how it plays out in relationships — Pablo and Eva tapping intosexual “heat,” even though it is “random, inefficient” and winds up in “entropy …useless, wasted energy.”

In other words, “Maybe we should try a threesome.”

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Writer-director Mateo Sanz exhausts us with all these academics, shortchanging the development of on-screen relationships thanks to endless voice-over (and on-camera) analysis.

Maybe on paper, these scientists playing it straight and explaining to the layman this corner of physics while Manel, Elena, Pablo, Eva and Raquel collide, separate, entangle and explode (a nuclear bomb that goes off in the heart, consumes a cafe, then a quarter of the city) was hilarious.

“You’re going a little fast for me. Come up with some laws of physics to explain to me how I am supposed to react.” Elena gets spooked by his second law of thermodynamics theory suggests they’ve reached “peak energy,” and that all that follows will be entropy.

The performances, game as most of them are, cannot overcome this. All this science laid over a romantic comedy is a bit of a bore. There’s too little of Manel’s manic efforts, trying too hard to cook for and keep entertained a girlfriend whose different priorities, narcissism and shallowness mean she is certain to be lured away by another man trapped in her orbit, one as good looking and shallow as she is, one who could help her career.

One winning moment that isn’t followed through rt payoff is Elena, beautiful and thus living a life without consequences, introduces “entropy”into Manel’s ordered, orderly apartment — chaos and disorder ensue.

Another has Pablo dancing on a double decker bus and taking a fall, with graphics illustrating the physics of how various onlookers (his girlfriend, his lover) see his plummet (straight down, or in an arc).

Aside from that, there’s nothing here that takes “Laws” to “peak energy,” even as “Entropy” has prematurely settled in making all that follows just tedious.

1half-star

MPAA Rating: TV-MA, graphic sex, nudity, smoking, profanity

Cast: Vito SanzBerta VázquezChino Darín |

Credits: Written and directed by Mateo Sanz. A Netflix release.

Running time: 1:40

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Preview, Natalie Portman and Jude Law go musical for “Vox Lux”

She’s played a prima ballerina fated to be “The Black Swan,” why not a pop star of the Gaga/Xtina variety?

“Vox Lux” hasn’t got a lot of info floating around about it. Just Portman replacing Rooney Mara in the lead role, with Jude and Jennifer Ehle in support.

A  film festival movie probably looking for a real distributor, Venice/Toronto etc.

 

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Preview, a Black Teen hides in plain sight in the Third Reich, “Where Hands Touch”

Amandla Stenberg is the biracial/looks black teen trapped in Hitler Youth era Germany in this drama, also starring Abbie Cornish.

“Where Hands Touch” would have to be a true story or inspired by one, right? Germany’s official hatred of anybody who resembled Jesse Owens in the least.

I’ve always wondered about this, historically, and a quick search turns up suggestions of “thousands of black people” living in Germany when Hitler came to power.

So, true story or not, “It could have happened” backs this one up. It’s headed for the Toronto Film Festival and general release.

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Labor Day Box Office: “Asians” come back for thirds, “Finale” and “Searching” get scraps

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Those “Crazy Rich Asians” keep pulling in the audience, losing virtually no momentum, weekend to weekend, heading towards a $150-175 million total take at this rate.

Labor Day Weekend is no different from the previous two weekends, barely a 5-6% drop off, $23.7 million Deadline.com is projecting, based on Friday and pre-sales for the weekend ahead.

Add in Labor Day Monday and it could reach as high as $30 million. It’s officially a phenomenon. Pity the movie’s not funnier, “crazier.” 

finale1“Operation Finale,” the Israelis Get Their Man thriller about the Eichmann kidnapping, had a middling mid-week opening but seems on track to do $8 million+ over four days, close to $10 since Wednesday. A pretty good thriller, great leads, good that filmgoers are finding it.

“Searching,” a big break for “Harold and Kumar/Mr. Sulu-“Star Trek” star John Cho, is managing a respectable but nothing special $4500 per screen for the three day weekend, $5.4 million over three days, $6.7 over four. A bit over-praised, I thought — a lack of building suspense and urgency, a middling lead performance and a cheat of an ending. I still say this would should have opened the week they threw all their hype at it, LAST weekend. Or move the hype to THIS weekend.

The kid-and-his-new-gun picture “Kin” is bombing, not even cracking the top ten — $3 million or so is all it is in the process of earning. James Franco as the villain isn’t exactly a draw.

“The Little Stranger” is opening to barely passable reviews and in too few theaters this weekend to register in the top ten, and we won’t know until later Saturday if it’s making any money at all. 

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The End of Allen? Amazon may not release Woody’s latest, “A Rainy Day in New York”

'Untitled Woody Allen Project' on set filming, New York, USA - 11 Sep 2017Maybe it’s the #MeToo eruption that Ronan Farrow kicked off with his Harvey Weinstein expose, the suction from that pulling Woody Allen down with Ronan’s ongoing accusations about a one-time father figure who can’t keep his hands (says Ronan) off children.

Maybe it’s the pervy and not exactly novel (for Woody) plotline about a leading man pursuing a sexual relationship with a girl he thinks is 15, a central feature of his latest film.

Or maybe Amazon has seen the finished film, and thought “Release this, or eat the $25 million that it cost,” and decided to chow down.

Allen’s 2018 film, “A Rainy Day in New York” won’t come out in theaters this year, may not see the light of day (not right away) on Amazon.com. And will there be future Allen/Amazon projects?

Allen already has a film allegedly in pre-production, that won’t film in time for release next year. 

An 82 going on 83-year old man with lingering accusations of sexual impropriety with a child — Allen may not get another film in the can. Toback? Polanski? Weinstein? They may all be done.

As somebody who interviewed him several times over the years, after he was forced to do press again thanks to the Mia scandal/Soon Yi marriage, and hoped against hope that the accusations were exaggerated (A lot of people did at that time, and reading Mia’s book tended to paint her as a nut.), it took me a while to get my mind around (to use an Allenism) what we were being told.

But the jig certainly seems to be up, and seriously, with all this floating around him he chooses to insert a “Manhattan II” storyline into a film? He’s begging to be banned from ever making another movie.

 

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Netflixable? Oscar winners Nic Cage and Fay Dunaway star in “Inconceivable”

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Truth be told, the two Oscar winners in the cast are supporting players to this “Hand that Rocks the Cradle” riff given the “Princess Bride” punchline for a title — “Inconceivable.”

It’s a Gina Gershon vs. Nicky Whelan moms-throw-down thriller, a sedentary stroll through surrogacy gone terribly, graphically, insanely wrong.

Nicolas Cage plays Brian, the doctor/husband who doesn’t believe his doctor/wife (Gershon) when she starts freaking out over this new friend/play-date stranger whom they’ve let into their lives, moved into their house and persuaded to donate the egg that will be their second child, a pregnancy she also volunteers to carry to term.

Faye Dunaway is Brian’s suspicious mother, the one who wonders about this striking single-mom blonde (Whelan) named Katie who has turned a play-date between toddler daughters into an escalating relationship where “I feel like I’m part of the family.”

Gershon is Angela, the wife/mother whose life of miscarriages and a disapproving mother in law (Dunaway) is made so much better when Katie and her little girl enter their lives.

Katie is helpful in every way. But as we’ve seen her grabbing that child and escaping what she says was an abusive marriage, escaping by stabbing the man who grabs her by the neck in the opening scene, we have to wonder about Katie.

New hair color, demonic blue contact lenses? Either she skipped out on a murder-or-self-defense trial, or there’s more to the story than what screenwriter Chloe King tells us. And King and her director move things along so slowly that we’re way ahead of her Big Reveals anyway.

Katie and Angela meet via a friend/personal trainer (Natalie Eva Marie) and get along like a house afire.

Their little girls are the same age, and play-dates carry on into sleep overs and Moms and the personal trainer finish off a bottle of wine parties.

But Katie is awfully fast taking liberties with her new status. She skinny dips in the pool. She has sex in the poolside cabana where they let her and her little girl stay.

As she takes on nanny duties, paints their house, (bedroom murals for children’s rooms are her specialty), she’s rummaging through Angela’s closets, setting her sights on…something, avoiding being photographed and dodging the mother-in-law’s pointed queries.

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Pacing a picture like this too slowly is fatal, because of that whole audience-gets-ahead-of-the-movie thing. That’s on director Jonathan Baker (who has a small, overly indulged with screen-time role).

Whelan has limited effectiveness in creating doubt that Katie is not what she seems. A little too on the DeMornay nose, if you follow.

Cage gives fair value, and if it took his name to get his “Face/Off” co-star Gershon a leading lady role — Angela is the one who works at unraveling the puzzle, confirming her suspicions — then good on him for that.

Gershon makes the most of this chance, but it’s not enough.

It’s just that “Inconceivable,” despite the odd moment of tension, mystery or violence, despite attempts at delivering a decent twist or two in the third act, is too obvious to come off, too melodramatic to surprise and too slow to hold our interest.

1half-star

MPAA Rating: R for some violence, sexuality, nudity and language

Cast: Gina Gershon, Nicolas Cage, Faye Dunaway, Nicky Whelan

Credits:Directed by Jonathan Baker, script by Chloe King. A Lionsgate release.

Running time: 1:46

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Preview, Netflix presents Orson Welles’ final “unfinished” film — “The Other Side of the Wind”

I don’t know where Netflix got involved in the process, if their millions helped round up and finish (with shots still missing) a film notorious for being “lost” in this fire or that hasty/didn’t pay his rent and fled Orson Welles move.

It’s not just his final film “in the can,” it’s a last look at performers from John Huston and Mercedes McCambridge to Edmond O’Brien and that young whippersnapper Peter Bogdanovich.

Lilli Palmer and Paul Stewart and Cameron Mitchell and Susan Strasberg — all these people who worked on this fits-and-starts film over the years — here they are, preserved on celluloid, “lost” performances or snippets of performance, resurrected like The Great Man Himself with this final finished/finally finished movie about a movie maker in the winter of his career.

But as for Netflix? Bless them for getting “The Other Side of the Wind” into homes this Nov. 2.

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Documentary Review: “Love, Gilda”

GILDA RADNER, NEW YORK, USA

What we remember is the smile.

The Emmy winning characters, the crazy hair, the skill at creating funny faces, funny voices? Gilda Radner‘s name summons up those memories, too. And then we smile.

But her smile comes first,  her broad, toothy, omnipresent gift, perfectly summed up by her Second City/Toronto director Andrew Alexander in the new documentary, “Love, Gilda.” That smile was her secret weapon. Gilda, he says, could “always find a way to endear herself to the audience.”

Lisa Dapolito’s film has endless shots and clips of Radner smiling in her too-short 43 years of life. She beams as a slightly chubby child mugging for the Polaroid or home movies of her growing up in Detroit, grins on campus at the University of Michigan, backstage at Second City and National Lampoon’s “Lemmings,” guffaws in after parties for the famous Toronto production of “Godspell,” where she first met musician/comic/collaborator Paul Shaffer and dated Martin Short, and on cracks up rehearsing “Saturday Night Live.”

But the film digs deep into the packrat Radner’s archives, narrating her life on tape for her posthumous autobiography, “It’s Always Something,” sampling her diaries, journals, full of random poems and self-reflective thoughts, many of them read on camera by the generation of comics inspired by her — Amy Poehler, Melissa McCarthy, Cecily Strong and Bill Hader.

Hader gently opens her journal and his voice cracks, “This is a real honor. No. Seriously. This is a BIG deal.”

Dapolito gets at what Radner represented to those who followed her, and what Radner recognized in herself, that play-acting comedy let her “be prettier than I was, be people I could never be…Comedy allowed me to be in control of my situation.”

This documentary soars through laugh-out-loud-to-this-day characters and sketches, and dips into the darkness of eating disorders, traceable to a rich, over-concerned mother who put Gilda on diet pills at 10. It tracks Gilda through her “Saturday Night Live” glory years, peaking with a late 70s one-woman show on Broadway, and then records her decline.

A radio interview taped in the ’70s captures her confusion and inability to think of what “the next big thing” for her might be, even as the weight of “SNL” fell on her shoulders with the departures of so many castmates. Her ambition was to live, find love and be happy.

You have to laugh at the notion that this scrawny, gawky woman/child with the face-eating grin dated scores of people she worked with — almost every guy who later appeared in “Ghostbusters,” for instance — and  married first a Canadian sculptor who didn’t like it when she was funny, then G.E. Smith, guitarist for her one-woman-show “Live from New York” (and who became “SNL” music director/guitarist) and finally Gene Wilder.

The little news value that the film has isn’t that it puts to rest any rumors about the nature of that Wilder/Radner relationship, because we can see the loving, nurturing and caring for her after her cancer diagnosis, which we knew about. We also hear that  Wilder “got her to eat,” finally, his nephew insists — and her diary lets on how she really learned how to live with Wilder, even if she “made my career” out of getting him to marry her — taking tennis lessons, learning French, etc.

We can still see the movies they made together — “Hanky Panky,” “Woman in Red,” Haunted Honeymoon” — and how ill-used and overshadowed she was in them. That’s kind of on Gene, too.

But there’s a reason ancient reruns of “Saturday Night Live” still have laughs and still have value. Lorne Michaels made Radner the first official cast member for a reason, and seeing Emily Litella and Roseanne Roseannadanna again, we can see why. She was an original, and thanks to that smile — immensely relatable. Who else could have gotten “Bitch” past NBC censors, a network first? As little old Emily Litella, Gilda did.

Dapolito gets friends and former castmates to talk about Gilda dating Bill Murray while they were shooting the “Todd and Lisa” sketches which gave those turns an electric, nerdy, hormonal anarchy. ”

That’s one of the great joys of “Love, Gilda,” that Dapolito’s star and Amy Poehler’s inspiration, dead almost 30 years, can still deliver a laugh that takes your breath away. And in our memories, at least, she always come out smiling on the other side.

3half-star

MPAA Rating: unrated

Cast: Gilda Radner, Amy Pohler, Bill Hader, Chevy Chase, Melissa McCarthy, Lorne Michaels, Laraine Newman, Martin Short

Credits:Directed by Lisa Dapolito. A Magnolia release.

Running time: 1:28

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