Classic Film Review: Sarandon, Delany and Dafoe, as Schraeder’s “Light Sleeper” (1992)

Paul Schrader, the screenwriter of “Taxi Driver” and “The Last Temptation of Christ” and writer-director of “Cat People,” “American Gigolo” and “Light of Day” never really went away. But this most spiritual, Calvinist and cerebral filmmaker had his years in the wilderness.

Making a movie with Brett Easton Ellis and Lindsay Lohan (“The Canyons”) is as close to a trial by Satan as the cinema gets.

Every longtime fan had reason to hope he’d have the comeback that “First Reformed” afforded. For some, it was “Mishima” or “Hardcore” or “Afflication” that was the basis of that faith. For me, his serene, sinister classic “Light Sleeper” (1992) was the form I hoped he’d recapture.

It’s about upscale drug dealing in Manhattan, with an ex-addict/dealer (Willem Dafoe) writing and narrating his daily life and musings about his limited “future,” about guilt and responsibility in a brutally amoral and classist city where only the classiest are the clients of Ann (Susan Sarandon), Robert (David Clennon) and John “Jack, Johnny” LeTour (Dafoe).

A rich and connected Barnard College coed overdoses, and all of a sudden the cops might be noticing who this trio are, and what they’re selling.

LeTour — a made-up name — is our narrator and title character, a “Light Sleeper” who patrols the city in a Town Car, a well-turned out “delivery boy” with a pass through every VIP rope and every upscale apartment lobby to serve the well-heeled,. “White drugs for white people” Ann chortles.

LeTour can’t sleep. So he fills notebooks with his musings about his sleeplessness.

“It’s worse when I’m off,” he narrates. “I just walk and walk.”

He’s uncertain about his future, and emulating his flakey boss (Sarandon), he visits a psychic (Mary Beth Hurt) for direction. She tells him “A woman close to you, she will betray you.”

He doesn’t trust Ann, and neither do we. But he’s got a fresh distraction. He’s spotted an ex (Dana Delany) in town. She’s years sober. He’s two years “clean.” And her protests notwithstanding, LeTour attempts to ingratiate himself back into her good graces. He’s got a million questions about where she’s been and what she’s doing.

“I don’t want you to know about my life.”

Schraeder immerses us in this world, letting the camera settle on Dafoe’s face as he rides and rides and stops and makes warm exchanges, even looking out for clients who seem to be entering a death spiral.

“I’m not gonna put you in the emergency room.”

LeTour has a conscience. His silences and his writing, even if he tosses each notebook he fills, makes him seem soulful. Will Marianne let this reminder of her addicted past back into her life?

A very young Sam Rockwell plays a fellow dealer. David Spade, fresh off “Saturday Night Live,” plays a chatterbox coke customer. Victor Garber (“Titanic,” TV’s “Alias,” many other series) plays a rich and trusted European expat client, Tis.

Schraeder gets at the terminal allure of drugs and the romance of addiction in scenes where LeTour tries to reconnect with barely-sober Marianne. Addicts only remember “the good times.”

“I envy you,” she sighs. “Convenient memory is a gift from God.”

That relationship is the sentimental soul of “Light Sleeper.” But the brittle connection between LeTour and Ann is the heart of the movie. He’s paranoid. She’s charming, but self-serving and smart enough to know she’s got to have a Plan B. Might LeTour’s destruction be a part of that?

I saw this movie on my first trip to New York, and what’s striking about it now is its unerring grasp of that era, the character of the city then — laws flouted, the well-connected always connecting, an Orthodox Jew not judging Ann or allowing a guilty thought as he counts her cash for her, shortcut-taking cops, the trash-piles of a sanitation workers’ strike cluttering familiar, grungy and underlit streets.

It’s a near perfect snapshot of New York at the end of the Reagan Era, in the middle of the cocaine boom, when crack had flooded the downmarket, bringing in customers that Anna, LeTour and Robert would never cater to.

Delany, Sarandon, Clennon and Garber make sharp, lived-in impressions.

But Dafoe, high on the list of best actors never to win an Oscar, was at his very best in this portrait of a loner who starts to take stock of “the life” at 40. This is a nuanced portrait of a not-wholly-recovered addict who has let street smarts displace his ambition and education, a guy whose options and horizons are so limited he thinks consulting a psychic will offer a way out.

No wonder he can’t sleep.

Rating: R, violence, drug abuse, sex, nudity, profanity

Cast: Willem Dafoe, Susan Sarandon, Dana Delany, David Clennon, Sam Rockwell, Jane Adams, Victor Garber and Mary Beth Hurt.

Credits: Scripted and directed by Paul Schraeder. A Seven Arts/New Line release on Tubi, other streamers.

Running time 1:43

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Series Review: Tom Wolfe’s “A Man in Full” becomes an Oversexed Cracker Cartoon for Netflix

Tom Wolfe’s darkly comic 1998 novel “A Man in Full” comes to the screen, courtesy of another king of ’80s and ’90s entertainment, TV writer/producer David E. Kelley.

The book, uneven but page-turning trash encompassing Wolfe’s favorite themes — class, race, wealth and how sex and media and myth weave through them — becomes an R-rated spectacle of exaggerated characters, egos and situations in the hands of the prolific creator of TV’s “L.A. Law,” “Ally McBeal,” “Big Little Lies” and the TV versions of “Presumed Innocent,” “The Lincoln Lawyer” and “Mr. Mercedes.”

Kelley updates the book, trying to give it present-day currency as we see a blustery big talker facing the consequences of being a showboating braggart and perpetually over-extended builder and businessman.

Jeff Daniels gives full value, as always, playing a larger-than-life Atlanta developer whose reputation, career and business of juggled excesses is about to crash to the ground. As it is a handful of vindictive, resentful bankers who bring him down, the story enters the realm of fantasy, as America knows how compliant bankers enable bungling gamblers just like this. They’re not in the business of punishing them. Those guys don’t face consequences, even in Tom Wolfe’s “Vanity Fair” era America.

Charlie Croker was a Georgia Tech football star back in the last millennium, the “Sixty Minute Man” in the backfield of a national championship team. He’s parlayed that fame into a “Man Who Built Atlanta” empire.

Now in his 60s, with an ex-wife (Diane Lane) and a “trophy wife” (Sarah Jones of TV’s “For All Mankind”) half his height and half his age, drawlin’ Charlie Croker has his name on the biggest building in the Capital of the South, his crown jewel, Atlanta’s Concourse. He’s got a 29,000 acre ranch/plantation/game preserve he’s named TurpMtine and a portfolio that dominates Atlanta’s skyline.

And when we meet him, an overmatched, foul-mouthed and furiously jealous younger banker (Tom Pelphrey of “Ozark” and “Iron Fist”) and his blunt, hardass superior (the estimable Bill Camp) have him in a big bank boardroom where they’re going for a full-fledged emasculation.

Testicles are the big talk in this big talking man’s world, and Charlie’s aren’t just in a vice. He’s in the hole for over $800 million to just this one bank. Others are also holding hundreds of millions in bad paper over Charlie’s toppling businesses and Gulfstream Jet over-extended lifestyle.

This “Man in Full” has his manhood on the line as he schemes to fend off the wolves and keep up appearances in “his” town.

The city’s Black mayor (William Jackson Harper of “Midsommer” and TV’s “The Good Place”) is facing electoral defeat at the hands of a MAGA conservative with a shady past, a man who happens to be a former teammate of Charlie’s.

Charlie’s lawyer (Aml Ameen, who played Martin Luther King, Jr. in “Rustin”) was a Morehouse classmate of the mayor, and finds himself tested by both men’s crises, and in over his head in court defending the husband (Jon Michael Hill) of Charlie’s secretary (Chanté Adams), who gets in trouble for resisting an unjust arrest.

The divorced, late model BMW-driving banker Raymond Peepgrass (Pelphrey) has his own legal and financial issues, a patrimony suit by a Finnish sex worker. He’d like nothing more than sticking it to Charlie, and Charlie’s ex-wife (Lane), just not in the same way.

And that ex-wife’s beauty-icon pal (Lucy Liu) has her own testy relationship with Charlie and past connections that tie her to his difficulties, and the mayor’s.

I listened to the book on tape (read by a drawling David Ogden Stiers) on a cross country road trip when “A Man in Full” came out, and all that stands out in the memory is of the novel’s lurid thoroughbred “siring” scene, something delivered in all its sordid glory here.

Kelley does entirely too much to emasculate what was admittedly an inferior book to Wolfe’s “A Bonfire of the Vanities,” thinning out the manly outdoorsman/horseman/sportsman activities from our “full” man. But Daniels gives us the essence of the character, a poseur who would hate to be thought of as the embodiment of the put-down, “All hat and no cattle” he credits Georgia for coining about showboats like himself.

Lane gives the series a touch of heart and a few moments of fire.

But as Kelley plays up the court case, with its smirking biased judge (Anthony Heald) and the life threatening Fulton County Jail consequences that the stoic victim of an unjust system, Conrad (Hill), faces, it’s easy to see why Kelley focused on what he knows best — legal proceedurals. He’s out of his depth with most everything else.

Wolfe got “the South,” even if he wasn’t able to wrestle all the issues and threads of the culture into his bulky, researched but cartoonishly broad novel.

The performances — Camp is at his most venomous here — are what we cling to, as the narrative isn’t coherent and believable enough to cliff-hanger us through all six episodes.

But if this hits enough eyeballs, maybe Netflix will take a stab at turning Wolfe’s greatest novel — “Bonfire” — into a series. God knows that deserved better than the miscast, botched “blockbuster” that Brian De Palma, Tom Hanks, Bruce Willis and Melanie Griffith gave us in 1990.

Rating: TV-MA, violence, explicit sex, profanity

Cast: Jeff Daniels, Diane Lane, Aml Ameen, Tom Pelphrey, Chanté Adams, Jon Michael Hill, William Jackson Harper, Lucy Liu and Bill Camp.

Credits: Created and scripted by David E. Kelley, directed by Regina King and Thomas Schlamme, based on the novel by Tom Wolfe. A Netflix release.

Running time: 6 episodes @45-50 minutes each

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Movie Review: Millennials try to buy-in or opt-out of the “American Meltdown”

“American Meltdown” is a comic buddy picture that taps into the deep well of Millennial angst and grievance about a “system” that is finally so broken it doesn’t work for them. At all.

Like a lot of fiction and op ed essays about the large and maligned generation, it’s very much in the eye of the viewer — this perception that these mid-20s to late30somethings are either the first to figure out American capitalism, culture and politics is “rigged,” or simply the first to considering giving up trying to fix it.

It’s an indie film that reminds us there’s talent out there that mainstream distributors haven’t embraced — in front of and behind the camera. And fittingly enough for the subject generation, “Meltdown” feels self-satisfied but incomplete, with a finale that plays like a pulled-punch.

Jacki Von Preysing makes her feature film debut as Olivia, an interior designer who learns she needs to take “90 days off” so that her scummy “blame the unions” (there are none) employer (Bella Shaw) can avoid paying her “full time” wages, with benefits, and on the same day comes home to see that her SoCal rental house has just been ransacked.

Broke, blamed for the break-in by the lazy, dismissive Millennial cop (Shaun Boylan) and her creeper corporate landlord (Clayton Farris), in a house she can’t afford since her inheritance baby beau (Christopher Mychael Watson) ditched her for “an influencer,” on a “background check” waitlist for a job driving for one of those predatory rideshare services, Olivia’s delusions of The American Dream are tattered.

She stumbles into this photographer under a pier on the beach, who snaps a picture that makes her look like someone’s who’s died, or just given up. Then shutterbug Marí (Nicolette Sweeney) chases Olivia down and returns the wallet “you dropped.” As it’s not the right wallet, and the right one and the wrong one, both in Marí’s possession, are empty of cash, Olivia needs to look past “super sketchy” apologies and see the pickpocket for who she really is.

Unlike Olivia, Marí has dropped off the capitalism hamster-wheel, living hand-to-mouth, off-the-grid and in a van in the desert. When she’s in town, prowling this or that beach or street scene, she “only” steals “from those who deserve it.”

As the cop IDs Olivia as “Bougie,” we understand Marí’s mistake. She thought Olivia had money and takes pity on her when she realizes otherwise. And “sketchy” or not, Olivia could use a little company right now — for binge drinking, and for companionship in the tony and now scary house Olivia is afraid to sleep in alone.

An unlikely friendship drifts towards “partnership” as the movie hints at a big crime to come. Olivia is interviewed by a detective (DeMorge Brown) in the aftermath of that event, viewed in flashbacks as the script reconstructs the nature of Olivia and Marí’s relationship.

Olivia is passive. Marí seeks revenge or some form of rough justice. Olivia despairs at her plight — calmly.

“What’s the use of being calm,” Marí’ wants to know” “ANGRY people get s–t done!”

The leads and supporting players are make believable characters out of one and all. But writer-director Andrew Adams leaves out connecting scenes that would make the abrupt shifts of setting and attitude less jarring.

Expressions of generational angst and rage register. But while some seem rational and justified, others come off as “Ok Boomer” cant from folks who deserve at least some of the “entitled,” impatient and (intellectually and physically) “lazy” labeling and abuse tossed at them by their elders.

No matter where your birthday falls on the generational dividing line, “American Meltdown” never quite shakes the “letdown” it seems destined to become.

Sharper contrasts in the character’s arcs were called for, maybe a few pickpocket and anarchist politics lessons from the van-dweller jarring Ms. Buys-in into questioning her faith in a system that either denies her dreams, or is to blame for her having those dreams in the first place.

Whatever its failings, “American Meltdown” should inspire others to tackle this subject at this point in time. Because as bad as things might seem to Millennials and those coming up after them, something tells the rest of us that these will soon be the “good old days” for those who don’t consciously work, shop, vote and fight to change the future they so despair of facing.

Rating: TV-16+ (profanity)

Cast: Jacki Von Preysing, Nicolette Sweeney, Shaun Boylan, Clayton Farris, DeMorge Brown and Bella Shaw.

Credits: Scripted and directed by Andrew Adams. An MPX release on Amazon Prime.

Running time: 1:22

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Damn. Snowed/Iced-in and no wifi — Let’s rewatch “The Duke”

“Winter Storm Blair,” the drama queens at The Weather Channel call it — Looking at you, Meryl Cantore.

Bad weather means no internet.  No screener links, no Netflix or Prime or 🍏 work.

And the Biden Administration’s “Build Back Better” bring rural America fibre optic cable/high speed internet initiative is just a mile or so from us as the snow falls. Maybe next week.

Dish TV it is, maybe a TCM classic later. But FXX just dropped “The French Dispatch” followed by Broadbent, Mirren and Goode in”The Duke.” An aging gadfly steals a painting in the classist ’60s UK. Liked it then, perfect day to watch it again.

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Movie Preview: David Wenham is a daft Serial Offender in Oz — “Spit”

We don’t see this side of Wenham, best known as the narrator/survivor of “300.”

A hapless , dim bulb Australian “fugitive” in and out of jail, in Dutch to the wrong Bruces for a ton of dough.

Not sure how “international” this release will be, but March 6, plop another silly on the barbie.

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Classic Film Review: Hopkins is “The Efficiency Expert,” but are Crowe, Collette and Mendelsohn getting the ax? (1991)

Three future stars from Down Under pop off the screen in “The Efficiency Expert,” a delicate, dated and yet timeless fish-out-of-water period piece set in Australia at the birth of the job-cutting “consultant” boom.

Toni Collette, impressive and emotional in a romantic supporting role here, would break out in “Muriel’s Wedding” three years later, and have the most impressive career of the three.

Russell Crowe shows off the blustery tough guy he’d become as a thin, dashing and vain villain in this wistful, sentimental comedy about a workforce that’s a “family.”

And Ben Mendelsohn, top billed among the three back then, would age and smoke his way out of the higher-voiced baby-faced youth he appears as here to play grand villains as a late bloomer, cranking up the evil in everything from the “Star Wars” universe to the “Marvel” one.

Director Mark Joffe’s movie — scripted by Max Dann and Andrew Knight — came out the same year as the all-star film adaptation of the downsizing dramedy play “Other People’s Money,” and reaches for some of the same emotional notes. Long before “Up in the Air,” the “Greed is Good” ’80s sent venerable and vulnerable companies around the world into cut-cutting/stock-price-boosting layoffs, which eventually launched a whole new industry — layoff “management.”

But before that, consultants were hired to show up at companies, look at the books and carry out “time and motion” studies of the workforce to bring “efficiency” to (mostly) manufacturing concerns.

That’s what Errol Wallace (Anthony Hopkins) and his partner Jerry (John Walton) do. They’re wrapping up such a consultancy with an Australian auto parts manufacturer, where big layoffs would make a union company more attractive to American buyers in the mid-60s.

Jerry’s an amoral “Someone’s always going to lose out” rationalizer. “The trick is to make sure it’s not us.”

But Errol, as brittle and blunt as he can be, is hitting the midlife pangs of guilt stage over what he does in his career. That next consultancy, at the Balls moccasin manufacturing concern in Spotswood, a working class suburb of Melbourne, just might put our cutthroat cost-cutter over the edge.

Sure, there’s “ineffeciency” everywhere. The women doing the shoe-stitching chat all day, even during their long group lunches in the cafeteria. The shipping department is a bunch of old-timers and trainees wasting time on personal calls and plotting their strategy for the big state slot-car racing grand prix they hope to win.

Old Man Ball (Alwyn Kurts, just twinkly enough) has relatives all over the payroll, and is bringing in his daughter (Rebecca Rigg) “for a while,” just until she can get her modeling career going.

That makes young inter-department runner Carey (Mendelsohn) and everry other male his age on the workforce breathless with lust. Does he stand a chance against the young sales exec Kim (Crowe)? And does that mean he’s no longer besties with his young stitcher-neighbor Wendy (Collette)?

But they all have something bigger to worry about when Errol Wallace rolls up. The smart ones are either alarmed, or conniving (Kim) to survive this doomed factory’s fate. But most of these lifers are happily oblivious.

“Crikey,” Wallace mutters (a Hopkins first). It’s “like visiting my grandather’s house, and finding it full of people!”

He enlists Carey as a stop-watch clicking “time and motion” measurer. And as the “other” deal Wallace’s consultancy has turns into protests and near-riots at the auto parts supplier, he finds himself at a crossroad. Can he do anything to “save” this company and the people in it from obsolescence?

A telling scene has another kid there get a co-worker to splash eye drops in his eyes, as another worker tells Wallace “He’s allergic to sheep skin,” the material they make their moccasins from.

“Why does he WORK here?”

Why, “It’s where his future is!”

It was wistful and melancholy to look back on the ’60s and the death of manufacturing from the early ’90s, when this film was released. “Efficiency Expert” can seem downright quaint today, with its dusty, anitquated factory, slacking-off workforce and the idea that “the future” could be a job for life that somebody might be guaranteed, or that anybody would want to stay with such a gig for more than a short stretch.

But Hopkins, on the cusp of his greatest decades as a star, gives us a hint of humanity peeking out from the callous “cost cutter.” Mendelsohn is adorable as a kid too naive to gracefully manage asking the owner’s daughter out, too dim to see what she’s really like and slow to catch on to the new “promotion” that has him in a coat and tie every day, and makes all his friends turn on him for turning them in as “inefficient.”

Crowe sets off sparks as the office bully. But Collette lets us see the great character actress she would become in a couple of simple moments of romantic heartbreak.

Among the several comedies of this subgenre from that era, “The Efficiency Expert” plays as the lightest, if not the most lightly delusional in a wish-fulfillment fantasy light. As Springsteen sang in the middle of the Reaganomics/”Wall Street” ’80s, “foreman says ‘These jobs are goin’, boys, and they ain’t comin’ back.”

The storytelling is, pardon the word, “efficient,” with just enough heart and “cute” to get by. The characters are archetypes, but realistic and functional ones. And how can we tell the difference between Errol and his partner Jerry? One drives a practical (if anachronistic) ’72 Rover. The other’s in a flashy Volvo P1800.

Tthe cute setting, quirky characters and a very good cast putting their best foot forward, young and old, to keep up with Hopkins make “The Efficiency Expert” a worthy outing in the “fish out of water” and “obsolete industry/workforce” genres.

It’s worth tracking down just for the chance to catch Crowe before his Oscar, Mendelsohn before he aged into the villains he’s grand at playing or Collette at her most winsome.

Rating: PG

Cast: Anthony Hopkins, Ben Mendelsohn, Toni Collette, Rebecca Rigg, Alwyn Kurts, John Walton, Bruno Lawrence and Russell Crowe

Credits: Directed by Mark Joffe, scripted Max Dann and Andrew Knight. A Miramax release on Tubi, Amazon, other streamers

Running time: 1:28

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BOX OFFICE: “Mufasa” finally wins a weekend, “Sonic” slides, “Nosferatu” becomes a horror blockbuster

New movies rarely roll out between Christmas and the second Friday in January, and so it is this year, with Jan. 10 (next weekend) serving up Oscar contenders and the first action pic of 2025.

But the holdover films in theaters are keeping the cineplexes busy.

“Mufasa,” the “Lion King” prequel, has been winning the weekday box office take ever since its holiday opening. But “Sonic the Hedgehog 3” had taken every three day weekend since its opening in late Dec.

That three week run is over, as the CGI animated “Mufasa” is on track to take the first moviegoing weekend of 2025 with a $24 million haul. “Sonic 3” may reach $21 million, based on Friday’s ticket sales.

“Sonic” is still $15-20 million ahead of Disney’s latest, closing in on a franchise-best $190 and almost sure to clear $200 million as is “Mufasa,” which is flirting with $170.

But again, the “news” as far as the box office goes, is about Robert Eggers’ “Nosferatu.” This old fashioned but gory, stately and production-designed-to-death scene-for-scene remake of a silent German vampyre film that ripped off Bram Stoker’s “Dracula” back in 1922 is on track to clear $13 million this weekend, closing in on $70 million, and seems almost certain to hit $100 million, especially if an Oscar nomination or two turns up. It should.

Those aren’t “It,” or going way back “Exorcist” numbers. But that’s a blockbuster by any standard, especially horror. The horror audience seemed to vanish for much of 2024. Give the fans a “classic,” with R-rated gore and a whiff of nudity, and they’ll show up.

“Moanu 2,” adding another $13 million to park it in fourth place. Or third, depending on Sat/Sunday. Neck and neck. It will have earned almost twice what “Mufasa” has, if “The Lion King” runs out of steam in mid January.

“Wicked” adds another $10 or so, and will be over the $450 million mark Sunday.

The Bob Dylan biopic “A Complete Unknown,” the best film showing nationwide, won’t crack the top five this weekend, but an $8-8.5 million take, pushing it towards $50 million, is nothing to whine-on-key about. Oscar nominations should give this one legs.

They’re popping champagne corks over at Searchlight Films over that.

“Babygirl” is finding the going tougher, but will pull in over $4.5 million.

“Gladiator II” winds down its top ten run with another $2.5.

“Homestead” didn’t cost much, but I’m guessing another $1.9, still under $20 million all-in, is red ink.

“The Fire Inside” deserved more of an audience, but it will be lucky to earn $10 million in theaters ($1.2, $7 million all-in).

As always, I’ll update these figures as more data comes in Sunday.

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Movie Review: A Locksmith lives to Regret Taking that One “Night Call”

I’m of two minds about that subgenre we call the hero/heroine with “particular skills” thriller.

The parade of Liam Neeson/Jason Statham/John Cena et al action pictures where this mobster, that rogue government or rogue government agency or creepy neighbor crosses this or that mild-mannered man or woman who turns out to be ex-CIA, a retired Marine, a former assassin or Navy SEAL has worn out its welcome.

Somebody effs around, somebody finds out they’ve “Taken” the wrong relative, crossed the wrong professional mayhem-maker. Yawn.

It’s always more interesting when somebody a lot more ordinary is tested by an extraordinary situation, and by people ostensibly a lot more capable of what Mr. or Ms. In Over Their Heads is attempting. “Three Days of the Condor” is the template for this sort of film. A more recent example is the snowplow operator tracking down and avenging himself on his son’s mob killers — “In Order of Disappearance.”

Throwing somebody with one “particular skill” that doesn’t include violence, criminal or espionage subterfuge or the like? As an exercise in screenwriting problem-solving that’s almost always a fun film to watch. That’s why I have high hopes for Rami Malek’s upcoming spring fling, “The Amateur.”

Let’s hope that’s as good as the lurid, violent and tight-as-a-drum Belgian thriller, “Night Call.” A young man (Jonathan Feltre) is tricked, trapped and life-or-death tested by one long night at work.

Mady is a student, we gather, and a native-born Belgian with a thing for Petula Clark ’60s pop — in French. His night gig is as a locksmith. On this one night, that job will get him into trouble despite his best efforts to avoid it. And his “particular skills” and the tools of his trade will come in handy just enough to make you mutter, “clever, clever boy” at the screen and what writer-diector Michiel Blanchart has cooked-up for his feature filmmaking debut.

Mady’s the guy you summon when you’ve locked yourself out of your car, business or flat in the wee hours. He’s professional, courteous and honest. No, the quoted price — 250 Euros — is all you owe.

He’s also careful. The young woman named Claire (Natacha Krief) summons him to a Brussels flat she’s locked out of. She doesn’t have the 250. It’s in her purse, in her flat. With her keys. No, that’s where her ID is, too. As she’s flirted, just a bit, and the streets all around them are consumed by Black Lives Matter protests because Black people die at the hands of white cops in Belgium, too, he takes her word for it.

Mady might be the last to figure out that her last lie, about “taking out the trash” (in French with English subtitles) and hitting the ATM downstairs, is her get-away. When she rings him up and warns him to “Get OUT of there” (in French with subtitles) he’s still slow on the uptake.

That’s when the apartment’s real resident, a musclehead with a punching bag and lots of Nazi paraphrenalia on the walls, shows up and tries to beat Mady to death. He fails.

But can a young Black man call the possibly racist cops about what’s happened and have them believe him? Maybe not. It’s when he’s trying to “clean” the scene of the “crime” that he’s nabbed, and his night of hell escalates into torture, threats and attempts to escape from the mobster (Romain Duris at his most sadistic) in pursuit of stolen loot and the “real” thief, the elusive but somehow conscience-stricken “Claire.”

As Hitchcock always said, “Good villains make good thrillers.” Duris, recently seen in the French “The Three Musketeers” and “The Animal Kingdom,” famous for “The Spanish Apartment” and “Chinese Puzzle,”, is the classic thriller “reasonable man” heavy.

“Either you become a friend, or a problem,” his Yannick purrs, in between pulling the garbage bag off the suffocating kids’ head, only to wrap Mady’s face in duct tape, a more creative bit of asphyxiation.

The spice that Blanchart seasons his thriller with is the backdrop — street protests, with Black protesters furious that Mady isn’t joining them and riot police pummeling and arresting every Black face in sight. That’s jarringly contrasted by the oasis-of-calm subway and unconcerned discos where Mady chases clues and Claire.

A getaway on a stolen bicycle, dashing through streets and down into a subway station, suspense via frantic escapes, frantic bits of outwitting or outfighting crooks and cops, a decent confrontation with the not-cute-enough-to-excuse-all-this Claire and a satisfying “ticking clock” finale?

That’s what makes a good thriller. And if those “particular skills” show up here and there, at least we know Mady’s learned something on a job that if he lives to finish school, won’t be his career.

Rating: unrated, graphic violence, sex scenes in a brothel

Cast: Jonathan Feltre, Natacha Krief, Jonas Bloquet, Thomas Mustin and Romain Duris.

Credits: Scripted and directed by Michiel Blanchart. A Magnet release.

Running time: 1:37

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Netflixable? A cuppa “Wallace & Gromit: Vengeance Most Fowl,” if you please

Well cor blimey and “butter me crumpets,” Wallace & Gromit are back.

Britain’s most adorable exports since the Minis — the Cooper and the Skirt — are back for another twee stop-motion animated farce that reminds us of how much we’ve missed them.

“Wallace & Gromit: Vengeance Most Fowl” sees our keep-calm-and-keep-inventing duo still snug and comfy in their Wallace & Gromit “Escape to the Country” small town living. But doggoned if the Foe that Made Them Famous — the disguised pengiun known as Feathers McGraw — isn’t ready to escape prison and finish the heist that began back in “The Wrong Trousers,” nearly 30 years ago.

And this time, he’ll pin his “blue diamond” theft on hapless Wallace and his always-underestimated “best pal,” Gromit.

Wallace’s latest invention is a help-around-the-home digital garden gnome, a “smart gnome” who can “tidy up” your garden, clean your house, make your tea and do your knitting, all chores those pottering Brits are famous for loving to do the old fashioned way.

“Norbot” (voiced by Reese Shearsmith) is a persistent, quick-learning bot who just might be Wallace’s first lucrative invention ever. He’ll program the robot to make more Norbots and hire them out as handy-gnomes.

“The more Norbots, the merrier,” the broke Wallace crows. “What could possibly go wrong?”

The dog knows. The dog always knows.

Feathers McGraw, doing hard time (for an Adelie penguin) in a local zoo, silently and expressionlessly cooks up a scheme to hijack the gnomes, bust out of “prison” and pin all sorts of crimes on Wallace, and by extension Gromit.

The late voice actor Peter Sallis died in 2017, and there really is no replacement for that daft, befuddled and ever-cheerful “blokety bloke” North Country accent he summoned for the screwball inventor who always has his biscuits saved by his clever boy dog. So longtime Wallace & Gromit filmmaker Nick Park got actor Ben Whitehead to come in and do his best Peter Sallis. It works.

But as amusing as Wallace’s sputtered reactions to their predicaments always are, as cute as the work song the singing gnomes compose might be — “We break our little backs, and never stop to have a brew ’cause we’ve got battery packs!” — it’s the parade of sight gags that sell these clay-animated comic jewels.

Gnome puns abound. Gromit’s mastered using his retractable leash as a grappling hook. Gadgets like Wallace’s ever-evolving “wake me up/bathe me/dress me/jelly me toast” conveyor belt/amusement park ride tickle.

To break Feathers out of the zoo, the gnomes DIY an escape submarine out of the sheds and contents of sheds from assorted English gardens. Naturally, they don’t forget to include a pipe organ. Every Brit villain should know how to play Bach’s Tocatta and Fugue in D Minor, even the penguins.

And what penguin escape would be complete without a nun’s habit as a disguise?

Chief Inspector MacIntosh (Peter Kay) now has a new trainee, Police Constable Mukhergee (Lauren Patel), one way these films have “evolved” over the decades. Aardman Animation has taken DEI lessons to heart, as this film looks like the clay-animated diverse Britain of today.

Granted, both MacIntosh and Mukherjee leap to the wrong conclusions about who the “bad’un” is here. MacIntosh is long enough in the tooth to still refer to the police as “Old Bill.” He’s distracted by dreams of a puttering retirement on his canal boat (“narrowboat”), which he’s named “Dun Nickin’.”

There are more grins than laughs in this outing, but Aardman addicts (myself included) will get a kick out of “The Night of the Hunter” and other film references, at the sight gags that land hard and the ones that just tickle.

It’s comforting to think there’ll always be an England, and even more comforting to hope that there’ll always be a Wallace and his Gromit “over there” to amuse us.

Rating: PG, kiddie slapstick, one very funny man-on-a-toilet gag

Cast: The voices of Ben Whitehead, Peter Kay, Lauren Patel, Reese Sheersmith, Lenny Henry, many others

Credits: Directed by Nick Park and Merlin Crossingham, scripted by Mark Burton and Nick Park. An Aardman Film for Netflix.

Running time: 1:22

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Movie Preview: Bad times on a Wisconsin farm — Can the Packers save it? “Green and Gold”

Irony is dead in “conservative” virtue signalling cinema like this Craig T. Nelson (Don’t get me started.) star vehicle.

Bank’s about to take his farm. Banker offers to bet on Green Bay’s lone tourist attraction to give him time, and it all comes down to a “miracle” season from that government hand-out stealing dick pic mailer Brett Favre.

Jan.31.

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