Movie Nation

He’s well turned-out and driving a Mercedes. But you know the minute the black gloves come out that he’s up to no good.

In the movies, guys who wear black gloves are hit-men or burglars, to a one. Besides, he’s putting them on before he goes INTO a store.

He’s got his routine. He looks, distractedly, through the merchant’s wares — jewelry, pens, odd cheap sundries. His cell phone rings, he fumbles for it, and as he pulls it out he slips whatever he’s pilfering into his tailored overcoat pocket. Afterwards, there’s time for a smirk and a cigarette. It’s like sex to Sandy Duffy, skillfully played by Conleth Hill of “Game of Thrones.”

Sandy’s a famous writer whose break-through novel, “A Patch of Fog,” had touches of autobiography about it — a tough childhood, a father suffering from agoraphobia. Twenty-five years after publication, Sandy Duffy is very much enamored with “being Sandy Duffy,” as one person notes. He teaches at university, stars on a Northern Ireland arts and affairs TV program, dates the lovely hostess (Lara Pulver) of that show and is very much the Big Man in the Arts in that small pond.

But he likes to steal. And one night, he gets caught.

“A Patch of Fog” is a superb thriller in the Hitchcock mold, touching on Hitchcock’s big themes — fear of the law, the sexual rush of committing a crime and blackmail. Because that’s what the simple but skilled store security guard Robert (Robert Graham of “Boardwalk Empire”) seems to do when confronted with a famous man he’s caught in the act and caught on tape.

“I’m not blackmailing you. Just making conversation.”

The fiendishly clever twist to this John Cairns/Michael McCarthy script, is that Robert’s motives defy expectations — Sandy’s and ours. What does he want, because it certainly isn’t money?

A painfully awkward relationship develops between the Man of Letters and the “sad little man” who needs a dictionary just to get through Sandy’s famous book. But that’s all right, Sandy. You’ll record it for me to listen to, right? My very own “book on tape?”

First-time feature director Michael Lennox and his actors dangle their scenes, even simple conversations in a pub, on tenterhooks. Sandy frets for the reputation that could be ruined and tries to play the “sad little man.” But Robert holds too many cards, revealing new ones every time Sandy seem to gain the upper hand.

Graham who has done his share of thrillers — “Snatch” to “Public Enemies” — has a menace lurking just beneath Robert’s naivete. The guy is gauche, but insists on sitting in on Sandy’s college lectures, going to art openings with him. His every “request” of Sandy seems needy and frightening at the same time, even the selfie he insists on in Sandy’s posh home.

Hill gives Sandy mercurial moods, veering from fearful to arrogant, timid to threatening. Does he truly have the measure of this name-tag wearing “Shoplifters will be prosecuted” martinet?

And as the relationship plays out, we wonder to what lengths each man will go to in order to obtain what he wants. What do we not know about them that will illuminate what they’re capable of.

Lennox gives the film a moody, nocturnal tone with an uneasy edge. Scenes keep us off balance. He plays up the script’s literary qualities — “metaphor” is explained to Robert even as the film is underlining what the word means. Is Lennox the son of famed Northern Irish Oxford academic and Christian apologist John Carson Lennox? He directed the more famous Lennox in a documentary debate he had with British scientist/atheist Richard Dawkins.

In any event, he and his players have made a tight, smart and nervous little thriller that keeps right on surprising us, almost right to its inevitable, melodramatic end.

MPAA Rating: unrated, with violence, profanity, pot use

Cast: Stephen Graham, Conleth Hill, Lara Pulver, Ian McElhinney

Credits:Directed by Michael Lennox, script by John Cairns, Michael McCartney. An XLRator Media release.

Running time: 1:32

The numbers for Disney/Lucasfilm’s “Rogue One” just keeping piling up — another $50 million weekend, $60 million+ over the four-day holiday.

Closing in on $700 million, worldwide. Passing “Captain America: Civil War,” to be the second highest grossing film of 2016.

“Finding Dory” is #1, in case you wondered. So that makes Disney producer of the top three films of the year. Bonus checks all around Burbank. You bet.

And yes, this week’s take sets the all-time in unadjusted dollars Hollywood box office record over all, well over $11 billion, better than 2015’s $11.15 billion.

“Passengers” appears to be bombing, but worldwide could prop it up enough to break even, per Deadline.com. Ditto “Assassin’s Creed.” Both are dying in the US.

“Collateral Beauty” won’t make it to $40 million without Oscar buzz. And there is no Oscar buzz.

“Fences” is sitting healthily in the top five, and Oscar heat should give that one legs.

Disney pushed “Moana” back into more theaters, noting that if audiences will waste money on “Sing,” maybe they missed the Polynesian picture that is much more likely to be an Oscar nominee. “Moana” is over $200 million, “Sing” may hit $75+.

The thing about bad movies is how rarely they stick with you, how utterly forgettable they are.

Anybody remember “Clown Town,” “Max Steel,” “Incarnate,” or the last ever “Divergent” theatrical film? Me either.

“Run the Tide?” Yeah, that one starred Taylor Lautner.

I recall the grim deja vu of ” The People Garden,” an utter bust of a thriller set in Japan’s spooky “suicide forest.” But that’s because I remember “The Forest,” a better-budgeted horror film using that same setting and a similar story and starring Natalie Dormer. This one had…Pamela Anderson, and only in a glorified cameo.

Was the disappointing (yet box office dominating) “Suicide Squad” one of the worst pictures of the year? Close. But so is “Why Him?”, which along with “The Infiltrator” finally ends the great run Bryan Cranston has had in choices of projects, and successes with those choices. “Collateral Beauty” should be the end of Will Smith’s Oscar dreams.

Others could name “Passengers” one of the worst of the year and I’d resist the urge to argue.

We had sequels nobody wanted — “Bridget Jones,” “Blair Witch,” “Inferno,” etc. We had bio-pics that seriously let down Hank Williams, Hemingway and others.

Actually, I could build a Worst Ten list out of animated awfulness and bad video game adaptations alone, as you will see below.

But let’s see what stands out in a year with its share of misguided movie moments.

“Independence Day: Resurgence”reminds me of how much I love just love Jeff Goldblum. But even the Great Goldblum should know “you can’t go home again.” One of those sequels nobody begged for, this inane aliens-invade adventure was just sad, sloppy sci-fi all the way round.

“Man Down” is, as the ads say, “Another Debacle by Dito Montiel.” The cut-rate Scorsese landed Shia LaBeouf, Kate Mara and Gary Oldman for this all-in-his-head dystopian fantasy about a combat vet (Shia) who imagines one last “World War Z” styled mission to “save” his wife and son. Laughably bad on every level.

“Keeping Up with the Joneses” had the worst script of any Hollywood-budgeted action comedy of the year, a disastrously ill-conceived packaging of Zach Galafianakis and Isla Fisher as suburbanites whose new neighbors turn out to be “Mad Man” Jon Hamm and “Wonder Woman” but never funny Gal Gadot. The New Yorker endorsed this tripe, the fools.

“The Do-Over” can be appreciated for being proof positive that Adam Sandler’s big screen career is over. Because this, like his other recent “projects,” went straight to Netflix. Co-starring his pal, David Spade and with a plot that was worn out before either of them was born, this is some sort of nadir for one and all.

“The Wild Life/The Angry Birds Movie/Sing!/Ice Age: Collision Course” all remind us that they won’t be contenders for the Best Animated Feature Film Academy Award. I’m guessing “The Secret Life of Pets” and “Finding Dory” and “Storks” and “Trolls” and “Sing” won’t be in contention either. It was a record year for big screen cartoons, and almost all of them were bad to middling. It’s become one of the few reliable places a studio can put its money, these days. Parents are still taking kids to cartoons, even at 3D prices. So every half-baked idea and cut-rate start-up can get their film financed and onto the screen. But “Kubo and the Two Strings,” “Zootopia” and “Moana” should be vying for the Oscar, with “Sausage Party” the odd-man out, so it’s not all bad news.

“Dirty Grandpa” pairs up the legend Robert DeNiro and the aging but still callow Zac Efron for an R-rated farce about a geezer who cons his about-to-be-married grandson into driving him to Florida for Spring Break. Icky, seriously unfunny, even with Aubrey Plaza taking her best shot at playing one more man-eater.

“Cafe Society” is the off-putting Jesse Eisenberg film/performance that stuck with me this year. Not his nattering nabob Lex Luthor turn in the widely-mocked “Batman v. Superman” mashup. Woody Allen gets a pass from most critics, and has been getting that pass for years. The odd bright spot (“Midnight in Paris”) leads to years of carry-over good vibes and good reviews for whatever pap the old man cranks out afterwards. This period piece “comedy” is a doddering farce, a laugh-starved/love-lorn dog, distasteful, stagy, with never-been-worse turns by Kristen Stewart and this year’s Allen alter ego, Eisenberg.

“Warcraft/Assassin’s Creed/Kingsglaive: Final Fantasy XXIV” should be the final nails in the coffin of “Let’s make this hit, branded video game into a movie.” They never hire a good screenwriter, never figure out a story to take us beyond first-person shooter/slayer on a quest, and every actor involved winds up embarrassed. Worst of all, movie reviewers endure endless waves of, “Hey, you can’t say that about my favorite game!” from fanboys and girls, who have to be reminded that this is a movie — the rules are different.

“Nine Lives” is the worst non-animated kids’ movie of 2016, featuring Kevin Spacey, Christopher Walken, Jennifer Garner and Cheryl Hines in the story of a callous dad who has to switch bodies with a cat to learn his lesson. Spacey as a cat?

“My Dead Boyfriend” lets Heather Graham, Gina Gershon and John Corbett try to pretend that the first 25 years of their careers never happened. Especially Graham, who has played endless variations of this sexy-cute and quick to strip bimbo ever since “Boogie Nights” and “Bowfinger.” The DVD comes with a “may cause potentially injurious eye-rolling” warning.

There is novelty in the idea of Oscar winner Reese Witherspoon as a sow singing Taylor Swift’s “Shake it Off” or “Fireworks,” by Swift’s arch enemy, Katy Perry.

That Reese, a real peace maker.

And her fellow Oscar winner, Matthew McConaughey, crooning a bar of “Call Me, Maybe,” as a cuddly koala bear Broadway impresario? Sure.

Who knew Scarlett Johansson could carry a tune? We still don’t. She voices Ash, the porcupine punk rocker, so we don’t actually see her lips move.

But entertainment value? Not much here, there or when eager beaver crooner Seth McFarlane, as a jazz-loving mouse, belts out Sinatra’s signature tune (written by Paul Anka) “My Way.”

“Sing” is a cynical “Let’s put on a show” musical that piles on the star voices (Oscar winner Jennifer Hudson has a small diva role) and plays on the guilt that has parents taking the tykes to any tuneful toon that comes down the pike, especially over the holidays.

It’s marginally worse than “Trolls,” for those who’re wondering whether to park the kids in the theater while hanging out, texting and noshing in the lobby.

The story — one shudders to call it that — is about that impresario, Buster Moon (McConaughey), on the ropes after a string of flops titled “War of Attrition” and the like.

His lone remaining backer (a sheep voiced by John C. Reilly, not allowed to sing here) is wary. Buster  needs a hit in the worst way. Which is how he comes up with an on-stage “America’s Got Talent,” a live audition singing competition in which the audience will pick the winner of a grand prize.

Buster’s so broke he doesn’t have the cash to pay a winner, but he’s got “The show must go on” in his fur. They’ll use “music and light to bring dreams to life,” by gosh.

And they’ll have their singers perform to backing tracks. No sense paying a stage orchestra union wages, after all.

The audition montage, an “American Idol” riff with a water buffalo crooning “Come come, my lady” (“Butterfly” by Crazy Town),  a snail blasting through “Ride like the Wind” by Christopher Cross, a porcine exhibitionist (Nick Kroll) vamping Lady Gaga, is how they’ve been selling this in the trailers and TV commercials.

Don’t be fooled.

The movie is nothing more than that, with the finalists, voiced by McFarlane, Witherspoon, Johansson, Kroll, Brit Taron Egerton (as a sweet-voiced gorilla who doesn’t want to take up his dad’s bank heist trade) and Tori Kelly (as a shy elephant belter) rehearsing for the Big Show while Moon tries to keep the sky and his creditors from caving in.

There are two, maybe three laughs in this. No, the fart jokes don’t work. Any touching moments come from the inclusion of songs by famous musicians who have died in 2016 — pure accidents.

Love the message — “Don’t let fear stop you from doing the thing you love.”

And truthfully, McFarlane’s sax playing, self-absorbed jazzman may be the most appealing character he’s ever voiced. The animation is generic, even though a lot of effort was hurled at animating a Broadway “Zootopia,” with backstage intrigues, club scenes and a heist.

But “Sing” is only to be embraced for its music, from the stars singing cover tunes that include the late Leonard Cohen’s “Hallelujah,” to the incidental music which includes Pavarotti, Cyndi Lauper, George Michael, Queen with David Bowie and The Gipsy Kings.

So here’s a thought. Buy the kids the soundtrack, skip the movie.

MPAA Rating: PG for some rude humor and mild peril

Cast: The voices of Matthew McConaughey, Reese Witherspoon, Scarlett Johansson, Seth McFarlane, Tori Kelly, Taron Egerton, Nick Kroll, Jennifer Saunders and Jennifer Hudson

Credits:Directed by Christophe Lourdelet, Garth Jennings, script by Garth Jennings. A Universal/Illumination release.

Running time: 1:48

Here’s a documentary about unflappable, relentlessly optimistic educators and “The Bad Kids” they’re guiding — or dragging, kicking and sleeping (in class)– towards a high school diploma.

Black Rock High School is in scenic but remote and limited Joshua Tree, California, where as U2 taught us, “the streets have no name.” The place may be pretty, but growing up there makes it feel like the deadest of dead-ends.

Black Rock is a school of last resort for kids who have been messing up, all over the region. They’re from broken homes, have access to drugs and what little supervision they seem to have is generally disinterested. They have probation officers, some of them. Others have become teen parents, repeating the endless cycle of poverty, neglect and abuse that brought them into the world.

Whatever their home situation, they’ve been kicked out or flunked out of the schools where they started. Black Rock gives them a shot at collecting the credits, as juniors and seniors, to graduate.

The idea fomented here is to give each and every one of them a shock to his or her system. The principal, Vonda Viland, greets each busload of kids by name. Hugs are doled out, no strings attached. And the rest of the staff follows suit, calling the students at home when they are no-shows, driving out to pick them up, giving them a generous dose of “We care about you” for the first time in many of their young lives.

It’s bracing and inspiring, what filmmakers Keith Fulton and Leo Pepe show us in that first hour. Kids get motivated, act reasonably, learn anger management and seem to appreciate the attention.

But during the course of a school year, as the movie zeroes in on drug dabbling musician Joey, abuse victim Jennifer and teen baby daddy Lee (and his girlfriend Layla), we see pitfalls, backsliding and attempts to give up.

Some will succeed, at least one is sure to fail. That’s the way such documentaries (this one had Sundance Institute sponsorship) work. That’s also the way of things in such “last resort” high schools all over America.

Viland keeps a sign, “The Witch is In,” on her office door. But her every breath contradicts that. Kids are arm-twisted into second, third and fourth chances. The tough love can be compassionate — “Your daughter is me, 40 years ago.” It can be funny in the ways she demonstrates that the best parenting begins with the phrase, “I’m WATCHING you.”

“Who’s that suckin’ on your neck, there?”

And it is blunt. “Get your butt up every day and get on with it.”

Joey has to be cajoled out of his “I don’t want to DO high school” malaise.

Lee must learn to do the math that explains his dilemma in harsh financial terms, the eighteen years of child rearing he and Layla have set themselves up for.

Jennifer has to stay focused and forgive or forget the parents who might be holding her back.

Random snippets of mini-counseling sessions pick up “I really DO want to get out of that trailer” and “How can I believe in me when I don’t believe in myself?”

They’re not little angels. They pass off excuses — excuses more raw than most, but still excuses — like any slacker. They sass Ms. Viland and the teachers, get in fights on the bus and flip off the bus driver.

But their struggle, and the Herculean efforts of the staff — veteran teachers, all of them, bringing in guitars to reach a kid whose only interest is music, weeping over a child they know is heading into a homeless shelter after the bell rights — to give these hard-luck teens at least a shot at making something of themselves, is inspiring.

And as touching as the movie can be as every graduate is given a farewell full of love and group support, “The Bad Kids” makes us appreciate the awe the graduates must feel at clearing this first all-important life-hurdle. The teachers know that these are the littlest of victories. But they also know, given all their bad circumstances and bad habits, that a little cheerleading goes a long way to egging on the kids still in the system, still aching for that one last nudge from adults who care.

MPAA Rating: Unrated, with some profanity, discussions of drug abuse

Cast: The staff and students of Black Rock H.S.

Credits:Directed by Keith Fulton and Lou Pepe. A FilmRise release.

Running time: 1:41

Absolutely awful news ends a year full of that, a year stalked by the specter of death.

Carrie Fisher has succumbed to illness and a body ravaged by a lifetime of hard living. She was just 60. 

She was never shy about admitting that, and managed to spin her awful years into books and a second breath as one of America’s great wits. “Star Wars” fans aren’t the only ones shocked and saddened by her passing.

I interviewed her a couple of times over the years. She came to Orlando’s hosting of two “Star Wars” “celebration” conventions. She gave off a vibe of good humor and great sportsmanship. All the other films she made, she knew what made her immortal, what would be in all her obituaries. And she was OK with that.

She knew what the fans wanted, and she made sure to give them that. Including this pose, on stage, in Orlando. Shaking my head over this one. So is the rest of the “Star Wars” world.

An icon for recovery, and for being a good sport when fate gives you the gift of that one immortal role. Mom may be “unsinkable,” but Leia Organa was pretty tough, too.

Sixty is way too young to go, even after a life as raw as hers.

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So I waited around to binge-watch the entire “first series” of “The Grand Tour,” biding my Amazon Prime time, wanting to see the whole thing in one sitting.

As a long-time “Top Gear” fan, owner of many a boxed set of the boys and their car hijinks, someone who once bought a vintage British sports car on James May’s recommendation,  I was looking forward to their reboot, though perhaps not with the fervid anticipation of some.

And watching the increasingly portly Jeremy Clarkson, ever-more-wizened James May and experiments in diminutive dye-jobs of Richard Hammond in their tent, with shows from the US southwest, Johannesburg, Whitby, Rotterdam and snowy Finland, I was reminded why I’d gotten control of my addiction a few years back.

The shows have turned repetitive, routine. Only the TG series finale (sans Clarkson) was worth checking into, with featured films that they’d never gotten around to airing on the regular run of the series. Vintage car “restorations,” late model SUV “rambling” through fox hunting country — funny.

The epic road trips in unsuitable or unserviceable used cars were the best things about the series. Title the new show “The Grand Tour,” and you kind of expect that to be the way they go.

But no. New Mustangs, another comical riff on self-designed “green” cars, drifting, drifting drifting Dodges and the like, group drives in enviro-friendlier hyper cars, more Mustangs, and a drawling cliche of NASCAR Americana replacing the Stig. They did away with the “Star in a Reasonably Priced Car” bit for a straining running gag about inviting celebrities who appear in a filmed gag only to “die” before reaching the set.

Paging Alan Partridge.

Ginned up scripted “controversy”? Smacks of desperation, the desperation that had Amazon giving away the premiere away over the holidays.

The only memorable bits in six episodes were the opening to the premiere episode, with Clarkson and his mates departing dreary England for sunny Southern California and a “bright, sunshiny day,” and James May’s oddly-timed appreciation of the Ford GT. Yes, they did that on “Top Gear” five years ago. And yes, the movie “The 24 Hour War” came out before this much-hyped, much-delayed series made its bow. But May, the historian and pedant of the show, did a decent enough job summing up (again, and far too briefly) the Ford vs. Ferrari LeMans wars of the 1960s.

And about that “departure.” Though Jalopnik and others are swallowing it, still, I’m not buying the cover story that the punching of a producer was the reason Clarkson was canned. Remember, the sacking came mere weeks after the BBC went to the mat for him over the debacle in Argentina. Clarkson and/or the BBC had broken the law, faking/customizing a Falklands War “coded” licence plate as a joke for their Patagonian road trip, claimed that they didn’t (because it is illegal to do that) and were looking for an excuse that would let the BBC off the hook and let Clarkson save face.

But all would be forgiven if the new show was a dazzler. And it isn’t. “Conversation Street” is just inane, scripted formulaic and jokey chatter about cars and what have you. The gags — playing “Battleship” with old cars, G-Wizes and cranes — were merely passable filler. I rather liked Hammond’s little “Mustang now available with Wrong Hand Drive Steering here in the UK” appreciation. They’ve lost a little of the show’s eccentric Britishness — slang and “personalities” unknown outside the Empire.

The test drives/reviews have a little bite, though one does wonder about the product placement factor in a show that no longer has a “news” network and its standards to prevent pay-for-play deals. They’re all about the shiny new toys, and that was only part of the appeal of the old show.

They’re topping the season with a dune buggy trek through Namibia. Even that seems like a “been there, done that with this lot” variation.

Which suggests that “Top Gear” still has a shot at getting it right and doing it better. The Chris Evans/Matt LeBlanc show had just as many memorable “bits” as “The Grand Tour” – the long-overdue “Jeep vs. Land Rover” challenge, and visit the uncut video of that LeBlanc “Hoonigan” tourist trek through London, which Hammond mocked in GT by “being respectful” driving the Mustang past the same war memorials in London. It’s the best “Top Gear” segment in years.

The dazzling car porn production values are now spread out over two programs — GT and TG. Many many edits, many many cool angles, much drone footage, lots of slo-mo, endurable music rights clearances. But all “The Grand Tour” amounts to is filming the various public appearance tours the three rich Yorkshiremen have been doing for years for gas money, showing the flag in front of adoring crowds hither and yon. Yawn.

Getting TG back on the road for some epic, break-down filled “adventure” drives would level the playing field, especially if the chemistry and overloaded cast problems of New Gear are worked out. Yeah, that’s a big “if,” but LeBlanc seems to mix with the younger guys who are stepping in. If it turns out the Youtube star and the trained racing driver are inept at improvised repairs, so much the better. Old funny guys rule.

In essence, you can say the same thing about “The Grand Tour” that one said at the conclusion of the Chris Evans “Top Gear” year. The jury’s still out. Show us something. Thanks to a lot of hype and not a lot of backup for that hype, “Grand Tour” has kept “Top Gear” alive, left the old show some passing room on the straightaways. Do they have enough HP (BHP) under the hood (bonnet) to make it a real race?

We’ll see.

I doubt you could call an $18 million opening for the pricey space romance “Passengers” passable, even if this wasn’t a four-day holiday weekend. Even if it wasn’t the poorly-reviewed pic’s opening weekend.

There’s no spinning the bad news on “Assassin’s Creed,” either. It opened Wed. and will have tallied $22 million by midnight Monday. On a $130 million budget? Nope.

“Why Him?” is giving audiences a “Why bother?” vibe. Weak reviews didn’t help.  It will clear $15 million by end of biz the day after Christmas.

But enough bad news. “Sing,” an animated all-star animals sing the hits “comedy,” is pulling families in. To the tune of $76 million, per Deadline.com. 

And “Rogue One” have tallied $108 million by Monday night, despite a middling 55% fall-off from its opening weekend. “Force Awakens” scared people off, and one more movie about a Death Star — even one about building it and stealing “those plans,” may be too many.

“Collateral Beauty” is bombing and could lower Will Smith’s salary quote. But he may have a little longer grace period, even though “Concussion” under-performed and “Suicide Squad” — which did over $325 million — left nobody happy.

A Great American Play becomes a Great American Film with “Fences,” Denzel Washington’s letter-faithful adaptation of August Wilson’s Pulitzer Prize winning masterpiece.

Set in Wilson’s beloved Pittsburgh in the late 1950s, it’s about the African American diaspora, sons and daughters of cotton pickers come north to find better lives. It’s about African American aspiration and deep-seeded bitterness that decades cannot erase. Fathers and sons, husbands and wives, responsibilities vs. desires, it’s all in this intimate yet emotionally epic story about a garbage man, his friends and his family.

Washington and Viola Davis reprise their Broadway revival performances as Troy and Rose, a long-married couple still full of lust, frisky, ribald banter and love.

“I love this woman,” Troy tells his best friend and ready-made audience, Bono (Broadway veteran Stephen McKinley Henderson. “I love this woman so much it hurts. I love her so much…I done run out of ways of loving her.”

He doesn’t care if Rose overhears him. He’s ready with a comeback the second she opens her mouth.

“This is men talk. I got some talk for you later. You know what kind of talk I mean. You go on and powder it up.”

Men in their 50s, Troy and Bono ride the back of a garbage truck and bitch about “Why only white men get to be drivers?” Troy stoops over the payroll sheets and slowly signs his name every Friday. He turns his pay envelope over to Rose. He talks tightwad tough-love to his jazz-playing son by another woman (Russell Hornsby) who always shows up on paydays for a “loan.”

And he rides herd on his teenage son with Rose. Cory (Jovan Adepo) is a football playing teen being recruited by a college “way down in North Carolina.” Cory forsakes his chores for football practice, one of which is helping his dad build a fence, a fence that never seems to get started, much less finished.

It turns out Troy had sporting dreams himself, but don’t tell him he was “too early” to catch the integration of baseball. And he’s not above taking that out on the kid.

“The white man ain’t gonna let you get nowhere with that football noway.”

Troy Maxon is one of fiction’s great creations — complex, gregarious, generous, petty and mean. He laughs big, waxes lyrical and tells tall tales about his wrestling match with death.

“Death ain’t nothin’ but a fastball on the outside corner.”

And Washington, one of the finest actors of his generation, just devours this guy. He and his Broadway “Fences” co-star Henderson rattle through the banter of two back-slapping, gin-bottle-passing old pals who knew each other when times were tougher than they are now. The only thing that can tamp down Troy’s seeming ebullience is Rose, a serious, loving woman who deserves his devotion, who staunchly remains the better angel on his shoulder, even when he’s brushing her off.

“I took all my feelings, my wants and needs, my dreams…and I buried them inside you,” she tells him. “I planted a seed and waited and prayed over it.”

Davis is reliably magnificent in the part, both in delivering her heartfelt lines and reacting to Troy’s bitter, hard-bitten responses.

“I give you my sweat and my blood. I ain’t got no tears. I done spent them.”

The film is a theatrical production, calling attention to its limited attempts to “open up” the play and underlining the natural-seeming stage directions that keep the two and three character scenes moving. Occasionally, Washington lets the interactions turn static and flat.

And while the cast is stellar — Mykelti Williamson of “Forrest Gump” is Gabe, Troy’s war-wounded touched-in-the-head brother — young Adepo seems mild-mannered, modern and too meek to stand up to his bullying father.

But Washington more than does justice to the late playwright whose “Pittsburgh Cycle” is the masterwork of the modern American theater. August Wilson’s plays, built on stunningly-real and compelling characters, rich in setting and historic meaning, rife with metaphor (“Fences” keep things out, and keep other things in), have only reached the playgoing public before now.

When Oscar nominations for “Fences” come out, that could change.

MPAA Rating:PG-13 for thematic elements, language and some suggestive references

Cast: Denzel Washington, Viola Davis, Stephen McKinley Henderson, Mykelti Williamson, Jovan Adepo

Credits:Directed by Denzel Washington, script by August Wilson. A  Paramount release.

Running time: 2:22

If you didn’t love “The Fantastic Mr. Fox” as much as any eight year old, you plainly have lost the inner child Wes Anderson has made his living off of his entire career.

So it’s great news that Anderson is following his glorious “Grand Budapest Hotel” with a return to British handcrafted stop-motion animation. “Isle of Dogs” stars the usual Wes suspects — Tilda Swinton, Edward Norton, Bill Murray, F. Murray Abraham, et al.

An early Christmas present? God bless us, every one.