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What a shock to the British system the satire “The Admirable Crichton” must have been when it premiered on stage in 1902.

Written by J.M. Barrie, the Scottish novelist and playwright who had himself quite a year in 1902 — producing “Crichton” for the stage and introducing “Peter Pan” in a novel that he’d turn into a play two years later — it had a hint of 19th and 20th century boogeyman Karl Marx in its class-upending story of a “Downton” era English servant, shipwrecked with his master’s family on a desert island and proving himself not only their equal, but their superior in every way in terms of social usefulness, intelligence, humility and compassion.

The very idea! A man in “service” showing enterprise, intelligence, natural “leadership” and useful life skills in the face of the dead weight nobility and inherited wealth?

You can get a taste of that original jolt in director Lewis Gilbert’s fine 1957 film adaptation of “Crichton,” which made the perfect vehicle for Stiff Upper Lip star Kenneth More. He so embodied the character’s ever-so-polite/ever-so-English way that the argument that maybe this “class” thing they were so obsessed with was reaching its overdue end in the wake of the trauma and social upheaval that followed World War II seemed ever-so-reasonable coming from him.

In the film, Crichton is the fastidious, class-conscious/class-enforcing butler at Loam Hall, a great house in the National Trust mold, in the employ of the widowed Lord Loam (Cecil Parker), a liberal intent on teaching his three spoiled and beautiful daughters ( Sally Ann Howes, Mercy Haystead and Miranda Connell) a lesson in “equality.”

It’s 1905, and the suffragette movement is all the rage. But in Loam Hall, the young ladies are being lectured that “no one (is) better than anyone else” by their father. He even takes that so far as to throw a household staff and nobility mixer, a “tea,” whish aside from making more work and lots of awkwardness for the servants who have to make it work and make small talk with their “betters,” it will almost certainly wreck oldest daughter Lady Mary’s plans to announce her engagement to the stiff Earl of Brocklehurst (the English actor Peter Graves).

But as in the later “Downton Abbey,” this Lady Mary has a confidante on the household staff. Crichton is just as apalled at this “equality” exercise.

“I’m ashamed to be seen speaking to you, my lady”

He may get an ironic “You’ll do what you’re TOLD” from his lordhsip, but he does what he can to insulate Mary from the disapproval of her fiance’s very conservative mother (Martita Hunt).

But he’s not there to intervene when a more headstrong younger daughter Agatha (Connell) is arrested in a suffragette dustup in London. There’s nothing for it but to suggest a sojourn at sea for the family, “yachting” away from the scandal in the South Seas in their steamboat Bluebelle.

Crichton is dragged along, with his affectionate special project, cockney maid Eliza, played by Diane Cilento. They’ll ensure the lord and his ladies are kept in comfort as they weather the storm of “scandal.”

The ship sinking in a real storm is another matter. And when they’re cast ashore, the intrepid Crichton simply cannot protect Lord Loam, his daughters, the Reverand Treherne (Jack Walting) and Agatha’s snobby suitor Ernest (Gerald Harper) from the slow realization that they can’t “order” and “class” their way out of this, and in point of fact, that they’re lazy and useless drains on society to a one.

The film, an expansion of the play in terms of settings and added characters, is memorable for its gently-underscored radical politics — when Italian filmmaker Lina Wertmüller used the story as inspiration for her 1974 classic “Swept Away,” she made the protagonist a communist who exercises sexual dominance over an overwhelmed upper class woman — and its wit.

Crichton gets one and all off the yacht in the storm, awakening his lordship, who is nothing if not irked.

“This is a FINE time of night to be shipwrecked!”

Crichton saves Eliza from the sinking yacht and gets her and himself on board, only to be told that he should be on the “staff” lifeboat.

“Shall I withdraw, sir?”

On sighting land, he is informed that this isn’t necessarily good news.

“But we can’t go ASHORE like this!” the under-dressed ladies huff.

The story’s so familiar — even “Gilligan’s Island” leaned on it — that you can guess the rest. Crichton, born to “service” and appreciated at home by his betters as a man who “knows everything,” sets about keeping them alive and reluctantly establishing a new “natural” order — competence and enterprise and usefulness over “class.”

And he finds himself pursed by Eliza and Mary and even others as “the Guv’nor,” the boss of this situation, builder of huts, maker of fire, provider of wild boar and deer dinners.

The film provides a template for all the “Upstairs/Downstairs””Gosford Park/Downton Abbey” tales to follow. The class system is exposed not only for its upward-mobility-inhibiting nobles. The servants themselves mimic this via their own “valet” vs. “coachman” and “cook” heirarchy.

“Crichton” is a film of soundstages — some very fine storm-at-sea “tank” work — and Bermuda locations that serve up a few too many freshly-planted palm trees, if we’re honest.

And the film’s 1950s British context gives it a muzzled feeling, with a finale that has a whiff of “lost our nerve, Guv’nor” about it. It’s a tad dated, but the performances, the dialogue and the Technicolor production values — freshly-planted-palms aside — make it timeless.

This is the gold standard of a story that’s been filmed four times, a movie that still lands its droll laughs well over 100 years after the play was written, still finds the fun in the idea that the people who think themselves superior simply aren’t.

“Crichton’s” very British title was changed to “Paradise Lagoon” when it played in the U.S. It was so popular in the U.K. that More was summoned to star in a West End musical version that flopped in 1964.

There’s a funny lump of trivia that connects this film to the James Bond franchise. Not only did writer-director Lewis Gilbert go on to direct classics such as “Alfie” and “Educating Rita,” he was behind the camera for “You Only Live Twice” with Sean Connery as Bond, the best of the Roger Moore Bond pics “The Spy Who Loved Me” and the ruinously-expensive “Moonraker.”

John Glen, a sound editor on “Crichton,” was Gilbert’s successor as James Bond’s “house” director, helming “For Your Eyes Only” and “The Living Daylights” — lesser Roger Moore and Timothy Dalton titles in the long-running series.

And Cilento, the Aussie actress who had major roles in “The Wicker Man” and “Tom Jones” and who does such a fine job of being Cockney and “vulgar” in “Crichton,” was Sean Connery’s first wife.

More, a World War II veteran (Royal Navy) was already well on his way to embodying that World War II “keep calm and carry on” droll British unflappability on the screen. He’d bring it to such WWII films as “Sink the Bismarck!” and “The Longest Day.” And he was named a Commander of the British Empire for his long career on stage and screen.

Looking back on it all, one can consider More’s near perfect turn as the witty and “admirable” Crichton his finest hour.

Rating: TV-14

Cast: Kenneth More, Diane Cilento, Cecil Parker, Sally Ann Howes, Jack Watling, Gerald Harper, Miranda Connell, Mercy Haystead and Martita Hunt

Credits: Scripted and directed by Lewis Gilbert, based on the J.M. Barrie play. A Columbia release on Tubi, Amazon and Youtube, etc.

Running time: 1:33

The Spanish thriller “Viejos,” aka “The Elderly,” is a creepy, doom-laden sci-fi parable that doesn’t quite close the deal, a film of slow-building suspense whose climax lacks the clarity of intent and the level of terror in the performances to pay off.

But filmmakers Raúl Cerezo and Fernando González Gómez give us something to chew on, even if they haven’t wholly digested their ideas themselves.

Heat waves are always tragedies for the elderly, especially in the under-air-conditioned corners of a climate-changed planet.

Such a Spanish heat wave is the backdrop to this story of old people seemingly going crazy and dying, with the young, “who never listen” to them, missing the signs that something grimmer and less explicable is in play.

The thermometer is just under 110 (42 degrees Celsius) when Rosa (Ángela López Gamonal) hears the forecast, takes the measure of her past, her present and the future and leaps to her death in front of silent witness neighbors and her husband, Manuel (Zorion Eguileor), staring in sweat-stained but understanding shock at her action.

She got tired of “hearing” (in Spanish with English subtitles) one surmises. What? Her grief-stricken son Mario (Gustavo Salmerón) doesn’t get it.

“It’s the static noise, the magnetic waves,” his father tries to explain.

The audience’s surrogate in this story might be Mario’s rebel teen daughter Naia (Paula Gallego). She gripes to her boyfriend Jota (Juan Acedo) how “gross” old people’s lives are. “Nobody listens to you” when you’re old.

Jota may have a clue, too. “Old people know what’s coming,” he reassures her. They aren’t scared, or at least Jota insists he won’t be.

But there’s something not right about the seniors of the city right now, and Manuel could be a case study in what it might be. He’s not grieving, not really in shock and yet not “right.” Not at all.

He obsesses over transistor radio parts, resists moving in with Mario and his disapproving second wife Lena (Irene Anula). And as much as he “relates” to his granddaughter, his query about Naia’s dead mother is telling, or would be if the curious teen was on the same wavelength.

“Does she talk to you at night?” grandpa wants to know. Because he’s sure “Rosa,” his late wife, is still around and “coming back.”

The sanest character in the lot might be pragmatic Lena — pregnant, dealing with a teen who likes reminding her she’s “not my mother” and a husband who insists on taking his scary dad in at this moment of crisis.

All will be tested as the temperature steadily rises into the 120s, grandpa’s behavior grows more dangerous and nobody seems to grasp the gravity save for Lena.

I put a lot of stock in actors getting across the meaning of a scene, the level of threat or simple misery (heat-caused, in this case) their characters must feel. And that hits you as “off” early on in “The Elderly.”

The seniors are suffering, but Mario — an unemployed AC installer who has no work because “the country’s broke” — just escapes to the bar downstairs, Lena sweats and frets and Naia just changes outfits and takes grandpa’s side in all things, especially when the phrase “nursing home” is trotted out.

That blunts the narrative’s effectiveness, and seriously undercuts the climax. Character reactions are either amusingly unrealistic or simply passive and frustrating.

The climate change heat allegory would have been enough to drive the plot, but the script reaches for something more cryptic that the “You never listen to me” elders are responding to. That doesn’t need to be explained, but the way the third act unfolds, a little something to grab hold of that’s “realistic” would’ve helped.

The violence is jolting enough, if zombie-movie slow in most cases.

And while the gloom never lifts and the suspense finds a foothold just often enough to maintain interest, the climax is a serious stumble and makes one wish the ending had been worth all that slowly unraveled before it.

Rating: unrated, graphic violence, sex, nudity, profanity, smoking

Cast: Zorion Eguileor, Paula Gallego, Gustavo Salmerón, Juan Acedo, Ángela López Gamonal and Irene Anula

Credits: Directed by Raúl Cerezo and Fernando González Gómez, scripted by Javier Trigales, Raúl Cerezo and Rubén Sánchez Trigos. A Dark Star release.

Running time: 1:33

“Pain Hustlers” is a “true story” inspired drama whose tone and story arc match that of the real “triumph of medicine” to “tragedy invented by Big Pharma” saga of opioids, the “pain” drug that many maintain “broke America.”

The film opens jaunty as it takes us to a strip club recruiting session where pharmaceutical hustler Pete (Chris Evans) recruits single-mom/failed pole dancer Liza (Emily Blunt) to push this new relief med meant for stage four cancer patients suffering “cancer breakthrough pain.” We get lessons in how pharmaceuticals are “pitched” to doctors, the not-so-secret gimmick of having ex beauty queens, working on commission, do the pitching and the pecking order of Big Pharma.

Purdue Pharma earns another much-deserved backhanded slap.

And then we’re taken inside Zanna, a sketchy Florida-based Little Pharma firm with a pain drug it wants to ride to riches, if only these plucky pill pirates can talk doctors into “writing our scripts.”

We meet that stripper, see her real-life struggles and get competing views on just how good or at least “effective” she was at her hustle as the movie sets up with an “interviews after the fact” framework that slips into voice-overs as Liza and Peter — with others pitching in — describe each other as the villains or bigger villains in an epidemic that we know, by the third act, will be killing people.

A money moment in this somewhat flat David Yates (he made the most boring of the “Harry Potter” pictures) saga comes when it’s all going wrong, Liza checks on a doctor only to arrive after he’s been arrested and his parking lot is full of desperate, addicted patients who close in around her Mercedes convertible like zombies in the comeuppance scenes in a horror flick.

This true story — transported from Arizona to Florida with the names changed to force us to look up the real criminals — keeps most of the victims faceless, and most of the corruption a slow drift from rust to outright rot as shortcuts are taken, doctors are won over with bribes and a lot of people get rich as the sick get addicted.

Liza and Peter give their big discoveries — “Doctors are just as greedy and horny as everybody else.” — via voice-over. But Evans’ patter never slacks off as Pete hard-sells Liza, instructs her that “Commissions get you into heaven” and even raps his enthusiasm for their relief-for-the-cancerous-and-possibly-dying drug at one point.

Evans’ upbeat and hyper Amoral Pete is our Everyman, easily corrupted if the money’s right. Liza is meant to be the conscience of the piece and Blunt sells that “everybody’s got their reasons for cheating and preying on the vulnerable” sob story like a true believer.

But we see her as an incompetent single mother (Chloe Coleman plays her out-of-control and seizure-prone tween) and a slacker, but one with great people-reading skills and a dab of compassion that most everyone else depicted lacks.

Andy Garcia, as “Pharma’s fuzziest billionaire,” could have been the mercurial, eccentric scene stealer in another director’s hands. Here, he gives us a villain’s journey from eccentric to demented and demanding (more cash).

Catherine O’Hara plays Liza’s screwy, short-attention-span mother, “the only one who believed in you” who finds her way onto this gravy train at one point.

There have been movies and TV series that peeled back layers of this under-the-table practices in this world, and Netflix had its own widely-seen documentary series on this world, its practices and amorality (“Painkiller”). But the new wrinkles this “zero market share” to market-dominating firm’s story throws out there are amusing — ways to counter the competition’s bombshell saleswomen, finding downmarket doctors willing to take lucrative shortcuts in the face of the the lone contrary voice in every company (Jay Duplass) who cashes the checks but who lazily whines about “compliance.”

“Pain Hustlers” has a buzz, here and there. But the story and these characters never really get their hooks in us as Yates leans on the sentimental, takes us to an indifferent climax, and then throws in a couple of anti-climaxes to boot.

The moving scenes land flat because the movie isn’t really about victims. Blunt is good, although her Southern stripper’s accent isn’t really obvious until Liza has a court date. A canny play for sympathy from the jury?

And Evans does so many variations of his patented fast-talking spiel that it loses its effectiveness by the second act.

As the folks in this rise and fall of Pharma Frauds saga could tell you, it’s the third act where all the consequences show up and the piper must be paid. That’s where this story’s make-or-break moments are parked, and there are too few of them to let it get off the screen with as much promise as it opened with.

Rating: R for language throughout, some sexual content, nudity and drug use

Cast: Emily Blunt, Chris Evans, Catherine O’Hara, Chloe Coleman, Brian d’Arcy James, Amit Shah, Jay Duplass and Andy Garcia

Credits: Directed by David Yates, scripted by Wells Towers, based on the reporting and book by Evan Hughes. A Netflix release.

Running time: 2:05

Colombian-born Spanish actor Juan Pablo Raba vamps, flashes his teeth, sings a bit and wears the icecream-colored suit of a Central American dictator with panache in “Freelance,” a very dumb John Cena action comedy that Raba pretty much steals.

“You must STROKE the head you are going to cut off,” he purrs.

New Zealander Marton Csokas shows real commitment by slinging a mean South African accent as a mercenary in the employ of unseen mineral oligarchs out to depose that corrupt but debonair dictator to give them easier access to the natural resources of fictional Palodonia.

The director of “District B-13” is on board, so the effects are first rate, the fights tight and the stunts are pretty good — a few jarring moments when the action is sped up to make fights “believable” excepted.

But “very dumb” barely covers how silly and violent this half-assed Banana Republic riff turns out to be.

Cena plays an ex Special Forces trooper who loses his “purpose” when he has to quit, become a lawyer and support his wife (Alice Eve) and little girl. Then his old comrade in arms (Christian Slater), founder of a “Contracted Defense Initiatives” (mercenary) company offers him a big paycheck for escorting a scandalized reporter looking for a comeback via her college roommate’s friend, President Venegas (Raba).

She will interview this interview-shy tyrant in the land where Mason Pettit’s special ops team was almost wiped out on a years-before mission to assassinate President Venegas. Lawyer Pettit will gear up and ensure Claire Wellington (Brie) survives. But he’s not happy about it, and now he’s newlycseparated from his wife.

Only when they get there, the charming Venegas barely has a chance to sweet-talk arrogant reporter Claire and make assorted “petite” jokes about Pettit when there’s a coup attempt, which Pettit foils with a combination of bravado, muscle memory and blind luck.

Now he’s trying to get this reporter and her “scoop” out of the country, with the smarmy dictator in tow and all sorts of folks wanting them all dead.

“You’ve gotta be alive to have the scoop of a lifetime,” Pettit reasons.

Cena , a funnyman/muscleman, plays this guy as physically as well as emotionally vulnerable. Old injuries have him moaning and groaning. He’s conflicted about saving the dictator and rattled by the way the reporter’s attentions turn from contemptuous to flirtatious.

And he’s trying real hard to impress her — shooting down helicopters and the like. “Pretty cool, huh?”

At times, the script has the guy show off his education to the uppity journalist, most recently reduced to MTV-style “celebrity cribs” stories and the like. Is she desperate enough for a comeback that she’ll sugar coat a tyrant?

“Please read Hannah Arendt,” who coined the phrase “The Banality of Evil,” Pettit blurts at one point, a reference over the heads of the target audience this movie was going for.

It’s as if the screenwriter is trying to convince us or somebody that this isn’t as stupid and childishly violent (gun fetishizing) as we can plainly see it is.

But Raba is a hoot, and even if Csokas isn’t in the bloom of brawling, villainous youth, he gives fair value and he and Brie and Raba and even Cena show commitment to their parts in all this far beyond what this nonsense deserved.

They’re kind of fun to watch even if “Freelance” isn’t.

Rating: R, for violence, nudity and profanity

Cast: John Cena, Allison Brie, Juan Pablo Raba, Christian Slater, Alice Eve and Marton Csokas.

Credits: Directed by Pierre Morel, scripted by Jacob Lentz. A Relativity release.

Running time:

Characters have a blase, matter-of-fact acceptance of the central premise of the horror video game turned film “Five Nights at Freddy’s,” that a threadbare animatronic band of characters from a long-closed pizza joint have supernaturally come to life.

You can see it in the unanimated wooden delivery of Josh Hutcherson as his character announces this discovery, the flat matter-of-fact way “Mike” lies about a fellow character coming to the same conclusion.

“I saw your eyes,” he says to Officer Vancessa (Elizabeth Lail), almost dozing off as he speaks. “You were terrified.”

The crimes associated with these mothballed machines are bland and perfunctory, the direction dull and the script inept in the extreme.

It’s an adaptation that fails in the most matter-of-fact ways, a horror movie that doesn’t frighten, a script that feels like an idea Stephen King tossed in the fire, a cast that underwhelms and a story that forgets where it’s going, where it’s been and every detour that’s trotted out to distract us.

Emma Tammi’s kiddie horror film — she did “The Wind” a few years back — tries to tell the “story” of this video game in cinematic terms, and doesn’t come anywhere close to working.

Apparently inspired by ShowBiz Pizza’s “Rock-afire Explosion” 1980s animatronic character band, “Five Nights” is set in a tumbledown Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza Palace in BFE, Midwestern America. Freddy’s “was big in the ’80s,” the guy in charge of the property (Matthew Lillard) explains to his new night watchman, Mike (Hutcherson, of “Hunger Games” fame).

Mike is “Mister Doesn’t Work Nights” until the threat of a court date from his aunt (Mary Stuart Masterson, a stand-out in the cast) who wants to take custody of the little sister (Piper Rubio) Mike is raising on his own.

Mike is a would-be parent and a “hero” with “issues.” He sleeps. A lot. He’s haunted by a trauma from his past, the abduction of a younger brother. He is reading a book on “Dream Theory,” and taking sleeping pills to ensure he sleeps so that he might remember that Nebraska pine forest kidnapping, maybe recover a detail that will lead him to this brother’s kidnapper.

No wonder his aunt figures a “criminal endangerment” rescue of little Abby is in order. But Abby isn’t having it.

“She’s mean and she smells of cigarettes.”

That’s why Mike needs this night-watchman job to work out, sleep or no sleep. The quartet of bug-eyed animatronics include a “Fazbear” bear, a dog, a duck and “Foxy.”

One even holds an animatronic eyeballed cupcake. Mike is a bit spooked. And that’s before he sees the creatures, who aren’t nailed to the floor but have the “lithium” battery powered ability to wander about, give him the narrowed-eyes of menace. That’s before he finds blood on their animatronic plush-toy hands.

The script clumsily tries to “explain” Freddy’s crew in electronic and augmented human-costumed terms. It struggles to hide who the villain might be.

And it makes a hash out of the GFPD (Great Falls, Grand Forks?) cop (Lail) who shows up to explain the place’s troubled history, to flirt with Mike, or threaten to shoot him after she’s already tossed his presecription sleeping meds into the river.

Hutcherson has been in good movies, but judging by what we see here, he’s an actor who hasn’t improved on his limited child actor repertoire. It’s not a good role, another kids’ film for him, despite the efforts to make Mike a mental mess, and Hutcherson is just terrible in it. Every non-reaction plays false.

I hate singling out actors because bad movies are rarely their fault, but Hutcherson’s performance is right at home in this stuffed dog of a thriller.

They shoved seven obscure-to-anyone-over-20 youtubers into bit (or costumed) parts to ensure the picture would have a social media footprint, even if the plot and acting weren’t all there.

Every now and then, you get the sense that Tammi and the other writers figured that making this laughable might be the safest route to take. Not that any of the five folks credited with cooking up the game and trying to turn a “story” idea into a script shows any flair for comedy.

About the only laughs here are unintentional ones, as in “These fools thought that would be funny.” It never is.

Rating: PG-13, graphic, bloody violence, profanity

Cast: Josh Hutcherson, Elizzabeth Lail, Piper Rubio, Mary Stuart Masterson and Matthew Lillard.

Credits: Directed by Emma Tammi, scripted by Scott Cawthon, Emma Tammi and Seth Cuddeback, based on the video game by Scott Cawthon. A Blumhouse/Universal release.

Running time: 1:50

Yeah, not every movie critic would spend a year on refresher Spanish courses and a week in Panama just to “research” a review on John Cena’s Banana Republic action comedy “Freelance.”

A movie about a Central American country going through an attempted coup, with mineral rights and the rich and the powerful having their way of things going back hundreds of years? Ask Dole why they call them “Banana Republics.”

Panama was going through a fresh round of street protests over a bad mine deal that smacks of corruption, protests that blocked some intersections during my visit, denying access to some museums (which closed) and stirring up tear gas battles some nights.

Good prep for reviewing a John Cena movie about a Latin American “president for life” dictatorship hinging on foreign mercenaries, mineral rights, revolutionaries and “American Intervention.”

Commitment, or as they say in the movie, “embrace the suck.” Not that Panama sucks. Gorgeous country, lovely people, great imperialist canal and what not.

Doolin, Ireland is a village of 300 souls that you pass through on your way to the County Clare’s famed Cliffs of Moher on the stark, windswept and treeless west coast of the country.

You might notice Doolin, ponder its tiny gathering of old, spare houses, the harbor where a ferry and tour boats set off for the Aran Islands, and consider the presence of not one for four pubs in the place. But if your rental car windows are rolled down and it’s the right time of day, you can’t help but pick up on the reason the place is famous. It’s the epicenter of “trad” or traditional Irish music.

“The Job of Songs” is a warm, intimate documentary that celebrates Doolin, Ireland’s musical reputation and history through the performers who keep traditional Irish music alive there, who sing and play and relate the history of the music, the songs that are mostly passed down “from the ancestors” for hundreds of years and the performers that came before them.

In modern times, it was the Russell brothers made Doolin famous and a magnet for the music sometimes labeled “diddley-aye” by some who see it as an Irish stereotype. But to the fans and practicioners here, it’s a connection to the past and a universal bond.

“We’re only carrying music. It ain’t ours.”

Lila Schmitz’s film has locals describe the quiet and loneliness of the place, which was even more remote before the Cliffs became one of the world’s greatest tourist attractions.

Traditional music DJ Eoin O’Neill, host of “The West Wind” show on Clare-FM (and online) speaks of “the sadness” that lingers from the long British occupation of Ireland, “the great famine” and the wrenching uprooting of Irish migration.

Several generations of fiddlers, flutists and tin whistlers, drummers and concertina players such as singer/flutist Kate Theasby, recall their “I heard a tune and had a go” learning process.

Others write songs and gather in a recording studio to jam and perhaps lay down a track. And all find themselves evenings, either as a steady gig or just informal gathering, at one of those four pubs or down the road in Lisdoonvarna’s music pubs, playing.

The singer-songwriter Luka Bloom, who changed his name as he’s the younger brother of modern Ireland’s most famous folk singer, Christy Moore, breaks down the function of music in society as it plays out in Ireland, “the job of songs” to “entertain,” touch, to move and spark memory.

Schmitz’s film breaks down the risks of this obsession with music, the solitary melancholy of the place and the alcohol consumption that can accompany a “session” of players jamming at Gus O’Connor’s, Fitz’s Bar, McGann’s or McDermott’s Pub on any given evening.

But for those who overcome that, or avoid that trap altogether like the ancient one-legged wonder, Ted McCormac, performing this music becomes a life-affirming mission, one that no passing tourist or appreciator of the “job” songs perform, will ever forget.

Rating: unrated, discussion of alcoholism, suicide

Cast: Luka Bloom, Eoin O’Neill, Kate Theasby, Christy Barry, Ted McCormac and others

Credits: Directed by Lila Schmitz. A Lila Schmitz release available on iTunes, etc.

Running time: 1:13

I’d lost touch with “The Ring” universe, assuming, like most Western filmgoers, that 2017’s failed reboot “Rings” was the end of the hairy horror harpy from the well tale.

Silly me. The “cursed video” whose viewers die mysterious deaths within 24 hours of watching it lives on in Japan. I count 14 film incarnations of the story first spun by actor and novelist Kôji Suzuki, and a TV series.

Of late, this creepy and influencial “J-horror” franchise has wandered into the area of camp, rebranded under the name of the demon/witch “Sadako” who appears on the vhs tape that gets handed around and copied, killing all — or almost all — who dare to view it.

“Sadako DX” is the latest film, now on Netflix, a variation of the story long after the letters “vhs” disappeared from the ranks of watchable media. Yes, the kids joke about that here. But the movie? It’s a goof that isn’t that goofy, and a horror film that fails utterly to horrify.

Our witch has lost her ability to shock, thanks to inept editing. We see too much of her to be scared. And it’s obvious witchy demon Sadako has learned to use conditioner, removing the fearsome frizziness that made her so terrifying to Japanese audiences, and Naomi Watts in the first Hollywood adaptation.

Here, a very smart Japanese coed and quiz show champ, Ayaka (Fuka Koshiba) matches wits on TV with spirutalist Kenshin (Hiroyuki Ikeuchi of “Ip Man” and “Limbo”) as they banter about this wave of “unexplained deaths” sweeping Japan.

“Curses are real,” says the showman/charlatan. Not so fast says Ms. Smarty Pants.

Of course he’s right and she’s wrong. Ayaka’s “200 IQ” take on the problem is to treat this original “viral” video like any other virus. Block its spread, or dilute its effects. “Herd immunity.” Something like that.

Director Hisashi Kimura can’t find a fright to save his life. So he infects his film with mousy-voiced pixie characters, mugging screen veterans, with cheap jolts involving the station’s plush character mascot and deaths that aren’t moving, alarming or amusing.

“Sadako DX” is so bad one wonders if “The Ring” franchise fell off, film by film, or if those recent Japanese “Sadako” movies were all awful, and Netflix is just now getting around to licensing one thanks to that October demand for horror.

hewrd immunity

Rating: TV-14, horror

Cast: Fuka Koshiba, Hiroyuki Ikeuchi, Mario Kuroba and Yuki Yagi

Credits: Directed by Hisashi Kimura, scripted by Yuya Takahashi, based on the novel by
Kôji Suzuki. A Netflix release.

Running time: 1:38

Boudica, the wronged-woman turned warrior queen heroine of Roman era British history, has been featured in lots of movies over the decades, pretty much all of them B-pictures.

“Boudica: Queen of War” doesn’t break that curse. But as B-movies go, this just-stylish-enough Roman-gutting Olga Kurylenko star vehicle is the most fun of the lot.

Writer-director Jesse V. Johnson — “Hell Hath No Fury” was his — bathes his action scenes in the literal fog of pre-history. Kurylenko, the Ukrainian model whose turn as a “Bond Babe” 15 years ago led to a lucrative career in modest-budget action pictures, handles fight choreography well enough that one isn’t allowed to dwell on the dainty throw weight the willowy runway-ready brings to a fight.

Well, she IS Ukrainian.

And her reaction to this Roman outrage or that Roman garrison awaiting her vengeance is downright quotable, in impolite company.

“F–K them!”

Before she was labeled “Boudica” (Victorious Queen) she was the First Century wife of the king of the Iceni tribe (Clive Standen), doting mother of twin tween girls (Litiana and Lilibet Biutanaseva, who have worked with Kurylenko before and it shows), resigned to paying tribute to the occupying Italians, but not thrilled about it.

When her husband is killed, she signs over half her kingdom to the Roman procurator (Nick Moran, terrific), whose name is given a Monty Pythonesque pronunciation here — Catus Decianus.

But he barks about the rules of Roman patriarchy and the “insult” of her female-in-power status, takes her kingdom, has her stripped, flogged and branded in the face, her girls (history tells us) raped.

She recovers with the help of fierce Celtic woman warrior Cartimanda (Lucy Martin), who was the first to call her “Boudica” as the embodiment of a Druid prophecy, the one who would “free” her people.

Boudica’s fury accompanies training with a bronze sword — mocked in this Iron Age world — she inherits, which appears to have magical powers. She wins over other tribes led by warriors like Wolfgar (Peter Franzén), drops a few Celtic f-bombs about the Romans, and there is hell to pay in this corner of the empire mismanaged by the fey, decadent emperor Nero, a loinclothed hedonist given a Chalamet softness by Harry Kirton.

Yes, there are elements and moments that we’re pretty much invited to laugh at here. But much of the history (three Roman historians wrote about Boudica, Tacitus the most famous) checks out. The supernatural sequences have a Joan of Arc edge. I like the foggy almost “300” netherworld Johnson creates for the action scenes and the way the script connects mother with her daughters.

It’s a B-movie, not “Killers of the Flower Moon,” even if it is somewhat better looking than that overlong streaming epic.

And Martin, Moran and our leading lady bring fair value to a picture that struggles to be respectful but never wholly escapes camp.

Rating: R, bloody violence, Celtic F-bombs

Cast: Olga Kurylenko, Clive Standen, Peter Franzén, Nick Moran, Leo Gregory, Rita Tushingham and Lucy Martin

Credits: Scripted and directed by Jesse V. Johnson. A Saban Films release.

Running time: 1:41

Interesting then and now blend by the always daring and cutting edge McQueen.

“Coming Soon,” from A24.