Movie Review: Korean Canadians, Kimchi and OkCupid — “The Mother and the Bear”

“The Mother and the Bear” may be the cutest thing branded “Korean” since BTS, or even the Kia Soul.

Sure, it’s a Canadian indie dramedy by a Chinese-Canadian filmmaker. But writer-director Johnny Ma brings an outsider’s view and respect for Korean manners, mores and Kimchi to this wistful fish-out-of-water romance.

Ma (“Old Stone”) taps into melodrama and magical realism for this adorable, feel-good mash-up of “While You Were Sleeping,” “Eat Drink Man Woman” and “The Wedding Banquet.”

The Korean ex-pat Sumi (Leere Park) has started a new life in Winnepeg, Manitoba, which newcomers nicknamed “Winter-Peg” generations ago. She copes with the snow and the cold and kind of ignores her mother’s endless calls from the Old Country. And then spies a bunny in an icy alley and notices what the bunny was hopping away from just as she was trying to snap a photo.

A bear causes Sumi to slip and hit her head. That brings Mrs. Sara Kim (Kim Ho-jung), a widow who runs a Korean guest house, over to see her comatose 26 year-old and get a taste of the compassionate and competent Canadian health care system in action. Dr. Jenny (Samantha Kendrick) gently reassures the mother as she puts Sumi in a medically-induced coma to aid her recovery.

Mrs. Kim, with a little boost from her Winnepeg sister Minji (Susan Hanson), starts to piece together her daughter’s life as she unpacks and decorates Sumi’s new/old apartment. No food in the fridge? Time to make Kimchi! No photos of family? Here’s a framed shot of Dad Sara flew over to park on her daughter’s mantel. But that window she keeps closing against the cold? That’s to let the cat in, she discovers. Eventually.

What Sumi really needs is “a husband to take care of her,” Mom thinks. That Korean hunk (Jonathan Kim) she bumps into, slack-jawed, and then faints in front of in a market will do. He takes her to the hospital. He must be a DOCTOR. No, “but my girlfriend is.”

Guess who turns out to be that doctor girlfriend? Guess what Mrs. Kim discovers when she ducks into the Tasty Seoul restaurant? Why, it’s the hunk’s Dad (Lee Won-jae), who disapproves of his boy’s choice of gorgeous blonde mate. And guess what comes about

Writer-director Ma tacitly acknowledges age-old “marry your own kind” racism that’s rife throughout Asia as a way of sidling into the bigger “disapproval” that we know is coming. He manages to avoid having the parents conspire to bust up the son’s relationship so that he’ll be ready to rebound with a nice Korean-born woman fresh out of a coma. What Ma conjures up instead is a “swipe right” scheme stage-managed by folks too old to know social media well but certainly old enough to know better than doing what they’re doing.

Yes, there are predictable twists aplenty in this script. But Kim (“Emergency Declaration”) takes her rare chance for a leading lady turn and runs with it. The easy laughs come from what we figure out and untraveled Mom doesn’t figure out about the daughter, from Sara’s naive appreciation of the many “other” uses of a boxed vibrator she unlacks and the ways she clumsily takes selfies of her Kimchi preps (a grand montage for foodies) and lets a young nurse coach her in the traditions of “swipe right” culture.

Sara gripes about “this AWFUL city” to Sumi’s friend and children’s art center co-worker (Amara Pedroso), frets over the Manitoba Maulers that bury her borrowed SUV under snow pretty much daily and decides that she can’t find jars for her Kimchi off the shelf — unless she buys gigantic jars of pickles — which she dumps to reuse. But this trip to an alien culture and the expats within it, with its daily visits to a sick child, is her way of coming into her own.

I love the taste of Winnepeg that “The Mother and the Bear” provides. I used to visit the hometown of Neil Young and the Bachmans of BTO on a regular basis when I lived just across the border, and all I remember about it was the even-colder-than-North-Dakota weather, the Chinese restaurants and jelly donut shops on every corner and the friendly people.

But dear Johnny Ma — dear, dear Johnny Ma. Using “Unchained Melody” for Sara to sentimentally sing along with — ironically or unironically — is cheating. Moviegoers have been crying over that tune since “Ghost.”

So yes, you will giggle at this quaint comedy and be charmed enough to want to reach out and pinch its adorable cheeks. But bring a hanky. I’m just saying.

Rating: unrated, adult subject matter, some profanity

Cast: Kim Ho-jung, Lee Won-jae, Jonathan Kim, Amara Pedroso, Samantha Kendrick and Leere Park.

Credits: Scripted and directed by Johnny Ma. A Dekanalog release.

Running time: 1:40

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Movie Review: “Merv” is the Canine Couples Counselor for Zooey and Charlie

Zooey Deschanel’s image was cast in tinsel way back when she co-starred in “Elf.” So if you’re making a holiday movie for Xennials to get sentimental over, you could do a lot worse than the perpetually perky wide-eyed pixie in bangs forever playing the “New Girl.”

In “Merv,” Deschanel takes second billing to an adorable terrier mix for a comedy about a couple struggling to move on or “just put aside our crap for Merv,” a dog who’s lost his spark because his humans broke up.

Paired up with Brit Charlie Cox, Marvel’s “Daredevil,” in the same bangs she’s famous for and in a shorts-skorts wardrobe one could swear she wore in “500 Days of Summer,” etc., Deschanel finds herself without a lot that’s fresh or fun or new to play, right down to the holiday setting.

But how many times can you rewatch “Elf?”

Anna (Deschanel) split from Russ (Cox) some months back. But the joint custody of their dog Merv is leaving the rescue pooch depressed. As Anna has to be tricked into dating by friends and Boston elementary school teacher Russ won’t let his principal (Chris Redd) set him up, they’re stuck and the dog is paying the price.

Maybe a trip South to the dog-friendliest beach in the world would do Merv good, Russ figures. Dog-friendly motels, canine-inclusive dining? As what dogs love most is being around other dogs, it’s worth a try.

Kure Beach it is! No, the “real” Kure Beach isn’t in Florida. It’s in N.C. I remember. I spent a week there one day. Didn’t notice any dogs. But never mind that.

Russ plays hooky from school but posts “Mervinator” dog vacay updates on Insta. That’s what makes opthalmologist Anna take a break to join them.

His parents (Patricia Heaton from “Everybody Loves Raymond” and Brit David Hunt) live nearby. So does a flirtatious blonde single mom/dog mom (Ellyn Jameson).

Even with endless pop and X-mas pop (The Eels?) tunes on the soundtrack, a spirited Barenaked Ladies sing-along and all the doggie puns you can eat — “Bark-a-rita” drinks, “Mutt Loaf” dog entres, “Bow-Oke” canina karoake and the like — there isn’t much to this. But you know what Xennials say about Florida.

“You go on vacation, but come back on probation.

And trying to cross the viewer up by reaching a climax and drifting into anti-climax isn’t the cleverest trick in the bag of the screenwriting team that gave us “Suze.”

But when you’re trying to get by on 40somethings acting like 20sethings, almost cute dog tricks, a daft date scene, a line or two worth a grin, some middling sight gags and all those puns, “the lowest form of wit” since 1672, you’ve got to try something.

Rating: PG

Cast: Zooey Deschanel, Charlie Cox, Ellyn Jameson, Chris Redd, Jasmine Mathews, David Hunt and Patricia Heaton

Credits: Directed by Jessica Swale, scripted by Dane Clarks and Linsey Stewart. An MGM release on Amazon Prime.

Running time: 1:45

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Movie Review: Poots and K-Stew film “The Chronology of Water”

Rookie director mistakes mute the effect of a powerhouse lead performance in “The Chronology of Water,” actress-turned-director Kristen Stewart’s feature filmmaking debut.

It’s an unblinking, in-your-face movie of the memoir by Lidia Yuknovich, which has developed a cult following thanks to its frank depiction of making art out of a childhood of abuse and adult life of trauma, addiction and sexual experimentation.

But while one can understand Stewart and her star’s Imogen Poots’ enthusiasm for the writer’s truth, Stewart’s decision to begin her movie by assaulting the viewer for the better part of the entire first act is blunder one.

We’re thrown into the maelstrom of Lidia’s youth and its adult consequences with blurry nudity in the water and images of blood in the pool which was our future writer’s first dream of glory — competitive swimming — and the bullying, “control” and sexual assault by her father (Michael Epp).

It’s graphic and more gross than shocking fever dream of an introduction, and lacking context we’re instantly in over our heads as viewers in a way intended to mimic how shocked and overwhelmed the child and teen Lida must have been.

But Poots’ voice-over narration, a filmmaking crutch often leaned on to suggest “writerly” subject matter, especially in the movies of novice filmmakers, is half-mumbled in the early scenes and that interior monologue dogs the movie from beginning to end.

Set in California, Texas and Oregon, the film is displaced in space and time thanks to the fact that it was filmed in Latvia and Poots plays Lidia from her late teens into her late 30s. When she meets the mentor who would give shape to her budding writing career — “One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest” author and lifelong “merry prankster” Ken Kesey (Jim Belushi) — we’re on more solid ground about the “where” and “why” if not the “when.”

The abuse of Lidia and her older sister Claudia started early, and the narrative connects us to the aftershocks of trauma to come by showing a recklessness in very young Lidia (played by Anna Wittowsky). A bicycle riding lesson sees her take her hands off the handlebars to “escape” pervert-bully Dad’s control and even injure herself.

His support for her swimming ambitions is just an opportunity to put her down when colleges only offer partial scholarships and “not a’ full ride.” If one lesser Texas school hadn’t approached her, she might never have escaped the creep. “Free” but stoned, drunk and promiscuous with both male and female classmates, she flunks out.

That’s how she follows her fellow escapee — her sister (Thora Birch) to Oregon where her diary-keeping fuels her new ambition. “I want to to write ‘The Sound and the Fury.'” And she’ll do it either as a memoir or a based-on-her-real-life novel.

Professor Kesey sees something in her and allows non-student Lidia into his class/workshop to create a group-written novel.

Go forth, he tells his charges between puffs on a student-rolled joint. “Write some bizarre sentences!”

Stewart wisely keeps all her focus on Poots in “The Chronology of Water,” and the “Frank & Lola,” “French Exit” and “Green Room” alumna does not disappoint. Poots makes even the pretentious passages of voice-over narration, “the yielding expose of a white page” and “I am a woman who talks to herself in lies,” feel lived-in.

As Lidia, she exults in teen triumph in the pool and mourns her stillborn first child from a premature marriage to a passive, sensitive would-be “James Taylor” singer/songwriger (Tom Sturridge).

Epp is perfectly vile as father Mike, whose wife their mother (Susannah Flood) drinks to pretend she doesn’t see the humiliation and sexual assault going on under their roof.

Whatever emotional connection adapter/director Stewart felt for this memoir, she got into the the spirit of the thing in cinematic terms. The book’s notoriety partly came from the naked woman photographed for the cover, and Stewart flirts with exploitation more than once — graphic scenes of Poots shaving to swim and drawing blood, masturbating inspired by the abuse, dabbling in S&M “submission” and teen swimmers facing public corporal punishment by taking a swat on their swimsuited bottoms for every pound they’re “over weight” from their unseen sexist brute of a coach.

Stewart shot the bottom-swatting in a way — girls poking their butts out for “punishment” — that would have gotten any male director canceled to Tristan da Cuhna.

Praised to the heavens in the rareified air of film festivals, “The Chronology of Water” can be more soberly appreciated on general release for Poots’ fearless, put-it-all-out-there performance than for Stewart’s early missteps and her thexploitive mania for the explicit and the repellent, “truth” or fiction.

Rating: unrated, graphic violence, sexual abuse, sex, nudity

Cast: Imogen Poots, Thora Birch, Michael Epp, Susannah Flood, Tom Sturridge and Jim Belushi

Credits: Scripted and directed by Kristen Stewart, based on a memoir by Lidia Yuknovich. A The Forge release.

Running time: 2:08

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Movie Review: Adrift in the Working Class Underbelly of Oz — “Flathead”

“Flathead” is an Australian docudrama peek into the country’s hidden-in-plain-sight underclass.

It takes its title from a popular fish Down Under, one of the foodstuffs we see processed, picked, packed and prepared by the migratory workers of many cultures, a job sector in crisis, an opening title tells us.

But it’s mainly about a lonely old man who has lived hard (addiction) and lost much (two children) and returned to Bundaberg, a small city skirting the east central coast of Queensland.

We see high-mileage, chain-smoking Cass Cumerford at the church dance, in the local pubs, catching up with old friends and connecting with evangelical new ones. And we see him naked, in bed alone, as alone as he was when he laid down for a CAT Scan.

Cass has come home for reasons he keeps to himself. Perhaps it’s his idea of his last stop, with some hope of atonement, forgiveness or what have you.

He is hopeful about an afterlife even as he’s sure heaven is divided into “bloody sections,” a point he debates with a religious zealot traveling the country in a Jesus slogans decorated van.

But writer-director Jaydon Martin’s film is less direct than that, more ethereal and of a-place-in-time snapshot variety. A tale told in vignettes that end with blackouts, some of them set to a cappella hymns, it’s “Vernon, Florida” without the wit.

We drift into those bars and churches, witness a brawl with a mob egging the brawlers on, see Cass denied entrance at one joint, and hang with a bunch of gun nut rubes given to making homophobic cracks about each other in lieu of giving a second thought to who and what they are and why they think and do what they do.

We meet a father-and-son who own and run the Busy Bee Fish Bar, and follow would-be physical fitness influencer son Andrew Wong — a college grad — as he goofily videos and narrates his exercise and diet regimen. We spy Andrew watching the ‘sordid-for-its-day 50s classic “Baby Doll” on the telly.

And we travel with him as he joins a social worker (I guess) who heads out to meet and greet Vietnamese, Thai and vegetable pickers from all over Asia in the lcoal fields.

“Andrew’s from China,” the social worker chirps.

“F—–g s–t,” Andrew protests in his best Bogan. “Aye wuz BORN in BundaBERG, you DORK!”

The lives themselves are interesting, even if we only get a glimpse of them, even Cass’s. But truth be told this never really ties the Cass story to the immigrant story (he did the same sort of work in his day, we surmise, and might be prejudiced) and never amounts to much more than a selection of snapshots, filmed in black and white, that humanize a whole class of people Australia is doing its best to ban, and is just beginning to discover the cost of its bigotry.

Rating: unrated, violence, profanity, slurs

Cast: Cass Cumerford, Andrew Wong, Rob Sheean, Hayden Rimmington and Kent Wong.

Credits: Scripted and directed by Jaydon Martin. An Indiepix streaming release.

Running time: 1:29

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Netflixable? Clooney’s a Movie Star who Takes Stock of his Career’s Cost — “Jay Kelly”

An aging matinee idol has his long, dark “tribute reel” of the soul in “Jay Kelly,” a George Clooney star vehicle that one-ups “first world problems” and “rich white people problems” with “movie star problems.” It’s a wealthy, famous star’s “What was it all for?” reckoning that reaches for ironic tears and never quite shakes the irony.

What writer/director Noah Baumbach and co-writer (and co-star) Emily Mortimer serve up is essentially a two hour and twelve minute rationalization of every “laundry list” acceptance speech in Hollywood history.

“I’d like to thank my agent, my manager, my stylist, my accountant…”

Those faceless names recited at awards shows? They’re real people. They’re “family.” Got it?

But “Jay Kelly” that never overcomes the sense that it’s just a well-paid working European vacation for cast and crew where Clooney gets to play a star no longer comfortable with his stardom in a movie shot close to his Italian villa.

So, tone deaf? A tad.

Clooney has the title role, that of a 60 year old star whose appeal has started to fade, along with his “quote.” He’s still making pictures back to back to back while he’s in demand, still has a “team” to manage his schedule, salary negotiations and image — headed by his manager (Adam Sandler), his publicist (Laura Dern) and his go-to stylist (Mortimer) to touch up his grey and Sharpie in black streaks for his eyebrows for any appearance that might involve cameras.

We catch up to the whirlwind of his life and work just as he’s finishing up a cop thriller. He manages a death scene which includes a big speech and a Jack Russell terrier who’s got to wander up to him on cue. Jay tries to coax the director out of another take, but gets talked out of it.

Everybody on the set applauds as “That’s a wrap for Jay Kelly” on this shoot, and we get our first sense that this ballyhoo’d holiday picture with “Awards contender” pretensions isn’t all that.

The movie within a movie is nothing anybody would want to see. The “big scene” is neither emotional nor amusing.

And Kelly’s right arm, his always-on-the-phone, juggling that next deal, arranging that flight, trying to get him to show up for a Tuscan film festival tribute, the mensch who’s always reassuring him he’s “a good person” and a “great star,” his loving “best friend” and manager, Ron, is played by Adam Sandler, the David Spade of Chevy Chases.

Ron’s the guy who tells Jay that “Pops,” the British filmmaker (Jim Broadbent) who gave him his big break, has died. That prompts a flashback to our first clues that Jay Kelly may not fit his “image.” His last meeting with aged Peter saw the old man begging him to sign on to one last movie together and Jay smiling and charming his way to “I can’t.”

There’s a daughter (Grace Edwards) ready to start college but taking off with friends for a rich kid’s version of backpacking through Europe as workaholic Jay heads off to his next project. Another daughter (Riley Keough) by an earlier mother is a San Diego pre-school teacher semi-estranged from the dad “who was never there” and who hasn’t corrected that to this day.

“Is there a person in there?”

There’s an aged dad (Stacy Keach, delightful in his dotage) Jay barely speaks to.

But none of this matters, as he has all these people paid to be his “family.”

Until, that is, Jay runs into an old acting school chum (Billy Crudup) at mentor Peter’s funeral. Tim knew Jay back when Tim was the handsome “Method” star-in-the-making who wound up abandoning acting to become a child therapist. As he’s pretty sure Jay “stole my life” in the way he got his “big break,” that’s Jay’s excuse to ditch the super expensive next film, tear his “team” away from their families and take the private jet to Europe so that he can spend more time with the one daughter he’s close to and maybe accept that Tuscan festival tribute in the bargain.

But the fact that Jay and Tim got into a fistfight in a bar parking lot — with cell phone video destined to “go viral” — is perhaps the best reason of all to flee the country and be feted by foreigners and film fans.

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Classic Film Review: A Theatrical Cold War Anecdote turned TV Bon Bon — “An Englishman Abroad”

An actress on tour with “Hamlet” is “recruited” by Britain’s most notorious spy in 1950s Moscow in “An Englishman Abroad,” a delightfully droll tragi-comedy from the writer who gave us “The Madness of King George,” “The Lady in the Van” and this year’s “The Choral.”

It’s a true story, or true enough. Posh, upper crust, Cambridge gay blade turned British Intelligence officer Guy Burgess fled to Moscow upon being outed. And a drunken, exiled Burgess went out of his way to meet actress Coral Browne when the Old Vic’s latest “Hamlet” reached the U.S.S.R., as totalitarian Red Russia branded itself back then.

Put that anecdote in the ear of one of the British theater, TV and film’s greatest modern wits — Alan Bennett — and it became a John Schlesinger (“Midnight Cowboy”) TV movie for the ages starring Alan Bates as Burgess, Browne (“The Ruling Class,” “The Night of the Generals”) as herself and Bond-villain/”Rocky Horror” “criminologist” and narrator Charles Gray.

Burgess was the most famous member of the “Cambridge Five” spy ring who infiltrated British intelligence during World War II and served the Soviets until they were exposed in the early years of the Cold War. He defected in 1951.

We meet him drunk and dozing off at a touring “good will” British production of “Hamlet” in Moscow in 1958. He barges into Browne’s dressing room during intermission. She was playing Queen Gertrude opposite Gray’s usurper/poisoner King Claudius, an actor Burgess tipsily badgered several stern Soviet female theater functionaries to see backstage.

“We were at Cambridge together!”

The jokes begin with his muttering about at long last hearing a better language than Russian and the most eloquent words ever written in English to other patrons as he stumbles out of the theatre. Was he “friends” with Hamlet or Claudius? Both, it turns out. “I was at Cambridge with Hamlet!” he later insists out of vanity.

Hamlet, by the way, is played by Mark Wing-Davey of “Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy” fame. In real life, the theater troupe’s Hamlet was Michael Redgrave, also a college friend of Burgess.

Burgess throws up in Browne’s dressing room sink, charms her with his boorishness, cadges booze and English smokes.

“Craven A, for your throat’s sake,” he sighs with pleasure at the memory of finer tobacco.

Browne is bowled over, not sure who he is or why there’s a young man tailing him whom she catches listening at a keyhole.

“I’m in a French farce!”

But after the curtain call, she confers with her Claudius (who is never mentioned by his real name, Mark Dignam), who confirms who Burgess was and that he did indeed know Burgess in university as they traveled in the same (theatrical and gay) circles.

“Oh I used to run across him…years ago..the way one does.”

It turns out Burgess isn’t done with Browne. He sends her a note inviting her to lunch. It takes a day of walking, questioning Russians who don’t understand her for the address and swapping insults with a couple of young, snide foreign service officers at the British Embassy before they finally meet.

What has been a “How DOES one get street directions in a paranoid totalitarian state where you don’t speak the language” farce — “like playing ‘Private Lives’ to a Wednesday matinee in Oldham!” — tranforms into a deliciously downbeat variation of the Portrait of a Broken Man cliche.

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Movie Review: Who’s creepier, Foster Parents or “The Fostered?”

It’s a lucky thing that the thriller “The Fostered” is so risibly bad almost no one will see it and fewer will take it seriously.

If this abomination had been a hit, with competent writing and direction and compelling acting, it might have ended America’s admittedly broken foster care system overnight. Not replaced it with something better or fixed, but just ended it.

The men depicted here are drunken, cheating, abusive or mentally ill menaces and aspiring foster moms are naive at best. And the kids? Childhood trauma is a great shortcut for grooming monsters.

They don’t have to make mention of the state money changing hands part of the equation or poor state oversight pretty much nationwide legitimate problems to condemn everybody involved.

Writer-director Gunnar Garrett’s film opens with an effective if clumsily-staged crazy-dad-kills-mom-and-shoots-one-tween-twin in a Filipino-American family. Dad (Robert Adamson) had refused his pills and was literally listening to a devil in his rear view mirror (himself) as he drunkenly lashed-out against his wife (Rinabeth Apostol) and kids.

It’s no wonder the twelve-year-olds (Serena Perey and Savina Perey) are wary of the California farm they’re fostered out to.

“Reminds me of a horror film” one blurts out, basically on principle.

Farm wife Amy (Brittany Underwood) has wanted children for years, anything to take her mind off the children’s novel she’s been writing. For years.

Farmer Kevin (Robert Palmer Watkins) is indifferent to the idea, something his farm pal Matt (Casey Webb) has picked up on. Kevin’s had a fling with Amy’s “book club” bestie Heather (Jodie Garrett, the writer-director’s wife), an on-the-make femme fatale of the Jessica Rabbit school — painted on party dress, the works.

The warier twin warns “The closer you get to these people, the better the chance that they’ll hurt you!”

The “Abigail doll” toting other twelve-year old is too busy kissing up to the fosters to listen.

Or is she?

“Foreshadowing” here comes in the form of an open well Kevin never got around to sealing and a butcher knife that the girls take an early and unnatural interest in.

“Where do I put this?”

“In KEVIN!”

There are more unintentional laughs than intentional or unintentional frights. But it’d be mean to go into much detail about how they’re achieved and who achieves them.

“The Fostered” looks and sounds like what it is, a self-financed fiasco that couldn’t attract a distributor anybody had ever heard of, and with good reason.

Rating: TV 16+, violence, suicide

Cast: Brittany Underwood, Robert Palmer Watkins, Jodie Garrett, Casey Webb, and Savina Perey, Serena Perey.

Credits: Scripted and directed by Gunnar Garrett. A One Tree Enterainment release on Amazon Prime.

Running time: 1:17

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Movie Review: Slovenia’s Hope for an Oscar? Catholic Choral “Little Trouble Girls”

“Little Trouble Girls” is a conventional girls’ coming-of-age tale whose clever twist is equating sexual awakening with spiritual awakening, at least in the eyes and ears of an impressionable teen.

Slovenia’s bid for a Best International Feature Film Oscar covers what would pass for overly familiar ground in many other culture’s cinemas. But visual reveries and poetic touches unique to its setting lift it above many similar tales, which also use a pop song (in this case by Sonic Youth) as their title.

Lucia, played by wide-eyed ingenue Jara Sofija Ostan, is the new girl at her Catholic school. It’s as cliqueish as any high school, but perhaps one way to fit in would be to join the choir.

That’s where she meets Ana-Maria (Mina Svajger) and her besties Karla and Ursula. They’re into lipstick, gossiping about sex, making jokes about the dorky choirmaster (Sasa Tabakovic) and playing “Truth or Dare.”

But it’s established early on that Lucia isn’t like that, or so her mother (Natasa Burger) insists. She’s too young to wear the lip gloss her aunt sent her from Paris, too naive to run with a fast crowd. And she’s prone to daydreaming, which gets her in trouble in choir, and perhaps beyond that.

Ana-Maria may seem mild by any modern Western teen’s archetype of what constitutes “growing up too fast.” She’s more talk than “experience” and still adheres to her grandma’s form of teen penance — forcing herself (and Lucia) to chew green/sour grapes for any perceived “sin.” But she’s assertive, pushy and down for doing anything she can to distract from the braces that give away her “awkward” years.

Everything comes to a head on road trip to a choral concert competition which entails a stay at an Ursuline Convent. The convent is undergoing renovations. There are brawny young workers.

You can guess some of what’s to come but still guess wrong as often as not as director and co-writer Urska Djukic recognizes the script is trafficking in coming-of-age cliches. Twisting some of those tropes doesn’t just create surprises. Djukic gets at something almost profound in the nature of self-discovery, which can be not just sexual or spiritual, but both at the same time.

Lucia is “tested” by oncoming adulthood. She’s responsible for staying focused and doing good work. As far as sex goes, she has lots of questions, at least some of which this adult or that one — a nun in one case — will try and probably fail to answer. And those questions don’t make a life of chastity, community, teamwork and sacred singing sound as unappealing as the conventions of these movies usually suggest.

There’s something to be said for looking for an easy escape from the world of hormones. Not that even that is an “answer.”

Ostan registers layers of puzzlement over the mysteries that Lucia ponders, with Djukic’s closeups of her and her experiences and reveries suggesting something ethereal in life choices made at an age where Hollywood comedies obsess over who to lose one’s virginity to. That’s not enough to render this largely conventional drama transcendent, but it is enough to recommend it.

Rating: nudity, sexual situations

Cast: Jara Sofija Ostan, Mina Svajger, Natasa Burger and
Sasa Tabakovic

Credits: Directed by Urska Djukic, scripted by Urska Djukic, Marina Gumzi and Maria Bohr. A Kino Lorber release.

Running time: 1:29

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Movie Preview: Milla and her Stunt Team are back in Action — “Protector”

I first interviewed Milla Jovovich way back at the beginning of her career, that “Return to the Blue Lagoon” exploitation picture.

She was 16 when she made that, a model and reasonably self-possessed, an elementary school drop out who picked up languages easily and who studied acting from childhood.

She married a notorious “likes’em awfully young” French filmmaker and filmed “The Messenger,” as St. Joan of Arc, with him.

A steady paycheck in action pictures followed her divorce as she made “Resident Evil” movies until the cows came home.

This looks like another Milla Mows them Down thriller, made for an off-brand distributor, with Matthew Modine as her ex-commnading officer, the one who gets to use the AI generated lines “You have no idea who you’re dealing with” and “She’s a force of nature.”

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Movie Preview: Leslie Manville has a secret, Ciarán Hinds may want a “Midwinter Break” over it

This Feb. drama pairs up two favorite character actors as a couple rocked by an admission that comes to light on a midwinter get-away to Amsterdam.

Faith is one of the things that comes between them.

This adaptation of a Bernard MacLaverty novel comes our way Feb. 20.

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