Movie Review: Postpartum as Improv Exercise — “Die My Love”

Most movies come to you, but challenging ones make you come to them. Even when they’re assaulting you in your seat, they demand your attention, understanding and interpretation to come off.

“Die My Love” is a broken romance and deep dive into dysfunction and madness by a filmmaker who always challenges us. Lynne Ramsay is the Scottish director of “We Need to talk About Kevin” and “You Were Never Really Here.” If she’s made a movie, we take it seriously. She’s earned that.

But there are many moments in this unpleasant-because-life-often-is melodrama where one gets the sense that our star-crossed lovers, played by Oscar winner Jennifer Lawrence and Robert Pattinson, are being barked at off camera by a Scottish accent demanding “Show me EXTREME. Go OFF!”

It’s a postpartum breakdown that plays like a filmed improv exercise, a movie that nobody behind the camera thought to advise its stars that sometimes reality this heightened starts to play like camp.

Based on a novel by Argentine Ariana Hawicaz, “Die My Love” gives us scanty clues to piece together a story that includes a lot we’re not being told.

Grace and Jackson are white-hot for each other, beautiful young people passionate about their naked time together. But a baby isn’t just the apple of their eyes and a bundle of joy/blessing in their lives. It’s a shock to the marriage, and in the case of Grace, a shock to the system.

The New York license plates on their SUV and “great American novel” cracks suggest they met in a city and she had ambitions as a writer. Now, they’re living in the small Montana town he grew up in, residing in an old, disordered house just across the village from the one he grew up in.

He’s on a job (Trucking, maybe?) that has him on the road several days a week. She’s stuck at home alone in her thoughts. Her impulses and passions have nowhere to go, her run-away imagination has no literary outlet. And there’s this demanding, helpless little thing that needs her attention and not just the marathon stroller walks she takes to the convenience store/market or over to her in-laws.

Pam (Oscar winner Sissy Spacek) is empathetic. “You know everybody goes a bit loopy” with a newborn in their life. But she’s carrying her own burden. Husband Harry (Nick Nolte) is a handful, settling into dementia in a house where Pam sleepwalks with the old Remington rifle as her only comfort.

That house Grace and Jackson live in? It was his uncle’s, something that sets Harry off every now and again. Because his brother, Uncle Frank, shot himself in it.

Jackson’s ardor has cooled with the weight of all they have going on. But Grace has the same impulses and passions. Finding condoms in his car’s glove compartment are sure to set her off.

The story of the marriage’s unraveling and Grace’s violent lashing-out as she becomes more disconnected with reality — or just too sensitive to it — is told old out of order. We can blame Jackson for straying, and buy Grace’s justification for craving the sexual attentions of the mysterious helmeted neighbor (LaKeith Stanfield) on a motorcycle. But there’s more going on there. There always has been.

She’s smart enough to be rude to the locals, from baby-loving shop clerks to peers who have gone through versions of what she’s experiencing and try to empathize.

“Babies are a lot,” one fellow young mom reminds her. “:I don’t think people talk about that.”

“They don’t talk about anything else.”

Seeing snippets of Grace and Jackson’s past, we get a glimpse of her future. She got drunk and out of control at their wedding. She likes to crawl around on her hands and knees, imitating a cougar on the prowl.

And in a flash, she can intentionally hurt herself or do something so out of control that they have a car wreck.

We sit on tenterhooks fearing for the baby they’re neglecting and the incessantly yapping dog he’s brought home because his impulse control is childish, too.

There’s no getting around the disquiet Ramsay goes for and achieves with this nightmarish primer on postpartum depression at its most extreme. But at some point, the shocks numb you in ways the tedium of the myopic, intimate story hasn’t. The gratuitous nudity becomes an imposition on an actress (pregnant during the shoot) who still mistakes putting it all “out there” for “fearless,” and an indulgence of a filmmaker who might have been better served not filming the most “out there” rehearsals.

Rating: R, bloody violence, sex nudity, alcohol abuse, profanity

Cast: Jennifer Lawrence, Robert Pattinson, Sissy Spacek, LaKeith Stanfield and Nick Nolte.

Credits: Lynne Ramsay, scripted by Edna Walsh, Alice Birch and Lynne Ramsay, based on a novel by Ariana Harwicz . A Mubi release.

Running time: 1:58

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Movie Review: Relearning the lessons of “Nuremberg”

The stakes could not have been higher. The bloodiest war in history had just been brought to an end, and not all the “monsters” who launched it and conceived and carried out the worst genocide in human history had been killed or killed themselves.

A show trial in the city where their Big Lie and rabble rousing began, forcing the perpetrators to “tell the world what they did” could avoid letting the murderous leaders become martyrs for future generations in Germany, Japan and other places fascism could pop back up. But losing such cases could show the Allies “defeated by the very men we’ve just beaten” and all but invite a twisted revival of the horrors just visited upon the world.

The stakes aren’t as high for any movie about “Nuremberg,” but with fascism rearing its ugly head at home and abroad, you kind of need this latest take on the trial of the last century to resonate, deliver a message and get it right. And the best veteran producer turned writer-director James Vanderbilt could manage is a movie that saves its message for the finale, and swings and misses at showing us how that message was researched and formulated.

Oscar winners Russell Crowe and Rami Malek square off as Reichsmarschall Hermann Göring, Hitler’s second in command, and the American psychiatrist Douglas Kelley sent to question him, examine him and keep him from killing himself before going to trial.

Göring is cocksure and grandiose from the moment he surrenders, stopping his tricked-out Mercedes limo and giving himself up to U.S. troops. Kelley is a glib opportunist who revels at the book he’s sure he’s just had dropped at his feet, joking about the work he is assigned and calling himself a “shrink” twenty years before the term came to be used for psychotherapists.

Kelley isn’t “played” by Göring, but he lets himself be charmed by the man who signed off on concentration camps and SS directives to enslave and slaughter those in them. The cat and mouse game of their “chats” can be flippant and funny as the trained therapist draws a bead on his quarry and the canny World War I flying ace, art connisseur, art thief and pompous member of the lesser nobility relishes the chanceto spin the doctor’s expectations and to have “as you say, my day in court.”

The narrative has our joking and shallow mental health professional journey to a grim appreciation of just what went on in those camps and the role his various “patients” from the heirarchy played in it. He reports to military prison warden Col. Andrus (John Slattery) and even to prosecutor Jackson (Michael Shannon) himself, with both of them wanting inside dope on the defense strategy and wondering about Kelley’s loyalties and his seriousness — book deal or not — as Kelley befriends not just Göring but his family.

And we see the pompous fat man who likes his uniforms and medals plot his manuevers to “escape the hangman’s noose” only to have his culpability laid bare in open court, with all the world watching and listening.

Shannon is Supreme Court Justice Robert H. Jackson, assigned to prosecute the trials of the leaders of the Third Reich and surviving architects of Hitler’s “Final Solution.” Richard E. Grant plays one of his British counterparts, Sir David Maxwell-Fyfe.

The film’s great gift to this piece of much-filmed history is demythologizing Jackson, a figure the script and Shannon portray as well-intentioned, hard-nosed and out of his depth in attempting to try charismatic sociopaths that most of the world would rather had been rounded up and shot.

Jackson lobbying a Nazi-appeaser tainted Pope Pius XII is a scene that crackles. Too many others don’t. Leo Woodall plays a Jewish German-American GI/translator whose personal connection to crimes detailed in court lands flat. And Kelley’s epiphany about what Hannah Arendt would label “the banality of evil,” just ordinary lumps willing to commit and condone heinous acts of barbarism, is misplaced until the tacked-on finale, after he’s written that book.

There’s also a commendable effort to remember the broad scale of the genocide — mass murder of Slavs, Roma (Gypsies), homosexuals, leftists and POWs as well as Europe’s Jews — which is the way the world saw it then, as “concentration camps” were finally exposed as “slave labor camps” and even “death camps.”

The structure of the script delivers the trial scenes only after two not-quite-tedious hours of preliminaries. And even at a two and a half-hour run time, Kelley’s “realization” and outrage plays as so abrupt one can’t help but roll the eyes at the stumbling attempts at humor to show us the starting point of Kelley’s journey into this nightmare, which will make him serious in a flash.

Vanderbilt scripted and directed the similarly tone-death Robert Redford journalism lecture “Truth,” and one really wishes he’d stuck to rounding up financing for Fincher’s “Zodiac” and the “Scream” reboots. The guy who wrote a decades-later “Independence Day” sequel shouldn’t have been allowed anywhere near material this serious.

Didn’t his “shrink” warn him?

Rating: PG-13, horrific concentration camp images, suicide, profanity

Cast: Russell Crowe, Rami Malek, John Slattery, Leo Woodall, Richard E. Grant and Michael Shannon.

Credits: Scripted and directed by James Vanderbilt, based on a book by Jack El-Hai. A Sony Pictures Classics/Walden Media release.

Running time: 2:28

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Movie Preview: Mel Gibson reminds cultish hostage takers it’s “Hunting Season”

She tried to get away, they shot her.

Now Mel and his daughter are mixed up in their “business.”

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Classic Film Review: Lonsdale hunts Fox in Zimmerman’s “The Day of the Jackal” (1973)

Pristine, sleek and stylish, “The Day of the Jackal” is a period piece that’s aged into a period piece about a period piece.

Director Fred Zinnemann’s film of Frederick Forsythe’s thriller novel recreates chic early ’60s Euro-travel, wining and dining as the well-heeled managed it. And it does so from the gritty confines of early ’70s cinema.

It’s a brutally efficient assasination story with a “Thomas Crown Affair”/Sean Connery Bond years sheen. Virtually every hired killer tale that’s followed has leaned on it, borrowed from it or just plain stolen plot elements, character traits and the ticking clock formula of the professional-who-must-be-stopped-by-other-professionals narrative.

Edward Fox became the template for assassins from “The Killer” (Chow Yun-Fat) to “The American” (George Clooney), “The Professional” (Jean Reno) and “John Wick” (Keanu Reeves) to “Grosse Pointe Blank” (John Cusack).

Our hunter/killer is a lone wolf, meticulous in his work and perfectly turned-out in a succession of tan suits, ascots ’60s and beltless, polyester pants — “Continentals” they were called. He knows the underworld, where forged passports and custom-built, easily-disassembled and concealed sniper rifles can be commissioned. But he travels in style, with leather luggage that tucks into his just-acquired Alfa Romeo Giulietta Spider, perfectly coifed and notably dashing, the sort who of eye candy who can seduce seducable women or gay men at the local Turkish bath, when the need arises.

Zinnemann parks Forsythe’s cold-blooded killer in a lean narrative that takes us from the hire to the prep to the hunt for a man the French have figured out has been hired by traitors to shoot President Charles de Gaulle.

Some French military men turned on de Gaulle for conceding rebellious Algeria’s independence. We see their first attempt to kill him via an ambush of his convoy of black Citroens. The plotters flee, and decide to hire a non-Frenchman, a “professional,” perhaps the man rumored to have gotten away with shooting Trujillo just a couple of years before.

The man (Fox) meets the leaders in Vienna, names his price (“half a million U.S. dollars”), makes a point of fretting over how one kills a highly-protected, high-profile leader in a foreign country and gets away afterwards, and sets protocols for contacting them.

We follow the killer as awaits the Swiss bank deposit and plunges into his prep, from finding an English grave that will give him a new identity to contacting a Genoese forger (Ronald Pickup) and gunsmith (Cyril Cusack) to provide him with the ways and the means.

The French, fretting about what this cell of disgruntled military men might be plotting next, resort to kidnapping and torture to get the barest clues about what’s in the works.

A foreign killer has been hired. “Jackal” appears to be his code name. The interior minister (Alan Badel) puts whole departments of government on this case, including the foreign service. As clues point to an Englishman, assorted Brits (Tony Britton et al) are reluctantly dragged into the hunt.

The French finally call in their best investigator, Lebel (future Bond villain and “Ronin” scene-stealer Michael Lonsdale). The chase is on to catch this guy abroad, trying to sneak into France or already in France if there’s evidence somebody matching his “English” and “fair haired” description has already crossed the border.

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Movie Preview: Alia Shawkat and Chloë Sevigny” prep the troops for combat in “Atropia”


Callum Turner, Tim Blake Nelson and Jane Levy also star this is goof on a nation atrophying in a forever war, training its troops in a pricey simulation Iraqi town in the California desert.

Might have had promise, but Tim Heidecker’s in it. Dead give away only Vertical would release it.

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Movie Preview: Claire Foy mourns dad Brendan Gleeson via a Goshawk — “H is for Hawk”

Based on a memoir and thus a “true story,” this Jan. 23. release punches a lot of feel-good buttons, if the trailer’s any indication.

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Movie Review: Gang Life in LA never changes? “Die Like a Man”

Title to subject matter, casting to setting, “Die Like a Man” is a by-the-numbers LA-gangland tale that takes its best shot at leaving no “number” out.

Latin teen who celebrates his 17th birthday by “becoming a man” with a gang initiation shooting? Mentor who “knew your dad” in Chino or some such? Latin teen who has to choose between his mother, his girlfriend and a gang?

What writer-director Eric Nazarian’s debut feature lacks in originality it somewhat compensates for with grit.

But it’s a pokey affair, a slow saunter down a path many movies have walked before. There’s little urgency to the action of the character’s “decision” or the over-familiar arc of story that this few-days-in-the-life story tells. It’s uncertain grasp of ages and timeline make it feel out of its date, or just plain dated.

Miguel Angel Garcia of “The Long Game” stars as Freddy, a kid who narrates that he’s nicknamed “Casper, like the ghost” by his friends, even if we never hear anybody call him by that name. “Ghost” or not, he’s growing up fast on the mean streets of “the Four Corners, Venice Beach, Santa Monica, Culver City and Sawtelle” and the concrete canyon of the LA River.

His working mom (Berenice Valle) may wonder what he wants for his 17th birthday, but she hasn’t a clue. Today’s the day he gets wings tattooed on his back. Today’s a day girlfriend Luna (Mariel Moreno) has ordained that he get lucky. And today’s the day his dreadlocked mentor, Solo (Cory Hardrict) has set aside for him to “be a man” and learn the rule of “the threes and fours.”

Those are the caliber bullets you use if you’re trying to kill someone. Solo has the target picked out and the snub-nosed .38 ready. All Freddy needs to do is show up and pull the trigger.

The kid voice-over narrates like the hardcase he longs to be, even after his latest bloody beating.

“Only two kinds of people out there. Those who lost and those who lose.”

He inherits his father’s prison crucifix necklace and a legacy. “Everything (his father) schooled me on I’m a’teach you,” Solo sermonizes.

But will his mother, Luna and others be able to intervene so that he can break the cycle?

Pacing is a real problem with this picture as it’s the main reason we notice a screen story has no “urgency.” Nobody ever breaks their slow stride. The choices that show up are stark and abruptly introduced. The moment his mom sees his tattoo she lays down her cards.

Choose. “You Mom or your friends.”

As for Solo?

“Why don’t you stop hangin’ around him?”

She’s not very convincing, nor are pleas from Luna or man-to-man chats with Mom’s latest beau (Frankie Loyal).

Leads Garcia, Moreno and Hardrict are sharp, and Cesar Garcia brings gravitas to the role of the intended shooting victim. The supporting players mostly have one note to hit — angry and “hard.” Curiously, no Spanish and almost no Spanglish is spoken by the locals, young and old, or the gang-bangers.

But the film’s primarcy shortcoming is that “Die Like a Man” meanders when it should stomp. It’s a day-in-the-life story that should march towards deathly inevitability or the inevitable it avoids. It doesn’t.

With a story, setting, characters and even dialogue this over-familiar, the best favor you can do your movie is to plow through these paint-by-number touches at speed, giving our hero barely a moment to catch his breath and reconsider his choices.

“Die Like a Man” takes entirely too long to bleed out.

Rating: Unrated, violence, sexual situations, profanity

Cast: Miguel Angel Garcia, Mariel Moreno, Cory Hardrict, Cesar Garcia, Frankie Loyal and Berenice Valle

Credits: Scripted and directed by Eric Nazarian. A Gravitas Ventures release on Amazon Prime.

Running time: 1:59

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Movie Review: Aspiring Singer-Songwriter meets Toxic Lover/Mentor, “Off the Record”

“Off the Record” is a drab little “cautionary tale” of the music business about how a whirlwind courtship could cost you your publishing rights.

The low-stakes, with mostly forgettable tunes and a meandering narrative make it a film that doesn’t need showy, “Isn’t that Billy Gibbons/Peyton Manning?” cameos to feel half-assed.

Throw in a nepo baby star of the “Too pretty to bother with acting lessons” school and you’ve just wasted 95 minutes of your life on a “Star is Born” where nobody drinks himself to death. Dammit.

Rainey Qualley, Margaret’s older sister and Andie MacDowell’s other daughter, is Astor Grey, a Los Angelina with dreams of pop stardom. She’s 25 (Qualley was born in 1990) and living on a boat, making ends meet with gigs at the Silverlake Lounge and the odd bit of acting in TV commercials.

And then this big but never quite “huge” big-timer Brandon Verge (LOL), played by Ryan Hansen of the rebooted “Night Court,” takes notice of her and gives her a little social media boost.

He shows up in his Porsche to sweep her off her feet, take her to “the weirdest place on Earth” (the Salton Sea), boost her ego, sex up her love life (kinda icky) and open doors for her.

Red flags? He drinks. A lot. He’s clingy. He’s older and bossy and plays the “I kinda need to know if you don’t wanna have an adult relationship” card awfully quikcly.

He has a reputation, an ex to point out how toxic he is and fans that Astor might not want to cross.

The needy drunk dialing begging for her rescue, the flashes of temper, the record deal he bum rushes her into all scream “Run girl RUN.”

But la di dah, Astor’s not hearing it. Until she can’t NOT hear it.

Stuntwoman turned writer-director Kirsten Foe’s narrative doesn’t so much pass by as stagger, with the cliched plot points joined by random ones.

Let’s have the rock star with the top end Porsche “run out of gas,” only to be picked up by a local Salton Sea beardo (Gibbons, of ZZ Top). In case there’s any doubt who that sage of the Salton Sea, let’s needle-drop “La Grange” in there.

Rebecca DeMornay’s the older agent who tries to bring Astor to her senses. Olivia Sui is her gay Asian BFF. Montanna Gillis is the vamping pop starlet Mr. Verge would like to give Astor’s songs to. And Julia Campbell is Astor’s mom, who figures everything that ails her can be fixed with the right dose of lavender.

It’s inane, innocuous and random enough to feel as if it was scripted on the fly. And while it’s almost never the star’s fault when a picture stiffs like this one, one has to think back to all the not-wholly-justified abuse Qualley’s mom went through during her peak years to find a comparable leading lady turn as flat and free from sparks.

The message, about the predatory nature of the music business — stars-preying on wannabes — has been sent via letter, telegraph, film, TV and a few songs over the decades, a couple by Loudon Wainright III (“Ingenue” and “Aphrodisiac”) come to mind.

It’s as valid as a critique of creepy/clingy older men as it ever was. But you need a film less half-assed than “Off the Record” if you want to bring new insights to singing Svengalis in the cinema.

Rating: R, sex, substance abuse, profanity

Cast: Rainey Qualley, Ryan Hansen, Olivia Sui, Rebecca DeMornay, Montanna Gillis, Billy Gibbons and Peyton Manning.

Credits: Scripted and directed by Kirsten Foe. A Quiver release on Amazon Prime.

Running time: 1:35

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Movie Review: Why pull the trigger when “The Old Woman with the Knife” is available?

“The Old Woman with the Knife” is a Korean variation on the World of Assassins tale, where killing for hire is a business with professionals assigned out of offices and following “rules.” It’s another story of an aged killer competing with a younger one to see who gets whom first.

And yes, we’ve seen versions of this where all the killing is done with knifes, poison and garrotes until somebody — usually mobster victims — figures out that pistols are a decent defense against such cutlery “artists.” The third act becomes bullet-riddled just as arbitrarily as the first two acts were sliced and diced.

Veteran Korean actress Lee Hye-yeong (“The Devil’s Game”) stars as the assassin her employer calls “Godmother” in her advanced years, but who used to be nicknamed “Nails” and took on the name “Hornclaw” because that’s how she rolls.

But way back in ’75, she was a battered young woman (Shin Si-ah) taken in by a mop-topped diner owner, Ryu (Kim Mu-yeol) and his wife. His work takes him away from home for days at a time. One homecoming, he arrives to find that their new dishwasher has fought off and killed a rape-minded thug of a U.S. G.I.

It turns out Ryu’s “pest control” work is killing human pests. He treats it as a calling. But as crime victims and the bullied start paying for “pest” removal, the Sinseong Agency goes professional, “eliminating malignant vermin” from society. Hornclaw has found her destiny.

Decades later, Ryu’s long gone but Godmother Hornclaw is still the best if you need a brutal bookie poisoned on the subway or some other “pest” out of your life. But she’s going soft. That injured, abandoned and aged dog she finds demands her pity.

“It’s awful to be abandoned when you’re old and sick,” the kind veterinarian (Yeon Woo-jin) tells her, in Korean with English subtitles. So she takes in the dog.

The punk who goes by Bullfight (Kim Sung-cheol) is a freelancer who has to be talked into joining an agency where he’ll get paid for the killing that seems to come naturally to him. “Nails” isn’t as hard as she used to be, with joint pains and eye problems and the agency’s doctor refusing to hide that from her boss. Bullfight will act as “backup” on her tougher jobs.

We’ve all seen “The Mechanic,” “John Wick” and a DVR full of old-killer/young killer tales. We know how this “relationship” will play out. And we fear for the dog.

Director and co-writer Min Kyo-dong goes back to 1999’s “Memento Mori,” so he does what he can to make this formulaic script (based on Gu Byeong-mo’s novel) surprising. There are several twists to hold our interest over 125 minutes. OK, maybe for 90 minutes of that.

Lee is a somber presence at the center of this, handling the fight choreography (as if anybody believes a 65 year-old woman could kick this much ass) and rarely betraying emotions, an unsentimental killer who gets sentimental over a dog and the veterinarian who talks her into adopting it. Kim makes a properly belligerent smart-assed “brat with a death wish” foil, someone who has absorbed the “you’re killing a bug” ethos of their line of work.

But the cluttered backstory meant to flesh out the present day relationship dilemma just serves up more mayhem — one woman or punk with a knife slashing through mobs of minions and the like. The ingredients of an over-familiar formula are right there, letting us know more or less exactly where all this is going, lowering the stakes along the way.

There’s a grace note, here and there. One victim from their profession talks of how one knows the end is nigh — ghosts appear while they’re doing the work.

“Those who miss you come to greet you” upon death. Even hitmen and hitwomen, apparently.

Still, the film never quite transcends the “mixed bag” treatment of a weary genre that it is. We know who she is and how she got this way, but the lack of interior life leaves the character cold as a corpse, with little chance for the viewer to warm up to her.

Rating: unrated, bloody violence

Cast: Lee Hye-yoeng, Kim Sung-cheol, Kim Mu-yeol and Yeon Woo-jin

Credits: Directed by Min Kyo-dong, scripted by Kim Dong-wan and Min Kyo-dong, based on the books by Gu Byeong-mo. A Well Go USA release.

Running time: 2:05

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Netflixable? Her Son’s Arrest reduces her to “The Woman in the Line” at his Argentine Prison

“Due process” has been much on the minds and even in the news in North America, as ordinary citizens grapple with the shock of a rights-trampling regime killing people in boats it can’t identify much less charge with a crime and with citizens and immigrants alike being snatched from the streets by masked, armed and brutish unofficial “police” in name only.

That’s what the Argentine drama “The Woman in the Line” is about, a country with a history of making people “disappear” leaving too much of the oppression apparatus of the state in place to ensure it never happens again.

Co-writer and director Benjamin Ávila’s generally gripping and engrossing drama never misses a step when we see a mother assaulted in a police raid that arrests her teen son — with no charges named and no tolerance for debate or questioning what the authorities can and cannot do.

“It’s a mistake! My kid’s a SAINT!” (in Spanish with English subtitles) is almost sure to be an overstatement. But where’s the due process when masked, armed goons bust in your house and slap you when you dare to protest this home invasion?

The film, “inspired by a true story,” takes liberties with that story, something bluntly acknowledged in the closing credits. We viewers are entitled to think the co-writers did their subject and their movie wrong by taking the tale in a much more conventional inside-and-outside prison melodramatic direction.

Natalia Oreiro of “I’m Gilda” and “Today We Fix the World” plays Andrea, a widowed mother of three shocked and seriously put-out when her tall, teen son Gustavo (Federico Heinrich) is dragged away, right in front of her eyes.

Andrea has a temper, which is not mollified by getting punched during the arrest, nor rebuffed by an efficious and cruel “system” that gives her no answers and insists on locking her kid up without so much as a word with him or a listing of charges.

She rages at internment functionaries and roars at guards and the other women in similar circumstances who complain when she cuts line or tosses a tantrum.

Her lawyer (Luis Campos) isn’t spared her fury.

Her mother, whom she asks to pick up her younger kids and take them home and her employer both get lies about what’s going on. She won’t tell friends, either. We suspect her embarrassed silence does her no favors.

The kid, when he finally calls, is more stoic. He hastily gives her a list of what he needs and hangs up.

Andrea finds her world upended and her rights circumscribed as she frantically cooks and packs for the kid and endures food-rummaging and strip searches from the guards. She’s in over her head, and this widowed real estate agent can’t help but notice that most everyone in line at this prison is a woman, and that they’re at best tolerant of each other when they aren’t elbowing their way past one another to get what they need or want.

Andrea snaps more than once. A fellow inmate steals her kid’s new shoes? She’s going after that guy’s mother.

An older woman (Amparo Noguera) whose nickname is “’22,’ like the madman,” tries to calm her and show her the rules and roles everyone must play. This 22 has lots of experience with this system and this visitation process and all the ways the state gets back at women in line who get out of line.

And another client of her lawyer, Alejo (Alberto Ammann) is also a calming influence, an inmate who knows this world and Gustavo’s risks and who calls her — repeatedly — just to reassure her about her son, and just to hear a friendly woman’s voice.

The way this story sets up, we figure these women will get over their stand offishness and organize either to demand due process and civil rights for their loved ones, or plot an escape. Suffice it to say the story turns more melodramatic than Hollywood far-fetched and violent.

Not every “turn” is accurate or as dramatically satisfying as this film promises. The more we learn about this case, the more conventional and less truthful the story becomes.

But Oreiro is a fierce presence at its heart, making Andrea an uncompromising hotheadwho fumes and pokes around, finds herself taking extraordinary risks and unable to control her temper even as she’s doing that.

And the story can’t help but move us, even as we wonder if would have been more moving had it hewed more closely to the facts.

Rating: TV-MA, violence, smoking, profanity

Cast: Natalia Oreiro, Federico Heinrich, Amparo Noguera and Alberto Ammann.

Credits: Directed by Benjamín Ávila, scripted by Benjamín Ávila and Marcelo Müller. A Netflix release.

Running time: 1:45

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