“Most Obnoxious Moviegoers?” Here’s the Latest Poll

Moviegoing as an experience has had its rough periods of adjustment over the decades.

Audiences returning to the cinema in the ’70s and ’80s thanks to the Blockbuster era had to learn they weren’t in their den, where chattering about what was on TV was the rule. I spent most of the ’80s lecturing senior citizens and pissant teens about talking talking talking during movies.

Later, I took to tossing the caps from my cheap pens at yakkers, to the point where it got so I didn’t have a single note-taking pen with a clip on it.

And then the cell phone arrived and any semblence of courtesy for those around you went right out the door. Tossing pen caps or popcorn seemed futile. I distinctly remember a showing of “Boogie Nights” at the Beverly Center that was disrupted when a patron took a call, mid-movie, got screamed at and then sat slack-jawed as an enraged fellow moviegoer grabbed their cell and hurled it against the wall.

Any regular moviegoer knows that there are differences between audiences, even if sweeping generalizations can seem harder to back up when you actually crunch the numbers and measure them against your own experience.

Octane Seating is a movie seat seller-distributor that commissioned a poll for “most obnoxous moviegoers,” and other behavioral quirks of the broader cinema audience. Here’s what they found.

  • 34% say horror movies have the rowdiest crowds, while documentaries have the calmest.
  • 62% admit to intimacy in theaters, including 1 in 25 who’ve had sex.
  • 41% have yelled at someone during a movie (mostly over phones, chatter, or couples getting handsy).
  • 81% sneak food and drinks into movies.
  • 39% show up drunk or high (rising to 50% among Gen Z)
  • 21% have filmed another moviegoer to mock them, with some posting it online.
  • 1 in 10 have had food or drinks thrown at them during a screening.

Not really my experience of the horror audience. They are typically younger, but I can’t say that’s necessarily a guarantee for “obnoxious” behavior. I’m hard-pressed to recall a really bad horror moviegoing experience.

Sex in the cinema? “Fargo,” NYC, the row behind me at one of the big stadium multiplexes in midtown for a midnight show.

Yelling? Been there, done that. Top tip, start with a polite “Shhhh.” Escalate it to a nuclear “SHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH” before the shouting.

I once did that to a couple who turned out to be colleagues from the newspaper where I was working. They were…chastened.

Sneaking food and drinks? It’s a must, with AMC charging $9 for a drink or a popcorn or a candy box.

“Drunk or high?” Yeah, GenZ owns that. For now.

But for all that can go wrong, the movies are still, by and large, a positive experience, despite the ever-increasing number of ads parked in front of the previews, the prices and the “hell is other people” potential.

Still, if you’ve heard and seen cell phones at funeral services, endured earbud “conversations” by clueless cretins in most any public space you can imagine — museums, concerts, etc. — singling out movies as the one place where that happens is fair.

And speaking as someone who still sees 125+ films a year in cinemas, I know it’s easiest to lump the horror crowd into a “not like the rest of us” generalization. Anime cultists, superhero movie lemmings, every audience has its uncouth outliers.

At least Adam Sandler’s been segregated to Netflix. That crowd might have been the least civilized of all, if memory serves.

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Movie Review: A Pixie talks to Pumpkins and makes one “Grow”

Gather round, ladies and gents, “boys and gourds,” for a Scots-flavored tale of a little girl who communes with plants.

“Grow” is a cute-aiming-for-cutesie comedy about Halloween, a pumpkin growing contest and learning to “go organic” because that’s what the plants tell you they prefer.

High stakes competitive pumpkining can lead to all sorts of chicanery, and since director John McPhail gave us “Anna and the Apocalypse,” keep an eye peeled for a pumpkin “Psycho” murder and a “Godfather” touch in where one dead gourd winds up.

But most of the giggles here are from a Brit Comic Who’s Who supporting cast of Jane Horrocks, Tim McInnerny, Jeremy Swift and Alan Carr. And there’s Nick Frost, nipping at your nose for good measure.

Priya Rose-Brookwell is Charlie, an impish orphan determined to get to L.A. because she’s sure that’s where her Mum ran off to, “to be the new Wonder Woman.” The System has just about given up on her when they finally turn up her one blood relative.

Aunt Dina (Golda Rosheuvel of “Bridgerton”) is a struggling farmer up Mugford way, where her Little Farm is the only holdout not growing cucurbitaceae in “The Pumpkin Capital of the World.”

No, it’s not the “real” pumpkin capital. But it’s quaint and Scottish and the locals say “Oy!” a lot, especially to anybody who wants to know their personal jumbo-growth pumpkin growing secrets.

Charlie has this special connection to plants, and she figures the £100,000 prize could get her to LA to search for the mother who ran out on her. So why not swipe some seeds, ask around for “tips,” memorize the English measuring system from pounds to stone to tonnes, and have a go?

Aunt Dina is no help, and her lazy hired hand (Joe Wilkinson) would rather teach her his dangerous chores (herbiciding the weeds) than answer her questions about pumpkins.

A classmate’s (Dominic McLaughlin) ag-chemical dad (Jeremy Swift) figures pumpkin growing in the lab is best for weight if one wants to break the “one tonne” barrier.

But the idle rich neighbors, the Smythe-Gerkins (Horrocks and McInnerny) have their own methods, and have been winning the contest for generations.

There’s nothing for it but for Dina to introduce Charlie to organic woodlands weirdo Arlo (Frost) who lives in an ancient caravan (camper) in the forest. The kid who communes with and finesses the flora convinces him to pitch in.

A “descended from greatness” seed is selected and planted, a vine sprouts and “Peter” the pumpkin is named and nurtured towards annual Big Contest at the Mugford’s fall fair.

The script isn’t a laugh a minute, but it has its charms. The messaging about how pumpkins are like people, “It’s not how they look that matters, it’s what’s inside” is obvious but soft-sold.

The kid has a great grasp of the acting craft and holds her own with her esteemed co-stars.

And the pumpkin sabotage scenes are funny, punny and worthy of “Wallace & Gromit.”

Live-action kid-friendly fare like “Grow” is a rare thing, these days, especially at the height of Horror Season. Better grab the tykes and dash off to this before the last “pumpkin spice” lattes are served.

Rating: PG

Cast: Priya Rose-Brookwell, Golda Rosheuvel, Jane Horrocks, Tim McInnerney, Jeremy Swift, Dominic McLaughlin, Alan Carr and Nick Frost.

Credits: Directed by John McPhail, scripted by Nick Guthe, Ruth Fletcher and Christos N. Gage. A Sky production, a Fathom release.

Running time: 1:47

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Movie Review: A Mixed Martial Artist with an “Affinity” for Fighting, but not Screenwriting

Marko Zaror makes a statement on his martial arts skills — as a fighter and fight director — in “Affinity,” a B-picture that drifts into C-movie territory every time the fighting stops.

A towering brawler who figured prominently in the last “John Wick” movie, “The Fist of the Condor” and “Alita: Battle Angel,” Zaror plays a grieving soldier sucked into Thai intrigues when a strange beauty with no memory (Jane Mirro) washes up on his riverside shack’s dock.

We have just enough time to wonder why he doesn’t call Milan to see if any runway models are missing when an old comrade from his special forces days (Brooke Ence) and a vet who “served with your dad” who now runs a Thai diner (Louis Mandylor) pitch in to solve this mystery and track down the legions of masked minions who want to grab Ms. “I think I’ll call myself Athena.”

Bruno lost his brother on a mission, back in the day. Now he’s suicidal and it’s all his old pals Fitch (Ence) and Joe (Mandylor) can do to keep that pistol out of his mouth.

Zaror shows off some impressive moves, right from the first time Bruno is roofied and wakes up to fight his way out of a jam. Flying kicks, accidental headbutts and the like can’t keep him from getting choked out — not once, but more than once. But no worries. The bad guys make take a lot of KIAs from his kicking, stabbing and shooting. But in the manner of many a B and C movie, they always let him live.

Ence, it’s worth mentioning, is pretty credible in a throwdown, too, a blonde-haired fury and walking muscle.

Veteran stuntman Brahim Chab plays the goateed brawler who seems to have Bruno’s number. And Ego Mikitas is the evil scientist in this Bond-without-ambition budget.

Remember the “flowers” part of the plot of “Moonraker?”

The dialogue is a collection of cliched inane nonsense.

“Where did you get this?

“Go f–k yourself!”

“You better not be f—–g with us!”

It’s worth considering that we just heard the guy refuse to talk, and yet we’re hearing a threat related to him giving bad information, not no information at all.

“I’m not f—–g telling you anything,” he repeats, as plainly Bruno and Fitch are not good listeners.

It’s the kind of movie in which a character uses that dying breath to to declare “I needed this.”

The acting isn’t always embarassing, and Zaror’s accent may be thick, but that never stopped Schwarzenegger, Van Damme or Jackie Chan.

Maybe he’ll get that shirtless Jason Statham break. But seeing as how he’s a credited co-writer on “Affinity,” it’s pretty obvious he can’t write that break for himself.

Rating: unrated, graphic violence.

Cast: Marko Zaror, Brooke Ence, Louis Mandylor, Jame Mirro, Brahim Chab and Ego Mikitas.

Credits: Directed by Brandon Slagle, scripted by Gina Aguad, Christopher M. Don, Liam O’Neil and Marko Zaror. A Well Go USA release.

Running time: 1:21

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Netflixable? Come to Mallorca, “Fall for Me”

“Fall for Me” is a sexy German thriller flavored with mystery and intrigue and set on the Spanish vacation island of Mallorca.

Director Sherry Hormann (“A Regular Woman,” “Desert Flower”) and screenwriter Stephanie Sycholt (“Themba”) get the sex and the scenery right. Its the “mystery,” “intrigue” and “thrills” that are the picture’s undoing.

Lilli, played by Svenja Jung, is a sexy 30ish German bank auditor — because in Germany there are such creatures — who travels to Mallorca to check in on younger sister Valeria (Tijan Marei). Vale has big plans. She’s bought into the idea of buying and running a finca as an inn with her new fiance.

Manu (Victor Meutelet)? He’s ready for these big steps because A) he’s in love her Vale and B) he’s managing a local hotel.

But to realize their dreams, Vale needs Lilli to sign off on selling their late mother’s seaside acreage and run-down estate. Lilli the bank auditor starts to wonder if this deal is exactly what it seems.

But there’s this distractingly handsome bartender Tom (Theo Thebs) who turns out to be the manager of a chic local nightclub. Their flirtation is hot, turning hotter still, all in the space of one steamy night on the balcony of that very nightclub.

But Lilli’s cautious. One more time, “Bank auditor.” She’s curious about this fancy finca her sister and Manu arranged for her to stay in. She’s suspicious of Manu’s motives and questions her sister’s judgement. She wonders about the real estate broker (Thomas Kretschmann of “The Pianist”) Nick, who seems in a hurry to rush this deal through.

And then she meets Manu’s ex (Anje Traue) and the scheme and the movie’s plot and our investment in it start to unravel. She hasn’t forgotten about Tom, but if she can’t guess how he connects to all this, she’s a lot slower than your average Netflix viewer.

It must cost a fortune to film on Mallorca, in and around the Riviera-chic small city of Palma. So director Hormann gives us Edenic beaches and rocky cliffs above the gin-clear sea, in addition to posh homes, a hotel and a club.

Lots of cool, upscale places to make out. Because that’s where this romance novel of a mystery’s emphasis is.

The performers are (mostly) credible, even if the situations and reactions to them are not.

Damn this script is dumb. We’re meant to buy into some ongoing real-estate grift involving pretty boy honey pots, with all the principals tucked on a tiny island with nowhere to lay low or hide out after the grift.

Lilli makes accusations and walks into what’s sure to be dangerous situations heedless of her peril. The few twists are as subtle as Chekhov’s gun, which makes its entrance in the first act, sure to take a curtain call in the third, as if the screenwriter just learned about it and tries to apply it to her latest assignment.

According to her credits, the South African Sycholt peaked early and has made a living concocting crap for decades since.

As for her latest? Sexual allure be damned, be smarter than Lilli. Don’t fall for it.

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

Cast: Svenja Jung, Theo Thebs, Tijan Marei, Victor Meutelet, Antje Traue, Lucía Barrado and Thomas Kretschmann.

Credits: Directed by Sherry Hormann. scripted by Stephanie Sycholt. A Netflix release.

Running time: 1:45

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Movie Review: “The Map that Leads to You,” via Spain, Portugal and Rome

A pretty and capable young cast and a grand tour of the sights of Northern Spain and Portugal recommend “The Map that Leads to You,” a sweet nothing of a travelogue with lots of wish fulfillment fantasy about it.

Madelyn Cline of “Outer Banks” and “I Know What You Did Last Summer” stars as Heather, a Texan organizing herself and two college pals (Sofia Wylie and Madison Thompson) through a post-grad summer trip through Europe.

Amy (Thompson) may be hooking-up and partying her way past a broken heart, but Heather is on-schedule and sticking to the plan. That plan entails no missed trains or flights, lots of travel guide tips and a job she has waiting for her back in New York when they get home.

Connie? She’s the mediator between the two.

Then handsome Kiwi Jack (KJ Apa of “Riverdale” and “I Still Believe”) boards their train to Barcelona, climbs up onto the overhead luggage rack to nap, and charms all-business Heather into drifting away from her “Lonely Planet sights” of Europe itinerary.

She’s reading “The Sun Also Rises,” which is a tad “on the nose” for a trip to Spain. But so is he. She’s sticking to a schedule, but he’s a “no plans,” “live in the moment” New Zealander…who is also on a planned route. He’s following his great grandfather’s journal, a travel diary about his trek through Europe after serving in WWII.

Jack is smitten and persistent. Heather isn’t put off. Connie? She’s taken with Jack’s Aussie pal Raef (Orlando Norman). They’re both a tad too distracted to stop Amy’s impulsive parade of poor decisions.

But while the blunder that has her tumbling into a worldwise Brit may almost cost her the passport and belongings she’s toting across The Continent, it sets up the “wish fulfillment fantasy” part of this story. They rob the robber of enough cash to enjoy a free-spending extension of their vacations.

They not only see the Gaudí wonders of Barcelona. Jack rents them a Mercedes convertible to tool up the coast to Port Lligat, and the Salvador Dali house there.

They dash over to Bilbao and San Sebastian on the Atlantic Coast, cut back to Pamplona to run with the bulls, and detour down to Porto and Lisbon in Portugal, all of these places listed in the journal of Jack’s great grandpa Russell, who might have fought at Monte Cassino, because there’s an Italian destination in Jack’s plans as well.

Of course a simmering slow romance is part of this journey, with Jack’s secrets and Heather’s trust issues and evasive calls from worried dad (Josh Lucas) back in Texas as our new college grad indulges and is indulged in every whim Jack whips up.

“Does it,” meaning the budding romance, “mean anything?” “Why would it? We’re leaving tomorrow?”

The leads have just enough chemistry to make them credible as a couple. The supporting roles are consistently underwritten, and when they have their “moments,” they’re barely bland enough to merit mention.

The ending is abrupt and a romance novel cliche. Or two.

But director Lasse Hallström has been making romances of all varieties (“Chocolat,” “The Hundred Foot Journey,” “Safe Haven,””Dear John”) so long he could make this sweet nothing play in his sleep.

He doesn’t doze off on this one, though we suspect the shoot had plenty of siestas, as there’s little that’s demanding or surprising or amounts to anything more than a Crema Calatana, an Iberian dessert that’s skipped the main course.

Rating: PG-13, fisticuffs, drug references, nudity, some profanity

Cast: Madelyn Cline, KJ Apa, Sofia Wylie, Madison Thompson, Orlando Norman and Josh Lucas.

Credits:Directed by Lasse Hallström, scripted by Vera Herbert and Leslie Bohem, based on a novel by J.P. Monninger. An MGM release on Amazon.

Running time: 1:38

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Movie Review: “Squid Game” Star Brings Swagger to “Yadang: The Snitch”

Dirty cops, corrupt prosecutors and tainted politicians collide in “Yadang: The Snitch,” a twisty thriller about how drugs not only kill people, they stain every corner of The State that they touch.

The debut feature of Hwang Byeong-guk is built as a star vehicle for “Squid Games” phenom Kang Ha-neul — all smiles, style and swagger as the title character, the “liaison” between law enforcement and the drug users, dealers and kingpins they pursue.

A cluttered opening keeps the picture from finding its footing quickly, and a rather infantile “Let’s explain what just happened to slower viewers” antic-climax robs the finale of some of its sting.

But it’s well-cast, and well-acted and the plot, once we get hold of it, has plenty to keep the viewer engaged.

Lee Kang-soo (Kang) is a well-compensated snitch who agreed to this dangerous work after being set-up by a customer in his previous profession, ride-share driving.

Ambitious Prosecutor Goo (veteran character actor Kim Geum-soon) knows Kang-soo was set up. But there’s no retrial or freedom for him without a “deal.” He starts informing on inmates running a drug gang from inside prison, wins his freedom and soon tools the means streets in a luxury SUV, naming names, fingering middle men and women and helping the prosecutor rise through the ranks.

Prosecutor Goo (“Ku” in the subtitles) is even moved to call Kang-soo “bro.”

Our snitch doesn’t have much of an interior life. But if he has a rationalization for what he does, it might be what he relates to one hapless victim.

“The world’s longest-lived junkies are Korean (in Korean with English subtitles). Because the cops lock you up before you OD!”

Another cog in the machinery of law enforcement is two-fisted cop, Det. Oh (Park Hae-joon of “12.12: The Day”). He busts a young actress, Uhm Soo-jin (Chae Won-bin) with drugs on her and turns her into another snitch.

But her connection to hard-partying, high-living Cho Hoon (Ryu Kyung-soo), the son of a presidential candidate, could be everyone’s undoing. The favors the prosecutor doles out, the pecking order of drug bosses, the detective’s ongoing investigations and the presidential race could turn on who double-crosses whom, and who figures out they need to team up in order to expose the wrongdoers, and survive exposing them.

Screenwriter Kim Hyo-seok, who adapted John Woo’s “A Better Tomorrow” for a Korean remake, fills the middle acts of “Yadang” with intrigues on top of intrigues — a “French Connection II” twist (turning your victim into an addict), new drugs from North Korea, gangsters making deals to get rivals taken down and secret videos that could be a lot of people’s undoing.

Kang vamps up his character, waggling his cigarette with his teeth, taking beatings, grinning and laughing off the perilous spot his snitch is in.

Park’s detective serves up Six Degrees of Outrage as he finds himself outflanked by crooks and a prosecutor with his own “special unit” set up to serve “justice” and his unhinged ambition, and not in that order.

Chae Won-bin’s role is painfully underwritten, the curse of many a macho Korean thriller.

But the various subplots collide in entertaining ways, and the “payback” chapters are full of surprises, which are easy enough to understand without the tedious business of throwing in anti-climactic flashbacks to ensure everybody “gets” why this or that happened and why any of it makes sense.

We got it. We were paying attention.

Rating: unrated, graphic violence, drug abuse, sex, profanity

Cast: Kang Ha-neul, Yoo Hae-jin, Chae Won-bin, Park Hae-joon, Kim Geum-soon, Yoo Seong-ju and Ryu Kyung-soo

Credits: Directed by Hwang Byeong-guk, scripted by Kim Hyo-seok. A Well Go USA release.

Running time: 2:02

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Documentary Review — “Stripped for Parts: American Journalism on the Brink”

The thing that instantly dates Rick Goldsmith’s documentary “Stripped for Parts: American Journalism on the Brink,” about the Internet, hedge-fund and tycoon-driven death of American newspapers, is the gasping attempt to find something optimistic in the death of the country’s local legacy media institutions.

The film was finished and did the festival circuit in 2023. Since then, more newspapers have closed, tidal waves of layoffs continued at the rest and America’s real watchdogs — the ones who do the reporting TV and online folks often just copy or parrot — were too weakened and too-often ignored as they failed to sway the public that a genuinely dangerous movement of the misinformed and the misinformers was about to end our democracy.

So there’s an “Aside from that, Mrs. Lincoln, how’d you like the play?” futility to this film’s expose of the most predatory hedge fund of them all’s devouring of the institutions that newspapers were.

The alarm about “business model” problems was sounded decades ago, when Craigslist, Google and Facebook took their turns “disrupting” the media and advertising landscape, robbing news organizations of their ability to fund the reporting that Google would borrow, post its own ads on and profit from.

Speaking to journalists at The Denver Post, Chicago Tribune and Baltimore Sun newsrooms about their concerns, editorializing and protesting their fate ignores the fact that these folks are all merely survivors in a gutted landscape. Endless waves of cuts from a business that made that its practice before the Internet ever came along mean nobody should have been surprised by this.

Alden Capital/Digital First and whatever-its-called-now and its two hedge fund chiefs Randall D. Smith and Heath Freeman may make convenient villains. But they’re just rich gravediggers playing capitalism’s end game — buying newspapers, cutting costs by gutting staffs and centralizing operations on the cheap, putting the real estate these often-downtown institutions own up for sale to make a quick buck.

Tiny newspapers close, leaving much of rural America in a “news desert.”

“News deserts” are just part of the small town and county newspaper story. The ones surviving are too timid to offend advertisers or subscribers with news and facts they don’t want to read.

When Goldsmith talks to people from the Tribune Corporation as staff of the Chicago Tribune and Baltimore Sun scramble to find billionaire “white knights” to “save” the company from Alden, he makes no mention of the fact that the gutting preceded Alden by decades, that an earlier “white knight” became an earlier ugly face of the gut-and-gut-and-profit-from-it “vulture” capitalism that’s now finishing the job.

I know. That’s one of the newspaper companies that I worked for over my career — chains named Knight-Ridder, McClathy, Tribune, Persis and Media General, most of them gone, or renamed and a shell of their former selves.

The film’s urgency is conveyed by reporters and editors profiled here — some walking picket lines, some recruiting fresh “white knights,” some taking a shot at becoming news entpreneurs.

Its “Here’s a villain” gotcha comes from former Monterey County Herald reporter Julie Reynolds, who blew the lid on secretive, underregulated Alden Capital’s buying frenzy — newspapers taken over, and mansion collections purchased with the looted profits and pension funds of those news gathering local institutions, many of which have been in business over a century.

Goldsmith has made three documentaries on newspapering — “Tell the Truth and Run: George Seldes and the American Press” in the ’90s, “The Most Dangerous Man in America: Daniel Ellsberg and the Pentagon Papers” in 2009 and this one. He knows the turf and all he’s choosing to leave out in his “short history” interludes in this film.

But even with those omissions of bad faith labor practices, business ethics shortcuts and the like by most any newspaper one can name, he never really makes the case for saving what’s left. 

By the third act of this piece of cinematic rhetoric, the “possible solutions” step in any motivational speech, you can’t help but feel the film is five years too late to matter.

“Stripped” finishes with suggestions that capitalism has been the problem with news gathering all along, and that reporter-owned newsites and philanthropy-backed news organizations are one way to ensure journalism’s survival.

But these tiny operations, with low profiles even in the communities they set up to serve, don’t have the institutional power of a legacy media company shining a light on corruption, holding crooks accountable and helping the public make informed decisions about politics.

And Goldsmith’s interviewees suggesting that adopting some sort of “public funding” model for “the only private industry mentioned in the Bill of Rights (First Amendment press protections),” perhaps like “the Corporation for Public Broadcasting,” PBS/NPR arrangement, becomes just another instantly out-of-date grasp.

“Stripped for Parts” sets out to upend the “narrative” of what killed print journalism — the Internet and online advertising’s lack of value — by putting hedge fund villains in the blame mix.

But the second newspaper I worked for closed in the early ’90s, and the “consultants” hired as cover for each new round of layoffs was a fixture in every newsroom I ever worked in.

In leaving out the sordid history of “white nights” who are nothing of the sort, from Rupert Murdoch and Sam Zell to Jeff Bezos, Goldsmith avoids undercutting his fragile thesis. But he can’t hide from the fact that the facts don’t back that thesis up.

The outmoded business model issue is still the most apt narrative for the death of newspapering. And it’s relevent only because legacy media didn’t band together, hire lawyers and lobbyists and force Google, Yahoo, Facebook and everybody else taking expensively-made content and slapping its own ads on it to share a BIG chunk of their ad revenue back in the very early 2000s, when “dead tree media” had the clout to do that.

Goldsmith knows what he’s doing as a filmmaker and is familiar enough with his subject to ask some of the right questions. But he’s made a documentary about a patient bleeding out on an operating table. It wasn’t really “timely” when he filmed it. There aren’t real “solutions” out there, and the fate of many of those interviewed (“retired,” “took buyout”) backs that up.

And it’s hard to find optimism in a eulogy, or in a movie that just adds to the “relics of the ghost of journalism past.”

Rating: unrated, some profanity

Cast: Greg Moore, Julie Reynolds, narrated by Rick Goldsmith.

Credits: Directed by Rick Goldsmith, scripted by Rick Goldsmith and Michael Chandler. A Kovno Communications release coming to PBS in October.

Running time: 1:29

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Documentary Preview: Marc Maron’s Evolving Comedy, and Embrace of Podcasting — “Are We Good?”

I review lots of stand up docs because it’s a profession and calling that I find fascinating.

There were nights, earlier in my career, when I’d sit down with a stand-up before his or her set in a club, interview them and then we’d watch the opening acts. They’d do a play-by-play of the openers, what was working and what wasn’t and how soon the performer would be desperate enough to fling a “d–k joke” at the great unwashed masses.

Never got to do that with Marc Maron, but he’s been a favorite forever — dyspeptic, never that successful, then he discovered podcasting (his definition of it and its relation to radio in this trailer is spot on).

He’s testy, funny, heart-on-his-sleeve personal and a comedy sage at this stage in his life.

“Are We Good?” goes into limited release in early October. Hey Utopia, got screener links of this title? Hit me with one!

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Movie Review: “Highest 2 Lowest” is Vintage Spike & Denzel

It’s been a while since we’ve seen a Spike Lee movie as self-assured, cocky and indulgent as “Highest 2 Lowest.”

The film, a remake of a 1963 Akira Kurosawa kidnapping thriller based on a novel by Ed McBain, is long and meandering, with plot twists and pauses for lectures and pregnant plugs for features of African American culture.

A prominent record company founder’s son is kidnapped and the police rush to the family’s huge Brooklyn penthouse. Did the police issue an “Ebony Alert,” the mother wants to know? She has to explain to the cops, and the audience, what she’s talking about.

Jazz fills the soundtrack under almost every scene. Still shots of African American art and African American sports jerseys (New York Knick Earl “The Pearl” Monroe) as decor flavor its affluence.

The banter is music business quick, leaning hard into New York African American street argot.

“Is Al Green? Is Barry White? Is James Brown? Is Prince Purple?”

Lee was brought back from the directorial dead by Jordan Peele, who produced “BlackKklansman” and seemingly reined-in some of Lee’s indulgent touches. Lee burned through much of the capital that gave him with another middling military movie (he sucks at them).

But for “Highest 2 Lowest” he lured back his muse, Denzel Washington, for a tale of a wealthy man and pillar of his community whose reputation and self-image are tested by a struggling business facing a takeover and a kidnapping that threatens everything he holds dear.

Or does it?

David King is “Da King,” the founder of “Stack’n Hits” records and possessor of “The Best Ears in the Business.” But the label’s glory years were a couple of decades back, and his closest partner (Michael Potts) thinks it’s time to sell out.

His righteous but free-spending, charity-connected wife (Ilfenesh Hadera of Lee’s “Oldboy” and TV’s “Billions”) is ready for a change of focus. And his aspiring baller son Trey (Aubrey Joseph of TV’s “Clock & Dagger”) could use a little more attention.

Dad’s content to limo his son to his posh school, chat up the celebrity coach (ex-Laker Rick Fox), jab the kid about his Celtics-green headband, and head to work, hunting for that ever-more-elusive comeback hit.

His grounding/sounding board might be his driver, Paul (Jeffrey Wright, outstanding as always). He’s an ex-con that King has given the keys to his Rolls and a good life, including enrollment of Paul’s kid (Elijah Wright, Jeffrey’s son) in that school and on that basketball team.

But King’s old timer’s dream of buying back control of his company and guiding it back to the top of the music business is derailed by a single phone call. The voice is vituperative, foul-mouthed and familiar, with grievance underscoring its message.

It’s King’s “day of reckoning.” I have your son. I want $17.5 million in Swiss francs for him.

King and wife Pam are shaken. The cops (John Douglas Thompson, LaChanze and Dean Winters) are staring down the ex-con driver. But we’re allowed just enough time to wonder if this is a sham, a scam with short term and long term financial benefits for Da King.

And then Trey comes home. The kidnappers grabbed the wrong kid.

What follows might be King’s real test, whether the son of his employee and friend is worth that much money to him folded into fears of “cancel” culture consequences if he puts money over a boy’s life.

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Netflixable? Action Comedy Lampoons a Real Life Serial Killer Case — “Inspector Zende”

“Inspector Zende” is an action comedy take on an infamous real-life serial killer case, a movie that hunts for laughs in hapless but dogged Indian policing.

Writer-director Chinmay Mandlekar makes his feature directing debut in this made-for-Netflix movie, and never comes close to finding a tone that works or delivers chuckles.

Screen veteran Manoj Bajpayee (“The Fable,” “Satya”) has the title role, an intrepid and principled 1980s Mumbia precinct commander who gained fame for catching “The Swimsuit Killer” fifteen years before, a European serial murderer whose escapes earned him another nickname — “The Snake.”

Now Carl Bhojraj (names and nicknames changed for the movie) has managed to dose the guards at Tihar Prison in Dehli and make his getaway with four accomplices. Zende’s boss (Sachin Khedekar) is an ambitious striver who figures that he has just the man to catch this creep — the one who caught him all those years ago. That leaves Zende speechless.

“Have you got the role of Gandhi’s third monkey in some movie,” the police commissioner wants to know?

That “speak no evil” joke might be the best gag in the movie.

Zende’s precinct has no working phone, when we meet him. His grinning subordinates seem incapable of much more than writing a parking ticket. But using police work guided by instincts and gut feelings, Zende is sure they’ll track down and apprehend the killer.

“The mongoose always gets the snake,” he purrs. It’s personal, he suggests.

“Totally lost face,” he tells “Commissioner,” his cute nickname for his wife (Giraja Oak).

“But who did?”

“The whole nation.”

It helps that our handsome predator (actor Jim Sarbh could be Adam Driver’s twin) likes high living. He only stays in “five star hotels” and preys on women and others who can line his pockets and ease his escape from India. Dressing up as hotel room service attendants is a clever way for the cops to peek into every room.

Hotels and clubs from Mumbai to Goa will be scoured, often with our team of cops walking five abreast in slow-motion, set to music. The gangster do this, too. Contacts “on the street” will be visited — in musical montages. And Zende will tear his sunglasses off, with David Caruso flair, when the dramatic need arises.

It’s all nonsensical, which is the point. After all, the killer’s only targeting “foreigners,” right?

There’s little that would pass for police work — moments of torture or feigned torture of suspects played for laughs (and never really landing one), near misses in hotels, clubs, beaches and the like.

Bajpayee plays Zende straight, offering aphorisms so corny they might be funnier in Hindi than dubbed into (Indian accented) English. Sarbh never really puts his heart into the pitiless murderer business, and can’t find anything funny about “Carl” either.

The best sequence might be a jurisdictional battle that threatens to turn bloody if somebody doesn’t let somebody else get credit for the capture, or near capture, or catch-and-release.

Serial killer comedies have been around since Chaplin’s “Monsieur Verdoux,” so it’s not as if this famous case can’t be played for fun. But there are few things worse than disguises that don’t amuse, bungled arrests that don’t amount to much more than a forced smile and cricket jokes that, to use a baseball analogy, are never more than “a swing and a miss.”

Rating: TV-MA, violence, smoking, sexual situations, profanity

Cast: Manoj Bajpayee, Jim Sarbh, Girija Oak and Sachin Khedekar

Credits: Scripted and directed by Chinmay Mandlekar. A Netflix release.

Running time: 1:52

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