Movie Review: A “Boxcutter” Dreams of his Big Hip Hop Break…in Toronto

An aspiring rapper pins all his hopes on a make-or-break meeting with a famous producer at a “secret” party that everybody knows about in “Boxcutter,” an amiable street-life dramedy set on the not-so-mean streets of Toronto.

It’s a tale with an amusing cross-section of expats from “de islands” of the Caribbean and with a built-in ticking clock — a mad scramble to “get my album together” to show the big guy who’ll deliver that big break, maybe right in the middle of that hip hop “event/party.”

But about that “mad scramble.” A big part of its charm is this entire single-day story unfolds in CCPT — Caribbean Canadian People’s Time. For a fellow whose hopes hang on making this one thing happen at that one particular time, our boxcutter is “a bit too leisurely,” as Prince Rogers Nelson might have put it.

Ashton James is Jerome, “Rome” to his friends, 20ish and tall enough to make the lie “If I didn’t hurt my ACL, I would’ve gone pro” plausible. But his new dream is “my album,” a collection of rap tracks that he’s hustled together, arm-twisting and low-balling this aspiring producer for “beats” and that one for leftover studio time.

A Black Canadian rapper with Caribbean roots? “Look at Drake, The Wkend!” Dreams CAN come true!

His roomie/bestie/aspiring manager Sid (Vipushan Vani) is determined to get him on the bill for a college tour in which rappers pay to be heard. Rome is cocky and above that pay-to-play hustle.

“My s–t is CINEMATIC!”

All he has to hear is that rapper/producer Richie Hill is showing up at this unpublicized event to think it’s all happening, and right now. He’ll bribe his way into the party, show his stuff and change the trajectory of his life.

But Rome has never performed in front of people. He keeps his raps to himself and on recordings. With every other person he meets on the street dreaming/bragging about a similar break (and a lot of them know about the party), how realistic is he and is he committed enough to overcome the awkwardness and make it happen?

“Boxcutter” is about what happens when the laptop he has his tunes on is stolen and he’s clocked in the robbery. He will duck out of his shipping-and-receiving “boxcutter” job and spend the day trying to reassemble his beats and rhymes from assorted others — the producer who provided some beats, others who have this track or that flash drive or that recording they’re holding onto until he pays them for the studio time he cadged.

He ambles through this day with the photographer/sister/dreamer of one would-be impressario. Jenya (Zoe Lewis) regards him as a brother and is the first to see their goals are similar. But she’s gotten a commission for a piece of professional photo-collage art for a construction site. She figures she’s already making her dream come true.

Rome? He can’t be bothered to create a social media “brand” and put his name and samples of his work “out there” to be discovered. She could help him with Tik Tok, “Insta” and all that.

They banter and bicker over the long, slow day that takes them from this stoner to that professional recording engineer, with Rome sure to get fired and uncertain of ever getting his music back together, of meeting the producer and impressing or dazzling him when he does.

Will Rome ever pick up the pace enough to make his appointment with destiny? Will Sid or Jenya or any of the other people he’s connected with stick with him through his day of trials? Did the landlord stage the robbery to kick him and Sid out of their apartment?

The film’s musical, slangy island patois is so thick that you might need subtitles to make out much of what is said other than “fam” and “bro,” Rome’s two favorite words. Everybody speaks it and everybody has some sort of hip hop delusion they’re hustling about himself. Jenya has to fend off one hilariously pushy Lothario (Marlon Palmmer) on the public transit she and Rome take back and forth across the city in search of his tracks and her mural commission. Brother man gives her the full court press, right in front of Rome, and drops “Bob Ross” into the conversation when he learns she’s an artist.

They know about Bob Ross in Canada? Man.

Director Reza Dhaya leans into that frustration-creating (maybe just for uptight white people) pacing, the ways Rome seems so uncertain of his boasting that he never picks up the pace to get it together for that one shot he spends the whole movie bragging about.

If our hero slow-walks any slower he and the filmmakers risk losing our investment in his story.

But the performances have an offhanded charm and street reality that sells this. And there are worse ways to spend your movie-going time that taking a walk on the not-so-wild side through Toronto’s colorful neighborhoods with the dreamers who long to escape them.

Rating: unrated, violence, profanity

Cast: Ashton James, Zoe Lewis, Shomari Downer, Marlon Palmer,
Viphusan Vani, Charlie Ebbs and Rich Kidd.

Credits: Directed by Reza Dhaya, scripted by Chris Cromie. A Film Movement release.

Running time: 1:36

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Movie Preview: Helmsworth, Halle and Ruffalo, “Crime 101”

A Feb. thriller with at least one Scorsese touch.

“Gimme Shelter” underscores this heist picture with Chris Hemsworth as a limo driver who knows muscle cars and famous McQueen crime pictures.

Mark Ruffalo’s the cop chasing him. Barry Keoghan’s a hood working for another villain out to get a piece of the pie.

Halle Berry? She’s the victim turned accomplice.

It’s based on a Don Winslow novella, so you know the bones are there.

Feb. 13

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Movie Review: “Springsteen” makes “Nebraska” — “Deliver Me from Nowhere”

Self-revealing, self-examining, self-mythologizing, self-indulgent and self-destructive, those are all phrases that can apply to Bruce Springsteen’s seminal, uncompromising and defiantly anti-commercial album “Nebraska.”

It can’t be called the LP that “made him.” But this critically-acclaimed smash from 1982 underscored the Bob Dylan comparisons he’d been getting since his ridiculously-hyped 1975 breakout (Time and Newsweek covers the same week) that accompanied “Born to Run” seven years earlier. It underscored the “serious artist” label he craved.

And it didn’t come easily. As Scott Cooper’s new bio-pic “Springsteen: Deliver Me from Nowhere” makes clear, The Boss was going through some things to get that album in record stores.

“Crazy Heart” Cooper and his star Jeremy Allen White (TV’s “The Bear”) give us a peek into the creative process and the “Daddy issues” that had Springsteen taking inspiration from his Rust Belt childhood, the classic films “Badlands” which he watched over and over on video, and “The Night of the Hunter,” which he’d seen with his abusive, mentally unstable father (Stephen Graham).

The film gets at everything from “My Hometown” to the film career that never was (he was pitched “The Mask,” which was titled “Born in the U.S.A.” by screenwriter Paul Schrader). The not-meant-for-release recording sessions in a lake house in Colt Neck, N.J. and a dalliance with a local single mom (Odessa Young) symbolize the old transitioning to the new.

“Springsteen,” based on a Warren Zane memoir, captures a thirtysomething “bar band” veteran with seven years of growing fame and grueling touring behind him stopping to take a breather, take stock and have something like a breakdown as he grappled with clinging to his Freehold/Asbury Park, New Jersey roots or casting them off.

It’s a brooding performance in a brooding movie, not your conventional rags to riches triumph or Jeremy Allen White Sings The Boss biopic. But White and Cooper make it interesting and entertaining enough to invest in.

Young Bruce (Matthew Anthony Pellicano Jr.) is seen in black and white flashbacks, growing up in Freehold with a father he fears more than adores and a mother (Gabby Hoffman) who can’t fix what ails his father with shouting.

That past weighs heavily on adult Bruce’s mind as he and the E Street Band (a merry gathering of look-alikes) leave the road after “The River” tour and he retreats to a lake house manager Jon Landau (Jeremy Strong) has rented for him to work on new material. Because CBS/Columbia is already screaming for a followup.

“MOMENTUM,” CBS exec Al Teller (David Krumholtz, funny) preaches. That’s what they’re going for, an artist on a roll with decades-long staying power.

Landau might guard Springsteen from those expectations and try to treat this next record as a “process.” But Springsteen, watching TV and musing over themes, landscapes and a sort of murder ballad/prison ballad folk Americana, is torn between the commercial material that this movie pitch offers and the Woody Guthrie/Bob Dylan chronicler of the dark side of The American Soul that he longs to be and which he senses in Terrence Malick’s Charles Starkweather murder spree tone poem movie, “Badlands.”

As The Boss jams with his old friends in Asbury Park on weekends and writes during the week, taking delivery of a new Camaro, waiting for a motorcycle he’s having built for him by one friend and calling in another a tech friend (Paul Walter Hauser) to try out this new four-track “portable studio” cassette deck, he ponders his past if not his future.

That’s how he connects with an old classmate’s kid sister (Young, of “Assassination Nation” and TV’s “The Stand”) who turns out to be a single mom who’s not just a groupie, but a connection to working class Jersey and his roots.

Cooper does a much better job of suggesting what’s pulling Springsteen back down to Earth than the pressures, fear of and allure of super-dooper-stardom that could be staring him in the face.

White does a fair impersonation of Springsteen as a singer, and his interpretation of a man at war with his soul has him keeping Springsteen’s head down or cocked to one side, as if recoiling from that next blow. It’s awfully introverted and for as much screen time as he has for this impersonation, it creates a vacuum at the heart of “Deliver Me from Nowhere.”

Young’s character is merely sketched in with a “Sometimes you miss the things right in front of you” aphorisms. She gives more life to Faye than the script does.

Landau, a music critic who latched onto a rising star and made a career out of being Springsteen’s protector, champion and (in the movie at least) father confessor, is sympathetically written. But one wonders if Strong, who brought the vulpine Roy Cohn to life for “The Apprentice,” has heard gossip about Landau. He plays the manager and future gatekeeper at the Rock’n Roll Hall of Fame as poker-faced with a lower register nebbishy Woody Allen monotone, which makes one grimace at his flash analyses of what ails his meal ticket and his instant dissection of what this album that will come to be named “Nebraska” is really about.

Hauser, of “I, Tonya” and “The Naked Gun” and “Richard Jewell” kind of steals the picture in the absence of anybody else stepping up and really taking over. He’s the can-do gopher who gets the songs on tape, warns Springsteen repeatedly about the quality of analog cassette recording in that day and age and comes off as a hero for helping make the music intimate and primitive.

Former child actress Hoffman doesn’t have many moments to register as the mother. Graham plays the father as a figure of loathing and pity and nobody else (comic Marc Maron is a token presence as recording engineer Chuck Plotkin) has enough to chew on to make much of a mark.

Which leaves us with the creative process and the woman he left behind stories. Not exactly “The Greatest Hits.” Not necessarily the easiest way to make an icon relevent to new generations, either.

But for fans, “Deliver Me from Nowhere” is essential viewing, a Big Man and Big Star wrestling with the same fears and depression that dogs many of us, and having the means and the wherewithal to do something about it, even if that means leaving his roots behind for Los Angeles, a career peak and ageing into the classic rock “older brother’s favorite band” cliche.

Rating: PG-13, domestic violence, sexual situation, profanity

Cast: Jeremy Allen White, Jeremy Strong, Paul Walter Hauser, Gabby Hoffman, Stephen Graham, Marc Maron and Odessa Young

Credits: Scripted and directed by Scott Cooper, based on a biography by Warren Zane. A 20th Century Studios release.

Running time: 1:59

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It’s Bruce Springstone Movie time!

Springsteen? Never hear the name without thinking of this parody.

Hope the movie’s epic.

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Classic Film Review: Steinbeck played by MGM Stars in Brownface — “Tortilla Flat”(1942)

The lightest of heart and most lightly regarded classic John Steinbeck adaptation, “Tortilla Flat” (1942) came by its “underrated comedy” reputation with the passing years.

It’s an ethnic farce by a writer with an eye, ear and empathy for the underclasses.  But Steinbeck wasn’t Latino. And whatever his espoused opinions on “prejudice,” racial stereotypes riddle his fiction.

MGM, which filmed this adaptation with “Gone with the Wind” mainstay Victor Fleming behind the camera, didn’t have many Latin American performers on its payroll, and didn’t reach out to Cesar Romero, Dolores del Rio or Ramon Novarro, or “discover” Fernando Lamas, whose movie career began the same year “Tortilla Flat” was turned into a film.

Watching the film anew, I was struck by all the decades of conflicted reactions to Steinbeck’s depiction of the “paisanos” living on the fringes of Monterey at its fishing town peak could have been avoided had Anthony Quinn been cast in the lead instead of Spencer Tracy in brown face. Quinn was just emerging as a character actor “star,” and he’d have been perfect. PERFECT.

Tracy, who’d played “a Portagee” in “Captains Courageous” and would go on to take the Cuban fisherman title role in “The Old Man and the Sea,” gives a canny and sympathetic performance as the rascal Pilon, a homeless master manipulator and dedicated avoider of hard work in “Tortilla Flat.” But hearing his Spanglish and seeing his face next to the likes of Frank Morgan (“The Wizard of Oz”), Sheldon Leonard (“It’s a Wonderful Life”) and John Ford’s favorite “By yimminy” Norwegian John Qualen in skin-darkening makeup is jarring enough to take you out of the movie.

The characterizations, depicting a community of descendents of the original European settlers to California, and more recent arrivals — Mexican, Central American, and Chinese — teeter on the edge of straight-up stereotypes. There are righteous, hard-working women, good Catholics and the lazy, shiftless unhoused who’d rather siesta, finagle or swipe that next jug of wine than fish or cut bait.

A viewer coming to the film today has to rationalize the fact that the attitudes of the time that made the film were odious, even in liberal Hollywood, and that Steinbeck wrote “Viva Zapata!” and “The Grapes of Wrath” as well as “Of Mice and Men,” which oversimplified disabilities and “East of Eden,” which featured racist characters.

We’re in “Cannery Row” country in “Tortilla Flat,” the hills and woods overlooking Monterey and the sea, and the canneries and fishing boats that employed so many there through the 1940s.

Pilon (Tracy) is the sweet-talking, laid back hustler content to sleep in the open with his flunky Pablo (Akim Tamiroff), always with an eye out for the next bottle of wine or free meal. The kids love Pilon, and the ladies tolerate his sweet-talking charms.

But when they cross paths with a gringo lawyer (Donald Meek of “Stagecoach”), we figure out very quickly that Danny (John Garfield), whom they direct the lawyer to, would be well-advised to steel himself to all the complaints that his “good friends” stir up once they figure out why the lawyer needs to find him.

Danny’s grandfather has died and left him two houses in town. Danny’s in jail, but to a sweet-talker Pilon, that is a mere formality. Soon the jailor (Leonard, later a famous TV producer of “The Andy Griffith Show” and the like) joins Danny and his friends as they visit the properties and Pilon plots a way to throw a party. Trade this for wine, that for groceries, “borrow” this or that, taunt fishermen until they throw mackeral at you, sweetalk the widow next door out of water to clean and cook the mackeral.

“It is strange,” Pilon equivocates to manipulate Danny. “When a man is poor, he thinks to himself, “If I had money, I would share it with my friends.” Then the money comes and his beautiful thoughts fly away. He forgets his friends – who shared things with him when he was poor.”

It’s no wonder Danny and Pablo and jailer Tito (Leonard) and fellow tipplers Jose Maria (Qualen) and Portagee Joe (Allen Jenkins) are easy pawns for Pilon’s schemes.

But the pretty new lass from Salinas (Hedy Lamarr) isn’t fooled by Pilon’s conniving charm, and she’s not moved by Danny’s rough and handsy courting. He’ll have to spend money to impress her, get a job, look like a real prospect.

Pilon’s “She’s a Portagee girl. Portagee girls are no good...They’re They ALWAYS want to get married!” warnings notwithstanding, Danny is smitten.

As he tries to win her affection, Pilon is gathering more and more “friends” for more and more parties, outfoxing his mates as he “rents” one of the inherited houses and ponders the wealth of the village madman, The Pirate (Morgan), who lives with five dogs in an old henhouse on the edge of the woods.

The Pirate collects and sells firewood and never spends a cent. Pilon and his crew greedily consider what it will take to find and steal that stash.

The scheming, thieving and general japery of these rogues is contrasted with their empathy — they scramble to feed a stranger (Tito Renaldo, the rare Latino in the cast) and his motherless infant who are passing through — and their piety. The Pirate is a devout Catholic who has made a promise to St. Francis of Assisi.

Not everyone in this world is “paisano” or “Portagee.” There’s a gringo doctor who ponders how the kids can be so healthy with such fine teeth on a diet of beans and tortillas, and Dolores from Salinas has a white grocer-suitor.

And not everyone in the cast is in brown-face makeup. Garfield and Lamarr don’t wear it, for reasons scriptural (She is Portugeuse) and perhaps contractual. The fact that it probably never occurred to MGM’s leadership to not paint up their payroll and instead cast this picture with culturally appropriate actors hardly seems a defense.

The film’s sentimentality is, like its tone-deafness on race. wholly in step with its time. You can write off the picture, with good reason, for patronizing characterizations and corny attempts at Latin wisdom.

“They say that a little love is like a little wine. Too much of either makes a man sick.”

But the black and white production design, blending backlots, rear-projection of docks and passing boats and painted glass shots of forests, the distant town and the like, is beautifully realized. The performances are shot through with a sweetness that excuses some of the lapses into caricature.

And whatever prejudices Steinbeck was filtering, parroting or trying to see past, there’s no denying this aimless little slice of sentimentalized poverty has its warmth and charm. Tracy is dry and amusing, Lamarr earthy, Garfield his most hotheaded and Morgan sweet and saintly, as we’d hope any addled homeless man who loves dogs might be.

The book isn’t considered part of the canon of modern Latin American literature and Steinbeck, whatever his critical reputation, goes in and out of fashion. So it’s no wonder that “Tortilla Flat” has never been remade with a real Latin cast. It’s too patronizing.

But I’d argue that the 1982 film of “Cannery Row,” which took its setting, sentimentalized poverty and tone from “Tortilla Flat,” didn’t just lean on this earlier “problematic” classic. It sanitized and sanctified its sentimentality and reminded us that we as a people, like the characters in the books and the author himself, have evolved.

Well, some of us, anyway. And that’s reason enough to look back on this classic as the amusing, romanticized and racially-tone deaf snap shot that it was and remains.

Rating: TV-PG

Cast: Spencer Tracy, John Garfield, Hedy Lamarr, John Qualen, Sheldon Leonard and Frank Morgan.

Credits: Directed by Victor Fleming, scripted by John Lee Mahin and Benjamin Glazer, based on the novel by John Steinbeck. An MGM release on Tubi, other streamers.

Running time: 1:45

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Movie Review: Lost Jewelry triggers romance in “The Christmas Ring”

“The Christmas Ring” is a new romance novel adaptation starring “One Tree Hill” alumna Jana Kramer and Benjamin Hollingsworth of the aptly-titled Netflix series “Virgin River.”

It’s a slow, bloodless romance built on “anticipation” because there’s no conflict, little drama or romance and even less mystery about it. Readers and viewers of the genre are meant to buy into the magic of that “first kiss,” and anything that delays that — not matter how cloying or obvious — is part of the charm.

Whatever the merits of the novel, as movie material this script anticipates how early AI will take over production of such writing and screenwriting. It’s so rigidly formulaic as to feel contrived by a machine.

There are musical montages showing people decorating, college coeds baking and adults and kids gingerbread house making, all set to holiday tunes, some sung by Sinatra or Andy Williams.

The virtue signalling begins with the fact that our two leads fated to fall for one another are widowed. None of that messy “divorce” business that creates the vast majority of over-30 singles. She is a regular Bible reader. His elderly father quotes scripture and keeps an oddly acquisitive quote from St. Matthew on his lips, and on a sampler framed on the wall of his shop.

“Where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.”

Virtue signalling in faith-based romance novels can also come camo-colored. One’s an Army Airborne widow. And hr daughter is dating a member of the 101st Airborne about to deploy.

Our leading lady has two besties, one Black and one white.

The plot gimmick is a lost family heirloom, a ruby and diamonds gold ring “found” by our heroine’s great grandfather when — you guessed it — he parachuted into Normandy in 1944.

And the “ticking clock” of it all is a Big Christmas Dance where everything and anything could be resolved in the finale. Will we have to wait until then for True Love’s First Kiss?

Kramer is Vanessa, who lost the aforementioned ring “in the Colorado snow” and figures hunting around Columbus and Marietta, Georgia antiques stores is the way to find it.

Hollingsworth is Ben, who helps run his father’s antiques shop and is there when she comes in poking about for the heirloom with a story behind it. He hears the story and drinks in the woman telling it, and is smitten.

His dad, the shop owner, doesn’t pay attention to the story. He’s played by Kelsey Grammer, who watched and listened to his fellow enunciator extraordinaire David Ogden Stiers’ affected Southern drawl in “Doc Hollywood” and decided to “Foghorn Leghorn it.”

As Vanessa’s daughter (Megan Ashley Brown) rushes home to see her about-to-deployer Ranger, there’s just never a right moment to spring the news to her that she’s met Prince Charming. The script’s lone laugh is this.

“What would you think if I started seeing someone?”

“Like, a therapist?”

There’s a sketchy obsessive (David Considine) determined to track down Vanessa’s ring and collect the reward she’s offered. Will he help or hinder her search for the ring and a true love to wear it for? Will daughter Sadie’s beloved be harmed when he’s sent in harm’s way?

The performances are understated to the point of bland.

Most films that earn the pejorative “Hallmark movie” label share one overriding characteristic. All the rough edges of life, the world the characters inhabit, their livelihoods and challenges, have been rubbed off. “The Christmas Ring” is pabulum that lives by the “Home on the Range” rule, a world “where never is heard a discouraging word.”

So it comes as no surprise that the most famous holiday schmaltz factory for chaste romances — not Netflix, the newer contender, but The Hallmark Channel — already produced a picture titled “The Christmas Ring” five years ago.

But this one is by Karen Kingsbury and coming to a theater near you.

Rating: PG

Cast: Jana Kramer, Benjamin Hollingsworth, Kelsey Grammer, Megan Ashley Brown, Debbie Winans, Jessie James Decker and David Considine.

Credits: Directed by Tyler Russell, scriptedd by Karen Kingsbury and Tyler Russell, based on Kingsbury’s novel. A Fathom Entertainment release.

Running time: 1:43

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Movie Preview: Fleeing a Dictatorship via aid from “The Secret Agent”

1977 Recife, Brazil.

This awards contender (Best International Feature) opens Thanksgiving week in limited release.

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Documentary Preview: A Murphy Love-in? “Being Eddie”

The Oscar-winning editor (“The Social Network”) turned director Angus Wall is behind the camera for this new “Eddie…in his words” documentary.

Lots of fellow comic fans appear to sing his praises and appreciate the shift he represented in films and the culture. Not sensing much in the way of questioning Murphy’s missteps over the decades, controversies, his personal evolution and the reasons he needed a “comeback.”

As he’s not dead like Pee Wee, Candy, Kaufman, et al, we’d hope for a little pushback.


Nov. 12 on Netflix.

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Movie Preview: Edgerton and Jones, Condon and Macy in a lush period piece, “Train Dreams”

Clifton Collins, Jr. joins Joel Edgerton, Felicity Jones, Kerry Condon and William H. Macy for this adaptation of Denis Johnson novella by the director of “Sing Sing.”

It’s an intimate, romantic and dangerous epic about the wonders of the woods in late 19th century lumber country, and it is one of Netflix’s awards bait prestige pictures this fall.

Nov. 7 in theaters, Nov. 21 streaming.

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Movie Preview: One more trailer for James L. Brooks’ Jamie Lee/Woody/Kumail and Emma Mackey feelgood film — “Ella McKay”

Dec. 12.

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