Series Review: “Titans: The Rise of Hollywood,” a History of Hollywood on a “Drunk History” Budget

Louis B. Mayer, the Hollywood mogul who co-founded Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer, the film studio still around today as Amazon’s MGM, was born Lazar Meir in Dymer, Ukraine, before emigrating to Canada and then the United States.

William Fox, whose name remains emblazened on a media empire almost 100 years after he lost control of the showplace cinemas and film production company known as 20th Century Fox, was born Wilhelm Fuchs in Tolcsva, Hungary.

Jack L. Warner, Harry Warner and Sam Warner were siblings who formed the scrappy, scrambling “Poverty Row” studio Warner Bros. which became the glossiest film production and distribution company in the movie business and remains so to this day. But the founding brothers were born Jacob, Hirsz Mojżesz Wonsal and Szmuel Wonsal, all from a family of Polish Jews, most of them born in the 19th century Russian Empire. And there was a FOURTH brother, Albert (Aaron Abraham Wonsal).

These folks were among the founders of the entertainment Mecca that became the world’s gold standard for cinema, Hollywood. And those facts about this “kingdom” that people like them, pioneering mogul Carl Laemmle (Karl Lämmle, German Jewish) and the first film superstar, Mary Pickford (born Gladys Louise Smith, in Canada) are among the most glaring, blundering omissions in “Titans: The Rise of Hollywood,” a Curiosity Stream series only now reaching the vast audience that Netflix offers.

Using early cinema footage and archival silent era newsreels and a cast of unknown-to-little-known actors playing the parts of assorted Founding Fathers and Mothers, producers Stephen David and Vince P. Maggio (and credited director Patrick Reams) set out to tell the story of the American cinema’s birth.

Researched, but nobody’s idea of over-researched, flatly-scripted and acted, with most every actor who could get his hands on one leaning on that do-something-with-your-hands-prop, the cigarette (some seemingly as first-time smokers), “Titans” can be almost laughably bad.

Almost. “Boring” is its default mode.

“Titans” focuses on the pioneer’s pioneer, Universal founder Laemmle (David Davino), upscale movie palace innovator Fox (Eric Rolland), the struggles of the “three” Warners, the rise of Pickford (Christina Leonardi), narrated to the camera by Adolph Zukor (Grant Masters), the successful producer who eventually absorbed and squeezed out partners and rivals to run Paramount, and eventually gets around to Mayer (Mike Backes).

The series ticks off historic “firsts” — the first film star (Stephanie Granade plays Florence Lawrence, “The Biograph Girl”) and first attempts at making “feature” length films (“Birth of a Nation” is utterly ignored) in a business that began as a cut-rate carnvival and storefront novelty before those storefronts became nickelodeons.

It was a colorful, seat-of-the-pants history made by hustlers who violated Thomas Edison’s (Steve Schroko) many patents and efforts to license and “control” (via a Motion Picture Trust) his inventions and went so far as to found the industry town on the far off West Coast to evade paying that trust.

As “Babylon” showed us, it was a rowdy, gaudy journey these Wild West “outlaws” and their hedonistic employees made to respectability.

“Titans” isn’t rowdy or colorful or complete. It is, in every case, the opposite of what the many better feature films and documentaries that touched on this era have been — colorless, tame, tepid and gratingly superficial.

A “tell” might be in the use of the word “kingdom” by narrator Zukor to describe what these entrepreneurs were setting up. Our producers avoid almost to the point of erasing the Jewish ethnicity of the folks who created “An Empire of Their Own,” as Neal Gabler titled his definitive history of these figures and their era.

Did our producers contort their narrative to avoid buying the rights to that book? Avoid the word “Jewish” like the plague? Fear of charges of anti-Semitism, seeing as how more than a few of those moguls were unscrupulous and played the victim card (especially as regards “The Trust”) until the end?

In any event, all this series accomplishes is a proof-of-concept for Netflix to act on. Get Derek Waters on the phone. Write him a check.

“The Drunk History of the Birth of Hollywood?” I’d binge six episodes of that in a heartbeat.

Cast: David Davino, Grant Masters, Christina Leonardi, Nicolas J. Greco, Steve Schroko, Stephanie Granade and James M. Reilly.

Created by Stephen David, Vince P. Maggio and Patrick Reams. A Curiosity Stream production now on Netflix.

Running time: Six episodes @:50 minutes each

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Movie Review: Clever clever horror, “Weapons,” Son of “Barbarian”

Glancing back at my review of “Barbarian,” the sinister, smart and sometimes funny blend of scary and silly that became actor-turned-writer/director Zack Cregger’s breakout movie a couple of years back, I’m tempted to repeat myself.

He got “the simple things” right back in 2022, and he hasn’t forgotten that lesson with “Weapons,” his grim, darkly funny and close to heartbreaking follow-up.

“Weapons” is a genre piece that hides which horror genre it traffics in until the later acts. Lile “Barbarian,” its resolution is a lot more straightforward than the mystery it serves up.

It’s very well cast, as great scripts draw in rising stars and big names such as Julia Garner, Benedict Wong and Josh Brolin, with onetime Oscar nominee Amy Madigan, at her most fierce and fearless here.

The most horrific effect in it has nothing to do with the gruesome violence, at least some of which is played for laughs in this film. It’s the sight of grainy, dark doorbell camera and home security CCTV footage of elementary school children, bursting out of houses and fleeing into the night, their arms spread in a kind of pre-flight the for the possible rapture.

One of the most perfectly written voice-over prologues (read by a child) ever tells us the entire story as a way of setting up the action to follow.

“So this one Wednesday is like a normal day for the whole school, but today was different. Every other class had all their kids, but Ms. Gandy’s room was totally empty. And do you know why? Because the night before, at 2:17 in the morning, every kid woke up, got out of bed, walked downstairs, and into the dark… and they never came back.”

The title is cryptic enough to have fans salivating about its meaning or meanings pre-release. As children who vanish into the night is its horror, it’s a gun violence allegory, adults seemingly “helpless” to stop the loss of schoolchildren to appease firearm profiteers, fearmongers and those unstable enough to hoard such weapons and the politicians who pander to them.

And what’s a consequence of children growing up in a country where the adults can’t won’t keep them safe? Children who are ripe to be “weaponized” themselves.

Garner is perfectly cast as Justine, a kind young teacher with “issues” which start to come to light after almost her entire class of ten year olds vanish at 2:17 that one morning in tiny Maybrook, Pennsylvania.

Brolin is a contractor and father whose son’s vanishing has completely unraveled him. He’s the loudest of the parents shouting for answers, badgering the police chief (Toby Huss), berating the principal (Wong) about “answers” that teacher Justine should provide.

But she can’t. No one can, and that has people raging at her, the school and the cops, who seem as numbed by the shock of it all as everybody else.

The narrative then shifts into flashbacks leading up to that meeting with school and police about the disappearance, flashbacks from six different points of view.

Justine is seen as unsettled but brittle, unable to process emotions about what has happened, which has been something of a Garner specialty since her “Ozark” breakout and follow-ups like “The Assistant.” Justine hits the liquor store, fumes at harassment and tries to renew her love connection with married cop Paul (Alden Ehrenreich).

We follow Paul on the job, working for his father-in-law (Huss), going through the motions at work because of a wife ready to get pregnant, avoiding alcohol between “meetings” and bullying suspects because his temper lets him forget there’s a camera in his police cruiser recording his behavior.

Austin Abrams plays the town junkie, and we see him trying every car door, looking for one that’s unlocked, petty pilfering, hitting the pawn shop and shooting up in the woods. But that junkie Paul is quick to threaten and toss around may have some answers.

We see the principal’s (Wong) struggles to make Justine conform to district guidelines about how much contact to have with students, and see his same-sex domestic life as he struggles to get beyond this tragedy that happened, beyond his control but still technically on his watch.

Is there a way of “working” this “problem?” The contractor Brolin plays is letting it all fall apart around him — his business, his marriage. He wakes up in his missing son’s bed most mornings. So he starts his own investigation, which will bring him into contact with all of the others. But will it bring him answers?

And young Cary Christopher plays Alex, the one kid not summoned into the night from that classroom. We see his bullied schooldays, his loving parents and pick up on the disruption that comes to their lives when they take in a desperate, dying aunt (Madigan).

“Weapons” has a lot of structural and thematic elements in common with “Barbarian,” including the way the jolts and twists are handled. The fact that children are involved adds pathos that Cregger’s previous film only touched on briefly.

He brings back Justin Long (as a parent, here) as a “Barbarian” connection, and even added an obscure needle drop from his parents’ era in music as an Easter egg with some pop to it. Back then, it was a Donovan tune. Here, it’s a lesser known work from George Harrison’s post-Beatles masterpiece LP that sets the tone.

In horror, imitation is the sincerest form of filmmaker flattery. And if aspiring frightfilm folks aren’t taking notes on Cregger’s movies, and trying to imitate them, they should be.

Give your script some emotional heft, and don’t be shy about making viewers work to find what they’re supposed to get out of it. Leave them something to chew on as they leave the cinema.

One thing any parent going through the loss of a child has to wrestle with is what they could have done to prevent this. Is this somehow my fault?

With its themes and topical subtexts (the “gun” thing will occur to you before it’s confirmed), with one parent raising a bully who figures into every classmate’s fate, the answer to that “fault” question is a great one for viewers to consider.

Cregger, like Jordan Peele and Robert Eggers, knows that smart horror is the best horror. And that any horror movie that starts arguments and conversations the moment the credits roll is a winner.

Rating: R, graphic violence, much of it involving children, drug abuse and sex

Cast: Julia Garner, Josh Brolin, Sarah Paxton, Alden Ehrenreich, Austin Abrams, Justin Long, Cary Christopher, Toby Huss, Benedict Wong and Amy Madigan.

Credits: Directed by Zack Cregger. A New Line/Warner Bros. release.

Running time:

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Movie Review: Jamie Lee and Lindsay reach for a “Freakier Friday”

It’s adorable that Jamie Lee Curtis spent some of her Oscar-winner capital rejoining Lindsay Lohan for another round of “Freaky Friday” body-switching hijinx. And it’s grand that Lohan survived her most problematic years and that Netflix brought her career back from the dead giving her the option of making this Disney sequel.

For a few moments here and there, the manic giddiness of our leads, revisiting roles from 2003, overwhelms the warm, fuzzy nostalgia of “Freakier Friday,” a movie that puts these two, and one’s daughter and soon-to-be-stepdaughter through that “see the world from your point of view” body-switching thing that the story hangs on.

No, the movie never shakes the feeling that this should have been a direct-to-Disney+ project, despite Curtis winning an Oscar and thus meriting more attention and buzz than it would have otherwise had.

The two new kids (Julia Butters and Sophia Hammons) never quite stick the landing or hold their own with the two old pros. One (Hammons) has a British accent, which she can’t shake when she switches bodies with therapist Grandma Tess (Curtis). And Curtis throwing up her hands at doing the teen’s accent — she’s a British baroness by marriage, for Pete’s sake — really lowers the bar on the entire enterprise.

But there are “old lady” giggles which Curtis leans into, the indignity of having her body inhabited by a confused, callow British high-school expat.

“Why do I have to PEE again?” “What’s WITH all the old tissues in EVERY pocket?”

And Lohan finds the fun in having a teen take over her former teen idol body, a kid trying to learn how to vamp and “flirt” with a 40ish old flame (Chad Michael Murray), a onetime pop starlet who became a talent manager who now relates to her teen idol client (Maitreyi Ramakrishnan) better than Mom ever will.

The plot this time around has teen surfer Jordan (Butters, of “The Fabelmans”) resenting onetime-rocker Mom’s love connection to a British restaurateur (Manny Jacincto of “Top Gun: Maverick”). Because she’s in high school with his snobby, posh daughter Lily (Hammons), and they can’t stand each other.

And when they get married, surf-or-die Harper would have to move to London.

Mom’s impending nuptials and granny’s psychotherapist/podcaster interventions don’t get those two together. But the wacky “psychic” (“SNL” alumna Vanessa Bayer) at mom’s bachelorette party senses mom Anna’s and granny’s onetime “switch,” and casts a spell that could impact the kids in the same way.

It does.

Mark Harmon returns, as Tess’s now pickleball-obsessed husband, along with Murray as onetime teen rocker Anna’s crush, the one the body-switched teens try to use to bust up the coming wedding. And Stephen Tobolowsky is back as a teacher not shy about putting the older women in younger girls’ bodies through a stretch of high school hard labor.

But the script isn’t much and the direction — save for a spirited high school bake sale food fight — is lackluster.

And watching Curtis hurl herself at shopping for old age remedies at the drug store, with Lohan straining to keep up, to compensate for the thin entertainment value here can only carry “Freakier” so far, and that leaves us somewhat short of the finish line when all is said and done.

Laughed at the geezer gags. Loved the fact that they chose to do it. Wish they’d held out for a better script.

Rating: PG, the odd bit of rude humor

Cast: Jamie Lee Curtis, Lindsay Lohan, Julia Butters, Sophia Hammons,
Maitreyi Ramakrishnan, Chad Michael Murray, Eric Reyes Vanessa Bayer, Stephen Tobolowsky and Mark Harmon.

Credits: Directed by Nisha Ganatra, scripted by Jordan Weiss, based on a book by Mary Rodgers and movie characters created by Leslie Dixon and Heather Hach. A Disney release.

Running time: 1:51

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It is sick sick SICK to open “Freaky Friday” the same day as “Weapons”

I’m just saying.

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Series Review: Momoa’s “Shogun” sized epic of Hawai’i’s struggle to unite — “Chief of War”

Jason Momoa had to play “Aquaman” a bunch of times, put in his time in “Dune” and “Fast and Furious” movies and muscle through a season of “Game of Thrones” to build up the clout it took to get “Chief of War,” a unification of Hawaii epic close to his heritage and his heart, on the screen.

And while he might have been more age appropriate during his “Conan the Barbarian” years for his role as a brawny, young war chief of Maui forced to flee a power-mad king to save the island chain from despotism, he still makes a riveting Polynesian man-mountain to build this epic series around.

“Chief of War” is more “Shogun” than “Game of Thrones” — sprawling, East meets West conflict, bloodline intrigues and slashing violence, more scenic than sexual. And Momoa, who co-created, co-wrote and stars in it, ably and easily carries it from Kaua’i to O’ahu, Maui to Hawai’i, Alaska all the way to the Spanish colonial port of Zamboanga.

Chases, battles, and back-stabbings aside, it’s a somewhat lumbering affair, burdened by constant changes of scene and a sea of characters played by less familiar actors that one must keep straight in most every setting. But Momoa and iconic Maori actor Temuera Morrison (“Once Were Warriors,” Boba Fett to “Star Wars” fans, and Aquaman’s dad) as the Chief of War and his megalomanical Maui King Kahekili are able anchors in helping it all make sense.

We meet Ka’iana (Momoa) and his extended family on “quiet” 18th century Kaua’i, where these Maui natives have fled as he decided he could not serve the “prophecy of the bird star” (comet) obsessed king as his war chief. King Kahekili sends an armed party led by the more loyal war chief Namake (Te Kohe Tuhaka) to “summon” Ka’iana.

Ka’iana must be convinced that O’ahu is prepping for war with Maui. But his plan to spare the combatants lots of bloodshed is undermined by slaughter and he realizes this is just part of Kahekili’s plan to unite the island kingdoms under a “chosen one” — himself.

Ka’iana, his brother (Siua Ikale’o) and wife (Te Ao o Hinepehinga) flee, with the chief of war leading their pursuers away from his loved ones. He is destined to be hunted, chased off the islands, rescued by fur traders, taken to Alaska and taught the ways of the “paleskin” and their (English) language and firearms, forced to scheme a way back home and a way to supply an army with muskets to resist the spreading tyranny of Kahekili.

Meanwhile, Ka’ahumanu (Luciane Buchanan of “The Night Agent” and “The New Legends of Monkey”), stumbles across the fleeing Ka’iana before she faces her ever-delayed destiny, a “political” marriage on Hawai’i. She learns English from a paleskin castaway (Benjamin Hoetjes) taken in by her community and puts-off her war chief father’s (Moses Goods) wedding plans for her every way she can.

But the warrior whose wives she is destined to join has a name anyone familiar with Hawaiian history before Don Ho and “Hawaii 5-0.” He is Kamehameha (Kaina Makua), the truest part of this “based on real events” story. And his destiny lies beyond his conflict with his paranoid newly-crowned king (the great Maori character actor Cliff Curtis of the “Walking Dead,” “Avatar” and “Fast and Furious” franchises, and Danny Boyle’s “Sunshine”) and even the predations of Kahekili.

“Chief of War” doesn’t dwell much on the culture clash of the years just after Captain Cook’s ill-fated last trip to Hawai’i. That’s reflected in the unknowns cast in those “paleskin” roles. Momoa and co-creator Thomas Pa’a Sibbett touch on island language — the series is mostly in Hawaian with subtitles, especially in the early eposides — culture, traditions, combat and the universality of 18th century gender roles as Ka’ahumanu debates the English castaway about “gods” that “only men” hear that keep women servile.

She bridles at her father’s insistence that her intervention and counsel is unwanted by the scheming men.

“Your place is with the wives.”

Destiny is a big theme, with a priestess (Roimata Fox) appearing to several characters, fortelling their fates.

“Many paths lead to misery for you. Only one leads to freedom…The Guardian will come!”

The script has its simplistic touches and obvious contrivances. Romance is minimized, with one warrior carrying on a same sex affair before pursuing a more politically astute “match.” A character insisting on “English” from her older and highly-placed father after she herself has mastered the language from the castaway “one year later” is a real eye-roller.

And early chases and skirmishes aside, the series only finds its footing in the most conventional way when the outraged Ka’iana sets out to free a Black shipmate (James Udom) from slavery in a scene straight out of half of the “Pirates of the Caribbean” movies. That’s four episodes in.

There’s plenty of judgement of the white capitalists who threatened Hawai’i, even before this war to unite the islands.

“Common or royal, it makes no difference in a land where money is esteemed above all.”

Buchanan, Morrison, Fox and Sisa Grey, as an islander who took up a new life among the Spaniards and allies herself with Ka’iana, are stand-outs in the cast, with Curtis, Udom, Tuhaka and Ikale’o also making impressions.

But Momoa, a hulking specimen even in his dad-bod years (he turned 46 this month), is the riveting, scowling prescence who holds our interest and this sprawling and historically respectful narrative together.

This is Hawaii as the paradise it was before “paradise” became its travel brand, and this series reminds us of how the adaptable and fiercely independent people there were able to maintain their independence until rich fruit growers and imperialists teamed up to take it over some 100 years later.

Rating: TV-MA, violence, nudity, sex

Cast: Jason Momoa, Lucianne Buchanan, Te Ao o Hinepehinga, Te Kohe Tuhaka,
Siua Ikale’o, Sisa Grey, Moses Goods, Benjamin Hoetjes, Erroll Shand, Kaina Makua, Cliff Curtis and Temuera Morrison.

Credits: Created by Jason Momoa and Thomas Pa’a Sibbett. An Apple TV+ release.

Running time: Nine episodes @:41-60 minutes each.

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Classic Film Review: Godard, Bardot, Palance and “The Odyssey” — “Contempt” (1963)

Jean-Luc Godard, the most-analyzed, dissected and critiqued auteur of his generation makes his grand statement on the compromises and sell-outs required by salope déesse cinema with “Contempt,” his biggest-ever hit, a movie about making movies.

The critic turned cinematic revolutionary pretty much says it all with his film’s title (“Le mépris) in French). “Contempt” positively swims in Godard’s disdain for artistic compromise in “the movie business,” as well as theoretical maxims about the “reality” of cinema and of film reflecting or perverting life.

The film boasts the novelty of featuring Fritz Lang as himself, a great German director making an American production of “The Odyssey” in Italy with an Italian crew and a French crime novelist/playwright and screenwriter all in service of an obnoxious, oversexed and hammy Hollywood producer, played by future Oscar winner Jack Palance.

But the reasons for “Contempt’s” success remain as obvious as the film’s bare-bottomed opening.

The scene, a writer (Michel Piccoli) and his wife (Brigitte Bardot) discuss their relationship, post coitus, in their marriage bed. Bardot is nude throughout it. It’s not her only nude scene in the film. Once, we drop in on her sunbathing on the Isle of Capri with a copy of a book on Fritz Lang’s cinema draped across her butt.

Cute.

So that was the film’s obvious “appeal” back then. How does it play, now? More than a little dated and a tad ponderously, I have to say.

“Do you see my behind in the mirror,” Camille coyly teases (in French with English subtitles)? “Do you think I have a pretty bottom?”

What, is he blind?

Writer Paul is besotted to an “I love you completely, tenderly and tragically” degree. Camille is out of his league, out of most every man’s league. “Contempt” is about that rewrite offer on “The Odyssey” and what Paul will do to keep his gorgeous wife happy.

Or at least, that’s how braying, posing producer Jeremy Prokosch (Palance) sees it. Paul, who can’t be that much of an idealist, seeing how he got his start writing pulp crime novels, will take that $10,000 offer.

“You have a very beautiful wife,” Prokosch oozes. “You need the money.”

They watch the pretentious dailies legendary director Lang has filmed, with the producer, Lang, Paul, Camille and the Italian personal assistant/translator (Giorgia Moll) who communicates between the American, the German, the French folk and the Italian crew. Who will Paul listen to as he sets out to rethink this screenplay that Lang is turning into montages of Greek statues, art and “culture?”

It’s the LA hustler who just sold the troubled Italian studio backlot, the one who snaps “Whenever I hear the word ‘culture’ I break out my checkbook.”

Prokosh wants more sex, more Odysseus/Ulyssees temptations, more sexual heat in the wandering soldier and sailor’s return to his beloved Penelope. But is that the point of “The Odyssey,” that homecoming? Maybe generations of readers have got it wrong, Prokosch suggests in his most gauche moment. Maybe the guy was in no hurry to “hurry” home from the Trojan War.

Lang is dismayed. Paul hesitates, and then runs with it as the oily producer throws other ideas out there.

“I found a book of Roman paintings that I think would help with ‘The Odyssey.'”

“‘The Odyssey’ is Greek,” Paul protests.

When he opens the book later, Paul realizes it’s of ancient Roman porn. And when he tries to praise Lang’s already-filmed footage, shot in Cinemascope, the old man draws his line in the sand.

“It wasn’t made for man,” the director of “M,” “Metropolis,” “The Big Heat” and “Rancho Notorious” mutters of the popular widescreen filming process. “It was made for snakes and funerals!”

Camille isn’t just a bystander in all this. We see her growing “contempt” for the man she married, even if this sell-out means they’ll be able to pay off their posh, sleek mid-century-modern apartment.

As Paul tries to please and appease her — she spies him swatting the bottom of Francesca the personal assistant — and Camille fends off the advances of the predatory producer, can this marriage be saved? Even by a long, tortured afternoon-long debate back in their apartment about whether they should leave for Capri with the producer to watch the filming, and rewrite that script to his tastes, or bail?

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Movie Review: Lost in Dementia and Memory Care, seeking that “Familiar Touch”

“Familiar Touch” is a simple, documdrama-real film of frank honesty and sensitivity about dementia and adjusting to life in Memory Care.

If you’re fortunate enough to not know that label, describing the wing or floor of any nursing home or assisted living facility dedicated to those with Alzheimer’s or suffering from other forms of dementia, Sarah Friedland’s quiet drama about one patient, the son who checks her in and the staff and fellow patients this grandmother must adjust to in her more sentient moments is a 90 minute crash course.

Speaking from experience, it’s idealized, with a wonderfully indulgent, competent and caring staff set in what employees label a “geriatric country club” in Pasadena, California. Our patient rarely seems to test their patience as she demands a menu from a dining room that isn’t a restuarant, huffs about unpacking herself and even clocks in at the kitchen, lost in memories of her own line-cook-in-a-diner days.

The screamers, the tantrum-tossers, the walking, dead-eyed catatonics who wander into others’ rooms and crawl into their beds and those who simply doze away their last years away in front of a TV don’t make an appearance in Bella Vista.

But Friedland and her star, Kathleen Chalfat (from “Old,” and TV’s “The Affair”) create an otherwise realistic and touching portrait of what one woman’s arrival in life’s pentultimate destination can be like.

Ruth is a creature of habit and routine, living alone in the home she’s had for many years, caring for herself, puttering around her kitchen prepping meals.

But we see, in a dialogue-free eight minute prologue, the signs. She waits for her toast, and when it pops out, she stores the slice into a drying dishrack beside the sink. She slides clothes back and forth in her closet, either looking for a dress that’s no longer there, or forgetting what she was looking for in the first place, and why.

That man (veteran cartoon voice H. Jon Benjamin of “Bob’s Burgers”) who shows up for lunch? She acts as if he’s a gentleman caller, coyly smiling, serving him lunch, asking him what he does for a living.

Steve is an architect.

Oh! “My father builds houses. He’s a carpenter. Maybe you’ll meet him someday.”

“Are you seeing anybody special?”

Yes. He has a wife and child. But that’s OK, she says.

“I’m married, too.”

But no, he can’t be her son. “I never wanted children.”

Ruth is able to carry on a conversation. Steve is patient but sad, barely bothering to correct her mistakes any more.

There’s no point in that, or explaining that today is moving day. He just escorts her into the car, fetches a packed bag (she acts as if she assumes they’re going away for a weekend together). When they arrive, he checks her in, reassures her that “We took the tour” and “This was the place you chose.” And then he leaves.

Ruth’s reaction to this new “Memory Lane” living situation can be snappish, profane and imperious, confused or even resigned. Chalfant’s performance is a virtuoso piece of screen understatement.

“I’m not one of those elderly people you need to watch constantly.

Some try to befriend her. Others confuse her for old friends. She lapses into childhood reveries in the pool, or workplace routine in a kitchen where the staff lets her prep the day’s fruit salad as they wait for a caregiver to come fetch her.

Visits from family are few and far between. That paliative “Familiar Touch” is hard to come by.

Some of what happens as Ruth connects the ever-patient nurse Vanessa (Carolyn Michelle) and Dr. Brian (Andy McQueen) can seem contrived and melodramatic. Sure, memory care patients “escape” every now and then. Most don’t do it in the middle of a “speed dating night” at the home.

Say what now? Oh. California.

If you’re old enough to have some experience with loved ones facing this sort of caregiving, you’ll recognize and empathize with Ruth’s plight, the staff’s and even Steve’s. Although it may be hard to suppress the urge to snap, “Sonny, get your daughter and go visit your mother.”

And if this is an alien world to you, just thank your lucky stars. Chances are, you’ll get your initiation soon enough.

Rating: unrated, profanity

Cast: Kathleen Chalfat, Carolynn Michelle, Andy McQueen and H. Jon Benjamin

Credits: Scripted and directed by Sarah Friedland. A Music Box Films release.

Running time: 1:30

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Netflixable? Swedish Law Student attempts “An Honest Life” among Anarchists

Young Simon learns the Latin phrase “Ex Liga Libertas,” “from the law comes freedom,” on his first day at law school in Lund, Sweden.

But hanging out with anarchists, listening to their “always be drunk” Baudelaire rules for living and immersed in their love for Iggy Pop’s “The Passenger” changes his attitude.

Maybe the law isn’t about “freedom,” after all.

And “Nine semesters to learn the rules, a lifetime to apply them” doesn’t sound like much of a future.

“An Honest Life” is a Swedish dip into the extreme politics some sample when they’re young. For most, it’s a passing fad like Ayn Rand, libertarianism, manga and heavy metal. But to some, living by your wits, your “opinion and actio must be the same” idealism and your ability to rationalize every crime you commit as against “the system” has a lasting appeal.

Just so long as you don’t mind a life on the lam.

“Honest” is a slow-footed thriller about anarchic crime, anarchist “honey trap” recruiting, finding a “story worth telling” and maybe standing up for yourself and growing up in the process.

Simon (Simon Lööf), an aspiring writer who “settled” for law school, voice-over narrates his anti-heroic journey. He voice-over narrates his interior life. And as is the case with many a novel-turned-film voice-over narrated to death, he voice-over narrates the obvious.

“I’ve always been the best in my class,” he muses. “But here, everyone is the best.”

His life changes when he stumbles into a student nation protest that turns into a riot. He warns that masked, hooded anarchist spray painting “They have ships, we have waves” on a wall that a cop is charging up on her. He and the cop end up injured. But even masked and hooded, he can recognize the anarchist Max when he spies her in the library.

Simon is courted and perfunctorily recruited and added to Max’s anarchist cell. We know this because the film’s opening scene has him lured into a jewelry store and tricked into participating in a robbery.

“This is your test,” Max’s voice on the cell phone she left behind on the watch counter tells him.

The movie that precedes that robbery and the one that follows it are two halves of a fairly pedestrian affair — a naive kid lured by a confident, sexy woman into a world his circumstances dictate that he might be interested in, even if skinny dipping, cliff-diving and sex with an alluring older woman wasn’t part of the deal.

Simon rents a room in a townhouse of the super rich, rooming with insufferable privileged posh boys who treat him like a servant. “I want what they have.”

His disillusionment with the law begins with “boredom,” and grows when he sees how into it his myopic classmates are about it. His recruitment seems complete when he meets and hears out the old academic (Peter Andersson of “The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo” films) who is a sort of godfather to these anarchists — propped up by the sales of their stolen property, tolerated for his aged idealistic agitprop.

“They’re predators,” he warns Simon. To little avail.

Simon is destined to find out how true that warning is as he is pulled in over his head by ruthless idealogues who have curdled into hardened criminals.

Rios makes a generically beguiling temptress, and Lööf adds little new to the law student somewhat undone by all he’s exposed to narrative in this “Paper Chase” meets “The East” mashup.

Mikael Marcimain’s direction of the action beats is never more than passably exciting. And an honest take on “An Honest Life” might be that everything between those robberies, riots and burglaries just reminds you that there aren’t enough robberies, riots and burglaries to keep one awake through all that tedious voice-over narration.

Rating: TV-MA, violence, drug abuse, alcohol abuse, sex, profanity

Cast: Simon Lööf, Nora Rios, Peter Andersson and Nathalie Merchant.

Credits: Directed by Mikael Marcimain, scripted by Linn Gottfridsson, based on a novel by Joakim Zander. A Netflix release.

Running time: 2:02

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Movie Review: A Father seeks Justice and Answers about his Murdered Child — “Barron’s Cove”

Screenwriter Evan Ari Kelman wrote a script — “Barron’s Cove” — that made “The Black List,” a survey of studio folks who vote on the “most liked” unproduced scripts they’ve read in a given year. In eventually making the sale of that script, Kelman angled to get himself a directing credit with this bleak tale of murder, corruption and a flawed and dangerous man’s hunt for justice for his murdered ten year old.

But that old maxim about lawyers who represent themselves in court springs to mind in this overwrought, cliched and melodramatic thriller that, if nothing else, makes you question the purpose of The Black List, when these are often scripts the surveyed execs’ studios took a pass on. For a reason.

“Bleak” is this picture’s byword, a tale that starts with three little boys, one tied to railroad tracks with a train coming. “Bleak” are the hopes for justice, when a political dynasty, utterly compromised police, construction racketeers and a raging/grieving father are involved.

But any promise the premise has, with its “Never trust the motives of politicians who ‘adopt’ boys” messaging and “Wow, they went there?” violence — against children, no less — is undercut by melodramatics, over-the-top performances, cliched characters and a script that maybe needed a fresh set of eyes directing it, not the fellow who was married to his words.

Garrett Hedlund hits spittle-spewing rage and rarely lets up as Caleb, a father who works as an “inspector” and enforcer for a construction supplies racket run by his mobster Uncle Benjy, naturally played with the usual Fu Manchu’d gusto by veteran B-movie heavy Stephen Lang.

Benjy makes Caleb late for a pickup for his weekend with his son. And that’s how young Barron ended up on those railroad tracks, in pieces.

Naturally, Caleb’s ex (Brittany Snow) blames him when they have to ID what’s left of the body. Naturally, she came out as a lesbian after they split.

The cops rush to call the death a suicide. Because one of the boys with Barron was the sinister blond moppet Ethan (Christian Convery), the adopted son of an unmarried local politico (Hamish Linklater) with eyes on continuing the family dynasty at the state level.

Caleb’s two-fisted, crowbar-assisted personal “investigation” ruffles many a feather. He won’t wait for his “connections inside” uncle to give him answers. Before we know it, he’s stormed into a school and run across tables in a crowded cafeteria to grab his suspect and make off with him.

Naturally, Caleb’s got Black friends who help him out. No, the first doesn’t know why he’s borrowing all these tools — blowtorch, ax — up at Barron’s Cove, where Caleb has the kid stashed. Naturally, the second helper can do field surgery on gunshot wounds when necessary.

Whatever the qualities of the script, a fresh set of eyes might have spared us all the “naturally” unsurprising and unlikely coincidences and cliches this narrative is built on.

Naturally, the kid is a self-assured punk — at 10 — with the wherewithal to bark “You think you’re scaring me?” when a blowtorch is lit to get answers out of him. The first time Caleb confronts him, the “monster” stuck out his tongue at him. Sure.

Naturally, the feigning-concern, self-absorbed politician hisses to the new detective on the force (Raúl Castillo), “Swear to me on your baby boy’s life” that he’ll “save” kidnapped Ethan. Naturally, the unconvincing adoptive father storms off before getting that promise.

Hedlund hits a few touching notes, in between the rages and the fights he must endure as cops and mobsters come for him and the boy.

“Anything I had to lose, I already lost,” is his explanation for his actions.

And there’s topicality in all this — the institutions we’ve lost faith in, the despicable things we’ve learned politicians are capable of, and get away with thanks to protect-the-powerful policing. If the cops are dirty enough, you can plant bombs in a cabin and they won’t even look for surviving components or evidence of that. Apparently.

But Kelman’s direction of his script highlights its more arch or even ludicrous/risible elements. The pacing is too sedate to give the narrative urgency and race past the clunkier moments. And the performances aren’t any more subtle than the sometimes absurd action beats.

Not every script that makes The Black List gets produced, and not every one produced shows the same promise those execs might have seen in the movie on the printed page.

Put “Barron’s Cove” in the column of a Black List miss, a script most passed on for reasons all-too-evident in the finished film, just not to the screenwriter who directed it.

Rating: R, graphic violence

Cast: Garrett Hedlund, Hamish Linklater, Christian Convery, Stephen Lang and Brittany Snow.

Credits: Scripted and directed by Evan Ari Kelman. A Well Go USA release.

Running time: 1:56

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Documentary Review: “Sunday Best: The Untold Story of Ed Sullivan” and how a TV host Changed America

He wasn’t a natural “performer.”

Ed Sullivan had a face made for radio and voice best appreciated in print, where he’d gained fame as a Broadway columnist and sportswriter. Stiff, later somewhat stooped, with odd vocal cadences and a fear of the camera even a child could spot, he couldn’t have been on anybody’s short list of “Let’s put him on this brand new medium, TV, and make him a star.”

But CBS did, back when CBS had guts.

And giving one of the shrewdest judges of talent and entertainment value of his day a Sunday night showcase proved to be historic. Because with 1948’s “Toast of the Town,” which soon morphed into the cultural institution known as “The Ed Sullivan Show,” Sullivan introduced America to itself through entertainers — filling his stage and our tiny screens at home with Broadway’s best, vaudeville greats, jazz legends and pop and rock’n roll legends in the making.

And as the new documentary “Sunday Best: The Untold Story of Ed Sullivan” makes crystal clear, Sullivan didn’t care what race these performers were. At a time when segregation ruled the South and racial tolerance wasn’t widespread in the rest of America, Sullivan booked, flattered, chatted-up and introduced white America to the wellspring of talent it was missing out on. He lauded Black sports figures, praised Black singers, patted his congratulations on backs that much of America knew nothing about or would ever consider listening to, much less touching. He held hands with Black child performers and hugged and joked around with Black singing stars and longtime Black friends in jazz and s

Threats came in, sponsors got nervous and CBS — already shivering in its boots over Edward R. Murrow’s war against McCarthyism — was given gutcheck after gutcheck by the pugnacious, principled, Harlem-raised Irishman that generations of impersonators would mock and history would largely pass over.

Sullivan’s show — broadcast on Sunday nights continuously from 1948-71 — has long been syndicated in clip show packages. Those half-hour doses of a one hour program that ran for 1068 episodes can still give viewers whiplash.

Jugglers and acrobats, singers and dancers, Broadway actors performing soliloquies, magicians and puppets “for the little ones,” comics and comic duos, Mahalia Jackson to The Rolling Stones, The Doors to Dionne Warwick would pass by in a blur, all of them, as “Sunday Best” reminds us, scouted, booked and showcased by the producer-star-impresario who was our host for the evening.

The eye-opening final film of the late documentarian Sacha Jenkins (“Louis Armstrong: Black and Blue”) focuses on the man behind that TV presence, “The Great Stone Face of 1949,” an underdog and outsider whose idea of “Americanism” included African Americans.

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