Movie Nation

Orson Welles’ depiction of the confusing, intimate, bloody muddy mire of the Battle of Shrewsbury in “Chimes at Midnight” is the gold standard for Medieval combat recreated on film.

Mel Gibson once told me he consulted “Chimes” in choreographing and shot-blocking his take on the Battle of Stirling in “Braveheart,” which rivals Welles in its murderous, murky, writhing bodies struggling to the death detail.

But director Edward Bazalgette gives them both a run for their blood money with his reenactment of of the Battle of Brunanburh, the climax of “The Last Kingdom: Seven Kings Must Die.” The sweep of the sea of soldiers of many “uniforms” and their wooden shields, steel swords and lines of men pushing and stabbing and dying trampled under foot is a wonder to behold, filmed from many angles, “shield wall” to “swine wedge” driving into it.

And amidst the carnage, as is the way of motion picture storytelling, a young King Aethelstan will meet his nemesis, and the Northumbrian pagan Uhtred, whose story we followed through the reigns of King Alfred the Great and King Edward over five seasons of TV’s “The Last Kingdom,” will reach a human lifespan-of-the-day defying climax.

Based on the historical novels Bernard Cornwell conjured out of the historical “Anglo Saxon Chronicle,” this saga has his real-life hero — albeit from a hundredsl years later — present at the Battle of Edington at the end of the first season of the show, and a key figure at Brunanburh, 59 years later.

Tough chap.

Those of us who got into the series accepted that historical Bowdlerization as a small price to pay for a vividly messy, flesh and blood recreation of disunited Britain during the Dark Ages — a Brexit metaphor if there ever was one. But this movie meant to wrap it all up, with intrigues, treachery, massacres, manipulations and same sex romance, can feel like reading the “Chronicle” in the original Old English, even if your memories of the series are reasonably flesh.

The first hour of the film is an alphabet soup of everybody vying for a piece of the throne, their own kingdom or a piece of the action as King Edward I fades and dies. The voluminous “who is whom” and endless exposition just to get us back into this universe and up to status quo ante is “Old Testament/Lord of the Rings” dense, and pretty much pointlessly so.

Treating the show like the Anglo-Saxon soap opera that it could sometimes be, giving us lots of “fan service” in returning characters — from Edward’s widow (Elaine Cassidy) — to Uhtred’s faithful mates, Finan (Mark Rowley) and Sihtric (Arnas Fedaravicius) overwhelms it. One and all are being forced into this bit of fleeing, that kidnapping, fratricide or massacre and power grab by new King Aethelstan (Harry Gilby), his trusted, Christian advisor Ingimundr (Laurie Davidson) and the meddling Dane Anlaf (Pekka Strang) who isn’t just waiting for the Saxons to start killing each other, he’s egging them on.

There’s a prophecy that “Seven kings must die,” and there are spies, back-stabbers and manoevering kinfolk who are hellbent on making that come true.

We dash from setting to settling, wooden 10th century fortresses to stone citadels, islands (Isle of Man), cities (Winchester) and states we recognize (Scotia, “Scotland”) as one and all jockey and stab their way for power.

Uhtred, in his Northumbrian fortress of Bebbanburg, his mates at his beck and call and his trusty, amber-hilt sword Serpent’s Breath by his side, has no time to be dismayed at seeing Alfred and Edward’s unity undone, their “England,” where “a dream unites a people who once sought to kill each other.”

Uhtred must act, heavy-handledly if need be, sticking out his neck for this “dream” many more times.

Dreymon’s brooding energy ensures that Uhtred remains the charismatic heart of this narrative, with Gilby and Strang making strong impressions in support.

But…this…narrative. Bloody hell. The maelstrom of real history sweeping all these characters along, the parade of rulers, nobles and heirs one must keep track of (not really) renders the whole affair rushed and untidy.

It’s a common failing of when series writers try to shift to a compact, beginning-middle-end two hour feature film. The story is too cluttered to register and the cast needed serious streamlining. You can’t fit a season’s worth of characters and their agendas into two hours, as that “Sopranos” fellow famously found out.

The finale is a sequence to remember, and “Seven Kings Must Die” leaves you reasonably satisfied thanks to the climactic battle, even if the script is gutless about who it kills off. And there’s something to be said for finally “wrapping it all up,” as it were.

But as a stand-alone film, this one has about four kings too many to be wholly engaging.

Rating: TV-MA, bloody violence

Cast: Alexander Dreymon, Harry Gilby, Elaine Cassidy. Mark Rowley, Arnas Fedaravicius, Laurie Davidson and Pekka Strang

Credits: Directed by Edward Bazalgette, scripted by Martha Hillier, based on the novels of Bernard Cornwell. A Netflix release.

Running time: 2:00

Russell Crowe has made many films better than “The Pope’s Exorcist,” and a few one could label as objectively “worse.” But he’s never made a more cynical movie, a shameless late-career grasp at that which he eschewed back when the offers were more plentiful — a “franchise.”

He and the creative team behind this thriller start with the real-life Father Gabriele Amorth, Exorcist of the Diocese of Rome. They fictionalize that biography into a tale of a late 1980s contest between Satan, in his demonic “200 fallen angels” guises, and the Pope’s top demon-destroyer.

The character is canonical and papal and whimsical, with the catch-phrase “Cuck-oo” which he trots out to tease nuns and passersby on the streets of Italy and Spain and in the halls of the Vatican.

He wears a fedora. He totes a big, boxy exorcist’s tool-kit case, filled with talismans, crucifixes, papal seals and the like. Father Amorth also keeps a whisky flask handy and a few choice profanities on the tip of his tongue.

And he rides into battle with an Exorcist-mobile, an ’80s Vespa in the white and red livery of the Holy See, a vehicle which takes him to Italian house calls, and all the way to the north of Spain.

Father Amorth must have a chiropracter on call, wherever he goes.

All he lacks is a Marvel cape and some DC tights and we’d have ourselves a priestly superhero — CatholicMan!

The thriller’s opening gambit has the Vatican send Father Amorth into the Itialian countryside where a young man is possessed, and the priest comforts the lad’s much younger sister by imploring her to recite “the Our Fathers” over and over again as he sets about his work.

Heaven help her future feelings of guilt if the swaggering priest fails.

Amorth teases the demon, baits and antoganizes “him” as a member of the family brings a prized hog in and we see where this is going before the Dark One does. “Satan,” as the demon identifies himself, is tricked into taking possession of the pig instead of the young man, a pig which is promptly dispatched.

Crowe’s Father Amorth smiles wryly with the audience at this turn of events. We know what he must have figured out long ago. Satan or Lucifer or Old Scratch as he’s called around the globe, is something of a dumbass.

The main test of the narrative is an American family — a mother (Alex Essoe), her rebellious teen (Laurel Marsden) and the little boy (Peter DeSouza-Feighoney) who hasn’t spoken since his father’s gruesome death a year before, but who takes up talking when another of heaven’s “fallen angels” takes possession of him in a mysterious abbey that the family inherited in Spanish Castille.

Daniel Zovatto is the young Spanish priest who has the process explained to him (as the audience’s surrogate) as he witnesses this horrific battle of wills and suffers at the hands of the demon. Father Amorth — with a little help from a Pope (Franco Nero) who does his “own research” — uncovers the truth about this demon and that piece of Spanish real estate.

Crowe seems to impose his own sense of fun on the proceedings, which gives it a light touch even when it should have fear-for-the-victims’ lives gravitas.

The film that starts Father Amorth’s saga has a wink here and a sign of the cross there, Latin and Italian dialogue and accents, a “modern” sensibility.” Tis exorcist understands psychology, and that most of his “possessions” are people in need of counseling, group therapy and medication, not having demons cast out.

But as “The Pope’s Exorcist” settles into key conflict, exorcist vs. a Devil who wants revenge for his losses, the plot loses track of the victims Father Amorth is supposed to be helping and “saving” for stretches.

Crowe may have a bit of fun with this, but state-of-the-art effects don’t necessarily translate into shocks or frights, which are kind of the point.

Maybe “The Pope’s Exorcist” will inspire sequels, setting up Crowe for life. All I took away from it was a curiosity about whether Vespa actually offers a “Vatican edition” paint job. I can find my own Ferrari sticker to decorate it.

Rating: R for violent content, language, sexual references and some nudity

Cast: Russell Crowe, Daniel Zovatto, Alex Essoe, Laurel Marsden, Peter DeSouza-Feighoney and Franco Nero.

Credits: Directed by Julius Avery, scripted by Michael Petroni and Evan Spiliotopoulos. A Sony/Screen Gems release.

Running time: 1:40

“Hands on a Hardbody,” the story of Texans competing to win a new “pick’em up truck” by seeing who could stand up and keep one hand on it the longest was a documentary that was excerpted for a “This American Life” radio essay, and even transformed into a Broadway musical. So it’s understandable that German writer and director Bastian Günther (“Houston,” “Autopilots”) would want to do a little something different in filming his “inspired by true events” take on the the material.

But “One of These Days,” his fictionalized take on just such a contest, loses its way as he goes beyond the psychological and physical toll of such a contest and lapses into melodrama and a sort of “what if” finale. It’s interesting and thought-provoking, even if that thought is “You almost spoilt your movie, meine Freund.”

A few quick strokes establish a sleepy, dying rural town through weed-covered lots, discount stores and struggling, working class Texans and their housing, much of it sampled via Google Street View. Wherever this dead end is, Bubba Boudreaux of Boudreaux Auto & Truck puts on a show, once a year, that gets folks to talking for miles around.

It’s the annual Hands on a Hard Body give-away, an annual contest in which 20 “lucky” contestants get a chance to win a shiny new “Matterhorn” edition pickup (it’s a Ford dealership) just by outlasting each other in a test of stamina and just plain stubbornness.

Promotions manager Joan (Carrie Preston of “True Blood,” “The Good Wife” and “Claws”) runs this show, an ever-smiling fixture in town and on local TV, which covers the hell out of this spectacle. Joan is divorced, we gather. She has a regular “nooner” whom she hooks up with over lunch. And her smile and positivity aren’t shaken even when her paramour (Cullen Moss) callously tells her “I’ve met somebody,” and their assignations must end.

Joan’s sweetness extends to all those folks picked to compete, starting with discount store clerk Kyle (Joe Cole of “Peaky Blinders” and “Gangs of London”). He’s married, with a working wife (Callie Hernandez) and a baby at home.

And they could really use a reliable new “ve-HICLE” as we say in the rural South.

“No sugar,” Joan advises him. “No fatty foods. Lots of water and bananas.”

This isn’t her first rodeo. She not only has “perfected this contest,” with scheduled bathroom and meal breaks, live entertainment and food and drink give-aways designed to draw a crowd, judges working in shifts around the clock and all of it taking place under a tent on the lot. She knows how past winners managed the 50-100 hour ordeal.

Kyle will be facing 19 other people, a real cross section of the community, from aged Bible quoter Ruthie (Lynne Ashe) and bullheaded old coot Walter (Carl Palmer)to telegenic but intense veteran Derek (Evan Henderson) and a Louisianan jerk’s jerk Kevin (Jesse C. Boyd of “Outer Banks” and “Halloween Ends”).

Walter may annoy and Derek threaten. Others may even trot out the race card. But Kevin is goading, taunting and provoking his way to that truck, determined to get inside everybody else’s head, especially the desperate Kyle.

Over the course of this ordeal, fights and compassion, mutual respect and deeply personal contempt will come out as one and all try to endure or bait the others into quitting or simply forgetting what they’re doing and where they are as hallucinations replace recriminations.

That’s a fairly conventional narrative, but it’s interesting enough that it would have made a solid, suspenseful and possibly even “feel good” movie, one about 90 minutes long.

Günther goes for something beyond that Limits of Human Endurance tale for a third act that starts with the melodramatic and turns towards narrative cheats, folding flashbacks in to make one question just how “desperate” someone should be if there wasn’t some salesman waving a shiny new truck in front of everybody’s face, creating relative deprivation and a sense of want.

The actors do a great job establishing characters and Günther nails this milieu as we follow Joan through this “My time to shine” bit of logistics and “managing” her contestants. And then Günther moves on from that, and I thought, loses his way.

Not a bad movie, but a better one plays out and ends before a final 15 minute anti-climax.

Rating: unrated, violence, sex, nudity, profanity

Cast: Carrie Preston, Joe Cole, Jesse C. Boyd, Lynne Ashe, Sam Malone, Amy Le and Callie Hernandez

Credits: Scripted and directed by Bastian Günther. A Gravitas Ventures release.

Running time: 1:59

Say what you like about “Florida Man,” a riff through a lot of familiar action comedy/caper comedy/film noir tropes. It keeps you just invested enough to figure you’re going to have to finish it. Kind of. More or less.

The series isn’t a laugh riot or anybody’s idea of a deep dive into its genre or genres. And it isn’t as “authentic” as say, Elmore Leonard or Carl Hiassen’s “authentic” takes on the screwiness of The Sunshine State. But it does tease out its tale in that “limited series” way, even if the tale itself is as surprising as finding gator jerky next to the oranges and orange blossom honey at every gift shop from Cocoa Beach to Daytona.

Series creator Donald Todd (“This is Us,” “Hart of Dixie,””Sleepy Hollow”) did just enough research to land a few Florida zingers and get a general feel for Central Florida, the Orlando-Sanford-New Smyrna Beach/Coronado Beach setting. I know because I live here.

But the series is shallow and untidy and drawn-out, with some good players popping up in a few episodes and neglected for a few others. Many of the easy laughs don’t land.

Still, it makes a fine vehicle for Edgar Ramírez, a softer, edge-free “Bloodline” that jabs at Florida weirdness, Florida gun-nuttery and Florida corruption — just a bunch of shady characters trying to get their hands on — wait for it — Spanish treasure.

Ramírez is Mike, the ex Philly cop and gambling addict working off his debts to mobster Moss (Emory Cohen) by collecting on others’ debts, and running errands.

One of those little jobs turns out to be following Moss’s moll, Delly (Abbey Lee of “Lovecraft Country, “Mad Max: Fury Road” and “Old”), a skinny blonde femme fatale who skipped off to Florida.

Turns out Mike had a “thing” with the boss’s gal. Turns out Mike used to live in Florida. Turns out, he’s estranged from his shady-ex-cop Dad (Anthony LaPaglia, terrific). Turns out, Mike’s ex (Lex Scott Davis) is on the Philly PD task force investigating Moss.

And it turns out Delly was on to something big, a staggering fortune of undeclared treasure that is set to entangle Mike, his dad and an NC sheriff’s deputy (Clark Gregg) just visiting Florida with his family, the guy whose gun Mike stole out of baggage claim at the airport.

Double-crosses, back-stabbing, deaths and faked deaths and a treasure hunt play out against a backdrop of ditzy, giggling local TV reporters commenting on the goofy stuff that Florida Man in all his many moronic incarnations gets himself involved in — convenience store stick-ups with a sword, breaking INTO a jail, etc.

It’s jokey and occasionally those jokes land, or at least ring true — tweens firing a .22 at a “Welcome to Florida” sign, rednecks shooting at manatees.

“You can’t shoot manatees.”

“Not with this piece of sh– (gun), you can’t.”

Gregg the deputy’s daughter wants to ride “the zipline” at Gatorland.

“Hell No,” he says. “God only knows what meth-head screwed that together. But when it comes down in a pool of alligators, you can bet we WON’T be on it!”

That’s as close to “edgy” as “Florida Man,” and only in a “We could sue over that” sense.

Mike, who finds himself in a state he vowed never to return to, tells someone “I had to go to Florida.”

“Why?”

“So I could LEAVE Florida.”

There’s not a lot here that’s fresh or new. The whole enterprise feels like a manuscript Hiassen churned over out a long weekend, and stuck in a drawer as “Not quite there yet.”

Floridians and anyone who’s vacationed in the sink hole capital that’s home to Disney World may get the occasional kick out of it. But like the national punchline the “shaped like a gun” or “limp” phallus-shaped state itself, “Florida Man” can’t help but make you to ponder just what all the fuss is about, and think, “That’s not funny, that’s just…off.”

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

Cast: Edgar Ramírez, Abbey Lee, Paul Schneider, Clark Gregg, Lex Scott Davis, Judy Reyes and Anthony LaPaglia.

Credits: Created by Donald Todd. A Netflix release.

Running time: Eight episodes @:42-53 minutes each

A 19th century charter voyage from Romania to…HELL?

Well, trapped on a sailing ship with a vampire seems close enough to that.

Corey Hawkins (“BlackKklansman,””In the Heights,” “Tragedy of Macbeth”), Aisling Franciosi and Liam Cunningham star in this salty take on the Dracula legend.

August 11.

Stop me if you’ve heard this one.

A serf, a samurai and a Jew walk into an oligarch’s Ukranian manor house…

“Once Upon a Time in Ukraine” is a Syrnyky Western, a Slavic stroll down Sergio Leone Lane. It’s just gonzo and goofy enough to make one peruse the credits for the surname “Tarantinovich,” because that’s what writer-director Roman Perfilyev is on about.

It’s an 1844 story about as historical as anything Leone or Tarantino turned out, a tale of a “bondsman” or serf named Taras (Roman Lutskyi) out to free himself and his lady love (Kateryna Slyusar) from bondage and a half-Ukrainian samurai (Sergey Strelnikov) determined to avenge himself on the samurai (Gen Soto) who murdered his mentor and took that father figure’s Katana sword.

The Jewish gun dealer who throws in with them could be an ally, or an opportunist living down to the “sneaky” stereotypes Taras doesn’t hesitate to trot out.

There’s a Cossack bandit, Bogdan Chuba (Yakov Tkachenko) leading a revolt against the landlords, oligarchs (Russians, maybe?) who enslave and sell serfs, sometimes to Japanese sex traffickers. But you know Cossacks. You either join him or face his wrath.

“Those who advocate equality present a threat to the system,” one of the fat cats reminds his fellow feline, in Ukrainian with English subtitles. As they ride around in sedan chairs and exploit the people, you just know they’re going to get theirs.

But our story has a lot of obstacles to the samurai and the serf getting what they want. At least the samurai is “an artist” with a sword. But as Taras thinks of himself as “a different kind of artist, a poet, a writer” how much help can he be?

There’s nothing for it but to acquire guns (the gun dealer, an Adrien Brody look-alike) and train Taras in using a Katana sword, which our samurai, Akayo, can weild to dismember his enemies and in a pinch, even fend off bullets.

“The Good, the Bad and the Ugly” tone is set early enough and underscored by Akayo’s complaint about the script’s tight time frame for “training.”

“You haven’t learned a lot in two days,” he gripes in Japanese-accented Ukrainian.

Ninjas, opium smoking, duels, serving a meal on a naked woman, all manner of historically dubious firearms and anti-Semitic insults (“You circumcised schnitzel!”) pass through the sometimes jaunty 90 minutes of this Eastern/Western. We’re treated to a Ninja hiding in the pit of an outhouse, deciding who to shoot with a Cossack version of “Eenie meeny miny moe” — “A sackfull of crayfish rolled down the hill, one, two three, which one do we kill?” — and an amusing version of a “Raiders of the Lost Ark” gag.

It doesn’t all work, and the pacing isn’t as brisk as the material demands. But the swordfight fights are furious (Wirework!), the shootouts noisy and bloody and the third act provides a couple of genuine bellylaughs.

Tarantino may be retiring, but let’s hope writer-director Roman Perfilyev gets to roll cameras on more gonzo, bastardized history in a free Ukraine. He’s got the touch.

Rating: unrated, graphic violence, nudity

Cast: Roman Lutskyi, Sergey Strelnikov, Kateryna Slyusar, Yakov Tkachenko and Gen Seto.

Credits: Scripted and directed by Roman Perfilyev. A Samuel Goldwyn release.

Running time: 1:30

A “mad” teen and madder-than-mad “mad scientist” thriller, this one opens June 9.

Yeah, this looks seriously messed-up.

“Sweethurt” is a scruffy, fitfully-amusing Aussie indie that’s basically a soundtrack in search of a better rom-com.

It’s a post-breakup farce set to the music of The Skategoats, Midimachine, The Struts, Better Luck Next Time and Third Eye Blind. Yeah, Tom Danger’s picture is nostalgic for the ’90s, when Alt Rock was a thing and naming your band Harvey Danger (No relation, I trust?) was considered cool.

Two years ago, Jacob (Rav Raynayake) broke up with teacher Olivia (Alannah Robertson), and she’s still in his nightmares. He dreams he’s the biggest kid in her class, propeller beanie cap, confessing his love and regret, mocked for it by the other kids.

“Yer gonna die ALONE!” the little Bruces and Sheilas shout. And maybe they’re right. His grandpa did.

Jacob is sent on a road trip to Broken Bay to see to some of his late grandpa’s affairs — settle up bar tabs, etc. Mate Mike (Mehdy Salameh) comes along, as does buddy Drew (co-writer Logan Webster).

And much to Drew’s horror, Jacob’s blonder-than-blonde and “thirsty” teen sister Abby (Sam Germain) is along as well. She’s not the least bit subtle in her Drew lust.

Meanwhile, out in Broken Bay, Skye (Tyra Cartledge) is bingeing on “wine cream” — red wine soaked tubs of Neapolitan ice cream — and worryting and irking her “68% gay” (based on her sexual encounters history) roomie Carly (Rhiann Marquez).

“Best way to get over someone is to do ‘anal’ with a stranger,” she offers, helpfully.

What “Sweethurt” boils down to is pointing these randos — dorky looking guys who are usually the writer/director’s alter ego and a collection of impossibly beautiful young women — into each other in a new variation of the endless male cinematic wish fulfillment fantasy, this time with “shrimp on the barbie” accents.

That’s not literally true here, as Tom Danger has a cameo (a bartender) and he’s blonder and fitter than virtually anybody he cast. But the formula’s the same as it ever was.

Funny stuff flits around the edges of these more genial-than-comical leads. The frantic Max (Dylan Lee) shows up at the dead grandpa’s door with a goat in his arms, a panicked look on his face and a tale of a date that ended badly and a cult’s goat sacrifice interrupted.

Olivia happens to be in Broken Bay, too, setting up Jacob’s confession that he’s got “absolutely no soul crushing regrets.” That’ll win her back.

And there’s an impromptu rave, with lots of tunes from the aforementioned bands energizing it. Kind of.

Death and mortality hang over this, but not in any elegantly-managed way.

All of which adds up to an odd funny scene, the rarer funny line, and a lot more reasons to self-Spotify the soundtrack than sit and wait for “Sweethurt” to get better.

Rating: unrated, profanity, sexual situations

Cast: Rav Ratnayake, Tyra Cartledge, Rhiaan Marquez, Mehdy Salameh, Sam Germain, Alannah Robertson, Dylan Lee and Logan Webster

Credits: Directed by Tom Danger, scripted by Tom Danger and Logan Webster. A Gravitas Ventures release.

Running time: 1:32

“Mafia Mama,” long review short?

“Vino, Vespas, violence and vulgarisms.”

Sadly, if we’re staying alliterative and offering value judgements on this Toni Collette “validation” star vehicle, we can’t leave out “vapid.”

But who doesn’t adore Toni C? Even if the film is a throwback to her mousy “Muriel’s Wedding” persona, she’s sure to give us something to chew on.

She plays a pushover marketing exec, always getting bowled-over by her boss and male co-workers, cheated-on by her “grown ass man working in a Starbucks” husband (Tim Daish).

But Kristin’s long-abandoned maiden name was “Balbano,” and her maternal grandfather back in the Olde Country has passed. She must return to “settle his affairs,” as she’s his last direct heir.

With her job a misery and a husband a soon-to-be-ex and their kid in college, why not? A quick funeral, a little sight-seeing, maybe a little “‘Under the Tuscan Sun,’ ‘Eat, Pray Love'” vacation tacked-on.

“Eat, Pray F—,'” her bestie and Krav Maga class pal Jenny (Sophia Nomvete) corrects. Kristin is thirsty and everybody knows it.

That’s often a sign of a strained comedy — by the way — putting too much effort on making a sea of F-bombs funny, each and every one of them.

In Italy, Kristin bumps into one smoldering Italian stranger (Giulio Corso) fresh off the plane, but finds herself in the care of a couple of others. “Soldatos,” it turns out. Nope, she doesn’t speak the lingo.

Her long-estranged grandpa? He wasn’t “a vintner,” as she was told. Don Guissepe didn’t die of natural causes, either. For that matter, her dad didn’t die “in a construction accident.” And this “secretary” who summoned her isn’t just a secretary. Bianca, played by the great Monica Bellucci, is a consigliere, a trusted advisor. Don Guissepe was a mafia kingpin.

“He preferred to call it ‘The Invisible Family.'”

So what we’ve got here is a fish-out-of-water comedy about a milquetoast Americana caught in the middle of a mob war in a country where she doesn’t speak the language, an affection-and-finer-things-starved sensualist who only wants la dolce vita when the locals only want to kill her.

“Mafia Mamma” was directed by Ms. “Twilight,” Catherine Hardwicke, who has no flair for comedy. Collette’s years removed from her bubbly “naive” comedy phase, with her many serious roles having “Oscar or Emmy contender” attached to them as she reaches her 50s.

What they cook up up here is a limp noodle of a farce with a string of tepid running gags — comical killings and attempted assassinations and amusing body dismemberments to “clean up” the crimes, mobsters spitting every time the rival famiglia’s name is uttered and Kristin swooning over dreamy men, yummy wines and “Gnocchi,” most of which remain just out of reach as the business of Famiglia Balbano keeps getting in the way.

The one-liners are of the “Just because you are a mafia boss doesn’t mean you have to be a bad person” quality.

The “solution” to the mob war “business” is obvious, the “heroine’s journey” from pushover to assertiveness just as predictable. A few flashes of humor — in court (Jenny is a lawyer), in the romantic clutches and in (violent) action — and Collette’s career-long likability are all “Mafia Mamma” has going for it. It’s not enough.

Rating: R for bloody violence, sexual content and language

Cast: Toni Collette, Monica Bellucci, Sophia Nomvete, Tim Daish, Eduardo Scarpetta, Giulio Corso, Alfonso Perugini and Francesco Mastroianni

Credits: Scripted and directed by Catherine Hardwicke, scripted by Michael J. Feldman and Debby Jhoon. A Bleecker Street release.

Running time: 1:41

There’s this event our Oscar winning King of the “Just Keep Living (JK Livin’) ethos is promoting.

This trailer or commercial for it gets at the essence of Matthew McConaughey — laid back, cocksure, shirtless if he needs to be, a tad messianic about his way of looking at the world.

He’s like a better looking, kinder, gentler Russell Brand, if no dumber or smarter (which would be news to that delusional Britcon).

You can see the Airstream that MM toured America promoting one of the last bombs he made before transforming into an Oscar winner with a charmingly flaky persona.

One of the times I caught up with him was sitting on lawn chairs in front of that American classic recreational trailer wrapped in a “Sahara” poster — shirtless — of course. This is closer to the”real” MM than your typical chat show appearance.

He’s of the opinion that we’d all be better off if we were a lot more chill. “Be like Matthew,” in other words.

There’s been talk of him running for governor of Texas, an effort to unemploy the hate-filled incompetent tumor who has run the Lone Star state into the ditch.

Let’s see if he does it. April 24 at 10 am Eastern, we may get an idea.