Classic Film Review: James Mason makes his mark in Britain’s “Casablanca” — “Candlelight in Algeria” (1943)

Hollywood won the race to get a drama about the Allied invasion of North Africa into theaters largely due to luck. Warner Brothers bought the rights to an unproduced play written in 1940 that just happened to be set in a bar in a city that would make headlines when American, British and Free French troops stormed ashore in Algeria, Oran and Morocco in early Nov. of 1942.

“Casablanca,” as it was titled, had its premiere moved up to November 26, 1942 to take advantage of the triumphant war news headlines, and came to be regarded as one of the greatest films ever made, certainly the high water of Hollywood’s studio system.

But the Brits, who’d been fighting in North Africa since the summer of 1940, were not to be left out.

“Candlelight in Algieria” may not have had the punchy title “Casablanca.” But it’s got a rogueish romantic hero, played by James Mason, on his way to becoming Britain’s biggest box office star. He’s paired-up with plucky Canadian actress Clara Lehmann , playing a not-so-neutral “American” caught up in intrigues. It’s got espionage, shooting, a car chase, Vichy “patriots” under the thumb of urbane, ruthless Nazis, a fancy night club where love songs are sung in French and you’d never know there was a war on, thanks to the way the French, German and other Europeon swells there dress.

And it’s got a place for a spy on the lam to lay low, “the Casbah, home to vice, lair to criminals and the hideout of every thief and murderer in Algiers!”

“Candlelight” is a rakish, flippant thriller about a spy enlisting an American sculptress into stealing a camera with a photo of a map that gives away the location to a meeting between French, American and British military men.

It was inspired by a real event in WWII lore, the “lonely house” meeting of Allied and Vichy officers that fixed the landing points in Morocco for the invasion of North Africa.

Lehmann plays a “not interested in politics” Kansas artist who wakes up in an Algerian hospital just as the victory parades are wrapping up (documentary footage) in 1943. She tells a nurse nun her story about her role in the victory just achieved.

A supposed escape POW pilot (Mason) tries to burgle the Biskra house where Susan Ann Foster is staying. She gets the drop on him, so he tells her this fantastic story.

Mistrust or not, soon Alan Thurston has entangled Susan in his scheme to nab this camera from the actress (Enid Stamp-Taylor) where the ladies’ man “operative” stashed it. As that actress has the romantic attentions of a German officer (Raymond Lovell) and the camera is being pursued by the sinister German intelligence agent and Armistice Commission enforcer Dr. Muller (Walter Rilla), this is going to be tricky.

But a few feminine wiles and clumsy plot contrivances later and Susan has the camera and is on the hunt for Thurston, questioning women like the fetching waitress Yvette (Pamela Stirling) because, as she soon figures out, our proto-James Bond is a ladies’ ‘man.

Through it all, the takes are high even if the romantic banter between “Kansas” and “Mister Stiff Upper Lip” or “Old School Tie” never lets us fear for their safety.

Lehmann isn’t the most convincing “American,” thanks to a script that has the Kansas gal refer to “Britishers” and use entirely too many Britishisms to “pass.” But Lehmann embodies the cliched “American pluck” the Brits were so sold on, a smart alec who never tires to telling this fake “escaped” POW to lose his facial hair.

“The only job a man can do that a woman can’t is grow a mustache, like that one!”

Mason makes a dashing rogue of a leading man, a status he’d only recently attained. Lehmann has more scenes and more agency in the plot, making our brave hero something of a delegator when it comes to dangerous spywork.

But the dialogue, juiced up by actor and sometime writer John Clements crackles.

“Do you know, I think I believe you?”

“That’s decent of you.”

Shot on soundstages (save for the car chase) in wartime Britain, “Candlelight” is more impressive as “Casablanca” in its gritty look, and dusty lived-in desert town feel, making art director Norman G. Arnold one of the true stars of this black and white classic.

No, it’s not “Casablanca.” The romance is perfunctory, as is the way the script disposes of Thurston’s other paramours. The nightclub is limited to one scene and the songs heard never became iconic. There’s more suspense, a little more action. But the cast is a little thin on big name character actor support — Lovell’s amusingly inept German, Leslie Bradley’s swooning-over-Susan French officer barely suffice.

That doesn’t mean this barely historical lark isn’t fun. Making a light action thriller in the middle of a world war was no mean feat. And in its way, the Brit film endures, unburdened by the label “masterpiece” and playing more lightly than some other classic of the era we can think of “as time goes by.”

Rating: “approved,” violence

Cast: Carla Lehman, James Mason, Walter Rilla, Pamela Stirling, Enid Stamp-Taylor, Leslie Bradley and Raymond Lovell.

Credits: Directed by George King, scripted by Brock Clements, Katherine Strueby and John Clements. A British Lion/20th Century Fox release on Tubi, other streamers

Running time: 1:26

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Movie Review: Bad Manners at a Dinner Party — “The Trouble with Jessica” is that She’s Dead

An ever-so-British dinner party goes ever-so-wrong in ever so many British ways in “The Trouble with Jessica,” a dark but twee comedy of manners.

The “dark” comes from the suicide of a narcissistic, newly-published author who crashes a gathering of old friends to flirt with the married men, insult the women and kill herself as her final act as a troubled and trouble-making attention whore.

And the “twee” spins out of the event itself, friends-since-college who gather for dinner and the host’s famed “clafoutis,” and reactions of the guests — to Jessica’s presence, to Jessica’s ill-mannered man-hunting and to Jessica’s body when she hangs herself in the garden. Those reactions range from shock and grief to self-serving to self-pitying as it seems Jessica has thrown a spanner in the works of a pending and much-needed sale of the posh semi-detached town home where all this takes place.

It’s all feather light and fussy and dash-it-all droll.

Alan Tudyck (“Tucker and Dale vs. Evil,” “Death at a Funeral”) is architect Tom, who preps the meal with wife Sarah (Shirley Henderson of “Greed” and “Miss Pettigrew Lives for a Day”) as audience and sounding board.

They’re having over their oldest friends for one last dinner, finished off with clafoutis, before they sell this lovely, roomy, tony neighborhood/high-priced home.

They met domestic violence counselor Beth — Olivia Williams, “The Father” and Camilla in “The Crown” — and barrister Richard (Rufus Sewell, now in Netflix’s “The Diplomat”) in university.

That’s also where they all met Jessica (Indira Varma of “Rome,””Game of Thrones”), the uninvited guest who tags along with Beth and Richard, much to Sarah’s chagrin. The vaping ex-newspaper columnist Jessica may be enjoying great success, thanks to a sexy memoir just published. But to Sarah, she’s a “narcissicist” who’s “led this life of zero responsibility.” And she always comes-on to Sarah’s husband Tom.

The night will start out testy and go downhill from there, with unfiltered Jessica getting under everyone’s skin, especially Sarah’s, as she holds true to form — flirting with Tom, insulting everybody else by labeling them.

“Charming amoralist” Richard,” “po-faced do-gooder” Beth, “pathological dreamer” Tom and “grown up” Sarah will tolerate only so much from the self-described “f–k-up” Jessica before tempers flare.

And when they do, Jessica skips out to kill herself.

The reactions to this “dilemma” are panicked and exasperated. Only Beth really seems to grieve as the remaining members of the quartet debate the merits of “We’d better call someone” and only Sarah is angry enough at Jessica to consider what this will do to their urgent impending high-value home sale.

The rich “new buyers” (Amber Rose Revah and Sylvester Groth) show up and must be kept in the dark, as will the cops and the fangirl neighbor. The comedy comes from those interlopers and the increasingly edge-of-manic responses by our reserved and out of their depth foursome as they face this “tragedy of the North London elite.”

It’s all utterly predictable, of course — the “What will we do with the body?” debates, obligations and blackmail considerations trotted out, flashbacks to who Jessica was.

First time feature director and co-writer (with James Handel) Matt Winn cast this dinner party with care and leans into the movie’s simple, claustrophobic theatrical structure and assorted twee running gags to make this work.

The repeated phrase “Who DOES that?” applies to killing oneself at a friend’s dinner party, demanding to see a house you’re buying in the middle of the night, etc. The film is divided into cutesie “chapters” including “The Trouble with Neighbors,” “The Trouble with Friends” and “The Trouble with Rich People.”

And nobody involved is neutral on the subject of that overdue dessert, the claofoutis.

As cute and predictable as this all is, the cast hurls itself at this slight farce and makes it play. Tudyck and Henderson, better known as in-demand voice actors these days, are crisply credible as a long-married couple. And Williams and Sewell bring real fire to their fighting each other and Sarah over “the right thing to do” vs. the expedient thing.

Faced with “losing everything,” flipping out and flying into a fury is but one option. The harder one is asking “What kind of people ARE we?” and “Who DOES that?”

Rating: unrated, suicide, profanity

Cast: Shirley Henderson, Rufus Sewell, Olivia Williams, Indira Varma and Alan Tudyck

Credits: Directed by Matt Winn, scripted by James Handel and Matt Winn. A Music Box release.

Running time: 1:29

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Netflixable? Distracted Dad finally connects with his son on “The Dad Quest” to find the kid’s REAL Father

“The Dad Quest,” titled “Los Mejor del Mundo” (“The Best in the World”) in Spanish, is a Mexican remake of an Argentinian made-for-Netflix melodrama. That was titled “Hoy se arregla el mundo” (“Today We Fix the World”) and was sentimental and sweet and perfectly watchable, if a tad on the long side.

The two films’ shared story is about a distracted, loner reality TV producer who learns that the kid he’s been supporting for ten years, a Dad who’s “barely” there for the boy, isn’t his son. The dad finds out he’s not the father from the mother just before she dies in an accident.

So there’s nothing for it but for not-his-real-father to help the lad track down the real father via Mom’s phone contacts and text messages, the more suggestive the better.

The big difference between the films is the Mexican remake is played as more of a straight-up comedy, with a scatttering of big names in the cast. Director Salvador Espinosa may not have the most inviting resume (“You’ve Got This” was his). But he at least knows that comedy is supposed to be quick.

Argentine hunk Michel Brown, just seen in “With You in the Future,” is Gallo, producer of reality TV’s “Los Mejor del Mundo,” a shameless reality TV/studio audience chat show that features scandalous behavior, hypnotists and the like.

He’s on decent terms with his ex, Alicia (Fernanda Castillo) even though he’s married to his career, distracted by a big pitch he’s making to TV moguls in Miami. He can’t be bothered to help their son Benito (Martino Leonardi) with homework or personal life issues, or to indulge the kid’s desire for pizza when Gallo prefers sushi and nothing but.

The shocking news that he isn’t Beni’s father comes just as Alicia is fleeing a restaurant where they were meeting. She is promptly hit and killed by a car.

Gallo waits until after the funeral, at least, to break the news to the kid. He warns the boy that “This will hurt,” which it plainly does as he blurts it out.

The boy’s “That didn’t hurt. You’ve never been a father to me (in Spanish, or dubbed into English)” hurts more.

That guilts Gallo into agreeing to help when the child asks for help finding “my real Dad.”

Some of the candidates are funnier — Arath de la Torre plays an artist who used Alicia as a model — than others.

Alicia’s no-nonsense friend Diana (Mayra Hermosillo), who tutors Beni, joins the quest and gives it a nice comic kick. Brown makes a nice reactor to the assorted dad-candidates they meet.

If you’ve seen “Today We Fix the World” you know what works here, the sentimental stuff about a man learning the void he’s got in his life might be filled by taking more interest in the boy he’s raised as his son.

I think the remake hits the comic highlights harder. But if you’ve seen “Fix the World,” there’s no reason to bother with “Dad Quest.” If you haven’t seen the original film, “Quest” is at least a decently acted, occasionally amusing and somewhat quick “summary” of the superior film it’s based on.

Rating: TV-14, suggestive subject matter, mild profanity

Cast: Michel Brown, Martino Leonardi, Mayra Hermosillo, Fernanda Castillo,
Arath de la Torre and Erik Rubín as himself.

Credits: Directed by Salvador Espinosa, scripted by Tato Alexander, based on the script to “Today We Fix the World” by Mariano Vera. A Netflix release.

Running time: 1:24

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Charles Bronson has every year’s Best Earth Day Message

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Movie Review: A Robot Might Provide or Deny “The Last Spark of Hope”

Almost all science fiction is in the business of world-building, creating a landscape, setting, period in time or even “universe” where the story takes place. Dystopias engage in world-destroying.

The Polish thriller “The Last Spark of Hope” manages to serve up an arresting, bleak and bitter setting for The End, and do it on a tiny budget — production design exquisitely manages to do more with less.

Throw in a very clever conceit — the limitations of Asimov’s “Laws of Robotics” and the trap of password-protected AI that can’t “prove that you’re not a robot” — and you’ve got the makings for a tight and downbeat “Twilight Zone” episode, or a drawn-out and just as downbeat feature film.

It’s a minimalist post-apocalyptic tale of life after Life on Earth has been canceled. The planet has been so polluted, disease-ridden, pillaged and climate-changed that the fat cats fled it in rockets and the list of those left behind survivors may be down to just this lone 20something in the middle of Poland.

“We were like the Titanic,” Eva narrates (dubbed into English). “Only we knew we were headed towards an iceberg…but nobody wanted to slow down.”

Her army commander father left Eva (Magdalena Wieczorek) on a mountain top, above the “contaminated zone” symbolized by the nuclear power plant in the valley below. It’s still functioning, even though there might be nobody around to use the electricity or pay the bill.

Eva reaches out via radio to “anyone” who might be out there, broadcasting the same thing she spray paints on buildings in the abandoned plant and town nearby — her GPS coordinates — “50 degrees, 8 minutes north, 18 degrees, 51 minutes east.” So far, nobody has made contact.

During The Climate War, Eva’s dad left her with an armed guardian robot named Arthur, who was designed and used as a deadly border defender against climate refugees. Arthur has his limits but can be engaged in wordplay puzzles. Eva jokes with it, even offers to “marry” Arthur, but to no avail.

“Don’t sweat it, Arthur.”

“Robots do not sweat.”

Eva’s solitary existence has her sleeping and working on a “base” consisting of shipping containers, with occasional gas-masked foraging in the nearby town, versions of which we’ve seen in decades of post-apocalyptic thrillers, from “The Omega Man” to “Zombieland” and beyond.

The twist here is the day Eva forgets there’s been a password change at base. Arthur politely demands a password when she returns. She doesn’t have it. He was placed here to protect Eva, but if she can’t give the password, she can’t return to base where safety, food, water and oxygen generators that allow her to tank up when she enters The Contamination Zone for more food are kept.

She can’t survive without that password, or without finding some way around the robot who demands it.

Writer-director Piotr Biedron’s feature filmmaking debut has Eva try compassion, logic and subterfuge to get past this password restriction. His script and his direction of it lacks urgency some of the time, and he could have used “The Martian” as his template for maintaining that and getting creative in Eva’s “work the problem” dilemma.

But the austere production design is so arid it’ll leave your mouth dry. My benchmark for dystopias that show us the ugliest future possible on a budget is 1990’s “Hardware,” and “The Last Spark of Hope” matches that in look and tone.

Wierczorek’s forlorn performance is augmented by an mournful electronic Lukasz Pieprzyk musical score that fits the mood perfectly. And Biedron announces himself as a movie-maker to watch with a solid sci-fi parable that measures up to “good” even if it doesn’t come close to “great.”

Rating: R, violence, profanity

Cast: Magdalena Wieczorek

Credits: Scripted and directed by Piotr Biedron. A Saban Films release.

Running time: 1:29

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Movie Review: Viola Davis is a (literally) Embattled President trying to Survive “G20”

When it comes to action pictures, there’s “So bad that it’s good” and whatever the hell “G20” amounts to. So bad that it’s not godawful?

The idea of Oscar winner Viola Davis, aka “The Woman King,” as a two-fisted, combat vet “badass” president who can handle firearms and choke out a bad guy or snap the sumbitch’s neck isn’t far-fetched.

Sure, we’ve seen all those “Olympus has Fallen” movies and bought into Harrison Ford barking “Get OFF my plane!” in “Air Force One.”

But “G20” lurches between absurd and silly as a terrible, four-writer script ticks off pandering checkboxes even as it hits on a few scary truisms about life and politics in 2025.

Corrupted and treasonouns Secret Service agents in on a conspiracy? OK. Crypto-creeps ponzi scheming the global economy? Never saw that coming. Sexist Brits and brave, reliable South Koreans heads of state? There’s no stretch there.

Director Patricia Riggen earned her big break with “Under the Same Moon,” graduated to bigger budgeet fare with “The 33” and cut her teeth on action with “Tom Clancy’s Jack Ryan.” Here, she directs traffic, ensures the brawls have their payoffs and tries to maintain her dignity between one contrived twist, character revelation and bloody one-on-one throwdown after another.

Davis plays new President Danielle Sutton, someone who rode a famously photographed bit of Fallujah heroism into politics and the White House, about to face her first big G20 summit.

It’ll be held in a resort in South Africa, where she’ll make her pitch for a save-sub-Saharan Africa from starvation via financing from the world’s richest economies.

But she’s got this rebellious teen daughter (Marsai Martin) who keeps outsmarting her Secret Service detail, and whatever cajoling she’ll have to do with allies (Douglas Hodge plays the PM of the UK) and international rivals, keeping that 17 year-old under control will be a distraction for her, her First Man (Anthony Anderson) and the hostile press.

There’s something afoot in the security for this high-profile summit. Private contractors have been hired, and a murderous prologue showed us the head of the Pax Security operation (New Zealander Anthony Starr of “The Boys” and “Guy Ritchie’s The Covenent”) killing somebody over a huge crypto-currency transaction.

Are you ready for a planet-shaking international incident, an “inside job” involving the highest profile hostages, crypto and a murderous, technologically omnipotent mob of mercenaries?

Wife, mother and “badass” President Sutton will have to run, hide, shoot and fight her way through this gang of roided up crypto bro commandos to save herself, her fellow leaders, the world’s economy and save face with that impossible but cunning teenage daughter Serena, who gripes that “All you ever try to do is make yourself look good!”

The bad guys play AI “deep fake” games in twisting the words of the world leaders while Sutton and her trusty Secret Service bodyguard and trainer (Ramón Rodríguez) kicj, punch, stab, shoot and choke their way through a multinational mob of mercenaries.

“You get around, DON’T you girl?” the smirking Aussie Rutledge (Starr) cracks on the walkie talkies after Sutton has plunged into a body count that greatly changes the odds.

“I’ll get around to you, too,” says the tough broad POTUS.

Whatever nonsense the narrative serves up involving laundry shoots, an impossibly tech savvy teen and the like, the movie isn’t served by the lack of dramatic weight on the bad guy side. Hitchcock preached “Good villains make good thrillers,” but Starr is no Gary Oldman (“Air Force One”), or even a Rick Yune (“Olympus has Fallen”). He’s more of a Jason Clarke (“White House Down”) or Tim Black Nelson (“Angel has Fallen”).

That points to where the cash WASN’T spent on this actioner. Rodriguez (TV’s “Will Trent”) and Anderson and Clark Gregg (as the barely present vice president) are the other “names” in the cast. Perhaps Amazon/MGM never intended “G20” as a theatrical release, because that crew, surrounded by never lesser-knowns, screams “TV movie.”

But Davis delivers, the fights are visceral and even if the bigger “stunts” are laugh-out-loud riduculous, even if the four screenwriters deserved a WGA paddling over much of their scripted “problem solving” (A laundry shoot? Go figure.), “G20” isn’t bad to the point of awful even if it isn’t so bad it’s “good.”

Rating: R, bloody violence

Cast: Viola Davis, Anthony Starr, Marsai Martin, Ramón Rodríguez,
Sabrina Impacciatore, Douglas Hodge, Elizabeth Marvel, MeeWha Alana Lee, Clark Gregg and Anthony Anderson.

Credits: Directed by Patricia Riggen, scripted by Caitlin Parrish, Erica Weiss, Logan Miller and Noah Miller. An MGM release on Amazon Prime.

Running time: 1:51

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Classic Film Review: Cabot, Sanders and Tierney fight Nazis by Proxy in Africa — “Sundown” (1941)

“Sundown” is a lightly regarded “all-star” action picture that gets lost in the history of that cinematically storied year, 1941.

When “Citizen Kane,” “The Maltese Falcon,” “How Green Was My Valley,” “Sullivan’s Travels,””High Sierra,” “The 49th Parallel,” “Sergeant York,” “Meet John Doe” and “The Lady Eve” come out the same year, it’d be pretty hard to make anybody’s Top Ten list.

But “Sundown” is an American WWII movie from just before Pearl Harbor, one where “Germans” and “Nazis” are never mentioned, butin which the World War has reached into East Africa and British colonialists must contend with Italians and Nazis arming restless native proxies to tie down British forces.

It collected three Oscar nominations for its score, art direction and cinematography. The settings are just underfilmed enough — New Mexico — to be striking and “alien” looking, passably doubling for East African deserts.

The film was directed by Henry Hathaway, who’d one day earn John Wayne his Oscar (“True Grit”). It doesn’t “erase” Africans from an African story, goes easy on the racist patronizing that was common in American films of the day, and gave work to African American actors like Dorothy Dandridge, Emmett Smith and Jeni Le Gon even if the Islamic African villain role was reserved for veteran heavy Marc Lawrence, appearing in not-quite-blackface.

And “Sundown” is built around a top-flight cast — Gene Tierney, Bruce Cabot and George Sanders, with screen legends Harry Carey and Cedric Hardwicke in key supporting roles and nice showcases for veteran character players Reginald Gardiner and Joseph Calleia.

An independent woman (Tierney) flies into a remote corner of Kenya and “Somaliland” and is welcomed like the local shaker and mover she is. But her place in the story isn’t clear for the first act, which settles in on a remote outpost where the Canadian Crawford (Cabot) is district commissioner, a beneficent and curious do-gooder whose military counterpart (Gardiner) is intent on curbing his plans to explore and make contact with a troublesome tribe, the Senshi.

That earns a brusque visit by army Major Coombes (Sanders) whose orders are to “replace you, old boy” and to find out who is arming the Senshi via capturing one of those rifles they’re now using to shoot their neighbors and the Brits with.

An Arab trader (Lawrence) is getting those guns in, and is behind plots to ambush the local British garrison and take over this corner of Somaliland/Kenya. He and whoever is supplying him must be outed and foiled.

That’s how the region’s queen of trade, Zia (Tierney, immortalized as “Laura”) figures in. Half-French, Western educated, she inherited her father’s trading post empire and now is walking a tightrope between rival factions — Allied and Fascist — hoping to throw in with “the winners.”

The natives are, um, restless, with the ghostly rumor that one of the “six white men” in this African troop’s outpost will “meet his death” on this night. Will it be Crawford, Lt. “Roddy” (Gardiner), Coombes, the jovial Italian history teacher turned army officer and now “prisoner of war” (Joseph Calleia, terrific) or the Dutch mineralogist (Carl Esmond) whose country fell to the Germans the year before? Or might it be the “White (elephant) Hunter” Dewey, played by veteran Western star Harry Carey?

The action is well-handled even if the script struggles to reach for deeper meaning in the existential struggle between fascists, colonialists, the colonized and “Christianity” in all of this.

Tierney is showcased in all manner of belly dancer wear as Zia, who is respected by the Natives, ogled by the Brits and doted over by the Italian who knew her as a child.

“King Kong” veteran Cabot is properly stoic and idealistic, Sanders was well on his way to becoming the droll, bitchy wit famed for acrid put-downs in every movie that followed his turns as “The Saint,” “The Falcon” — “Laura,” “All About Eve” and “A Shot in the Dark” included. The laconic Carey adds credibility to his long in-country “hunter” who has seen it all and anticipated the changes in the wind.

But what remains striking about this aging actioner are the beautiful screen compositions of cinematographer Charles Lang. Principals and supporting players walk from inky darkness into pools of light at Crawford’s high-pitched thatch “hut,” in caverns or skulking about canyons others gather around a campfire.

It’s a lovely looking black and white film, and it demonstrates why Lang thrived during Hollywood’s Golden Age, and went on to light and shoot such classics as “Sabrina,” “Charade” and “Some Like it Hot.”

The deserts, augmented with process shots and fortress sets, show the work of three-time Oscar winning art director/production designer Alexander Goltzen (“Touch of Evil,” “Spartacus,” “The Beguiled,” “Play Misty for Me”).

“Sundown” may not make enough of the idea that fascism must be fought, even in sleepy backwaters like this corner of Africa. An epilogue/sermon by someone (Cedric Hardwicke) recognizing the sacrifices necessary to make every corner of the world safe for decent people doesn’t deliver the punchy pathos of similar moments in “Casablanca,” for instance.

But there’s something to be said for a movie that gives voice to the irony of a war being fought “everywhere,” where even the combatants can’t figure out the import of struggling over a place so out of the way that each day’s gin’n tonic time can’t come soon enough.

“Best part of the day, sundown. Nothing more to do in a place where there’s nothing to do anyway.”

Wait until Gene Tierney shows up.

Rating: TV-PG, violence

Cast: Bruce Cabot, Gene Tierney, George Sanders, Harry Carey,
Joseph Calleia, Reginald Gardiner, Marc Lawrence, Dorothy Dandridge, Jeni Le Gon, Carl Esmond, Emmett Smith and Cedric Hardwicke.

Credits: Directed by Henry Hathaway scripted by Barré Lyndon and Charles G. Booth, based on Lyndon’s novel. A United Artists release streaming on Tubi, et al

Running time:

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Netflixable? Dutch cops try to free “iHostage” from an Apple Store

At some point in the police procedural “iHostage” the viewer is obliged to fight off the urge to look up the Dutch translation for “Yeah, and?” Let me save you the trouble. It’s “Ja, en?”

The film is a solid, fact-based thriller about a real-life hostage situation from a couple of years back.

It’s polished and professionally handled as it somewhat expertly takes us from inside an Amsterdam Apple store where a lone customer (Marcel Hensma) is being held by a somewhat inept creep in camo, to the police on the scene, then the command center where decisions are made and the “hostage negotiators” are on the (iPhone) with the perpetrator, and inside an Apple Store storage closet where an alert “Genius” store employee has hidden three customers with himself.

The stakes are high enough — with more customers hiding on an upper floor, the disgruntled hostage taker (Soufaine Moussouli) firing his semi-automatic weapon and claiming this bomb strapped to his chest will take out this building and make a mess of the entire city square where it’s located.

But director and co-writer Bobby Boermans’ film is impersonal and dry in the extreme. We get a barely a glimpse of anybody’s personal/interior life and the cops are by-the-book, ably juggling every contingency, with the chief (Louis Talpe) only losing his cool when an “influencer” posts info online that could get a lot of people killed.

The villain’s mysterious, a touch mad but dull. We meet a cocky hostage negotiator (Loes Haverkort) who brags that her perp “will crumble if we wear him down” (in Dutch with subtitles, or dubbed into English) and a crackerjack SWAT commando nicknamed “Double Zero” and we see another member of the DSI unit ripped away from his family for work.

And we spend a little time in that closet with fearful, even complaining customers and their “Genius” savior (Emmanuel Ohene Boafo), who can’t believe what ingrates some people are, given the circimstances.

There’s just enough suspense to tide the tale over, but opportunities for a deeper dive into characters, the aggravation of dealing with Apple (the company runs all its stores by remote control from New York), the hostage taker’s grievances, etc. are skipped-over or passed-by.

No characters really pop and there’s little room for pathos, humor or anything else.

Sometimes, being right on the money with “reality” isn’t enough to get a compelling movie out of a perilous situation. So what we’re left with is “Ja, en?”

Rating: TV-MA, violence, profanity

Cast: Soufiane Moussouli, Loes Haverkort, Marcel Hensma, Louis Talpe and Emmanuel Ohene Boafo

Credits: Directed by Bobby Boermans, scripted by Bobby Boermans and Simon DeWaal. A Netflix release.

Running time: 1:42

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Movie Review: Ambitious “Sinners” fails to transcend genre

“Black Panther,” “Creed” and “Fruitvale Station” director Ryan Coogler sets his sights on horror with “Sinners,” a sprawling Depression Era tale of race, religion and “The Devil’s Music,” the blues.

Coogler immerses us in the early ’30s South where a couple of Black WWI vets who became Chicago gangsters return to their hometown with swagger and the guns to back it up to open a juke joint. The trip into “erased” history, violence and reminders of the cross cultural “melting pot” — Black entrepreneurs, a Chinese grocery, Jewish ice vendors — that reached even small town Mississippi is fascinating.

But hanging over these twin brothers (Michael B. Jordan) and their dreams for an old saw mill they want to buy from a klansman is the memory of the movie’s opening scene, a bloodied young bluesman (Miles Caton), clutching the remains of his resonator (steel) guitar, facing his preacher-father (Saul Williams) in the pulpit.

“You keep dancin’ with the Devil, one day he’s gonna come home with you.”

From the look of things, that’s exactly what happened. And whatever promise the picture makes as it unfolds, it’s still got to end up there, where a hundred and sixty earlier and far less ambitious films finished.

Preacher Boy Sammy may sing in church on Sundays. But Saturday nights are for the blues. That’s why he’s the first man his cousins, Smoke and Stack (Jordan) look up when they roll back into town. A juke joint’s got to have a headliner. And legendary harmonic player Delta Slim (Delroy Lindo) can’t carry the load alone.

The Chinese grocers (Li Jun Li and Yao) can provide the catfish and side dishes. And the twins have brought their own booze, “Irish beer,” in a truck from Chicago, which they’re prepared to defend with their Colt 45s.

Old acquaintances (Omar Benson Miller) must be renewed and recruited. They have to get the word out to folks working cotton fields all day. The white power structure looms in the background. And one brother has an old lover (Hailee Steinfeld) to contend with, adding to their complications. But grand opening night is sure to be filled with music, drink, socializing and sex .

That instant success at Club Juke can only be interrupted by race. A trio of Scotch-Irish bluegrass “mountain music” players led by Remmick (Jack O’Connell) would love to join in and mingle their shared musical heritage. But “inviting” them or even shooing them away in means trouble.

The performances are top drawer, with Jordan and Lindo and Steinfeld crackling and newcomer Caton singing and playing with an authenticity it’s hard to fake.

Coogler introduces themes, agendas and histories in collision with this film. But once “Sinners” transitions from Black history at a crossroads into straight-up horror, nothing much is made of the Big Ideas in this ungainly mashup of “Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom,” “Crossroads” and “From Dust Til Dawn.”

The narrative narrows and surviving the night’s mayhem is treated in Tarantino/Rodriguez wish-fulfillment-fantasy strokes as machine guns and grenades, racists and “haints” or whatever those Irish-accented Carolina mountaineers crooning “Wild Mountain Thyme” turn out to be takes over.

After the care taken to place this story in time and set it in motion, that played to me as a terrible letdown. You build your picture up to “American Saga” length and this is the payoff?

Since “Black Panther” and “Creed,” there’s barely a trace of “Fruitvale Station” Coogler in his built-to-be-blockbusters recent films. But I still felt let down by the third act of “Sinners,” almost embarrassed for a filmmaker with big “Mudbound” ideas abandoned and flippant, absurdly over-the-top crowd-pleasing slaughter served-up instead.

Rating: R, gruesome, gory violence, sex, profanity

Cast: Michael B. Jordan, Miles Caton, Jayme Lawson, Omar Benson Miller, Hailee Steinfeld, Jack O’Connell, Andrene Ward-Hammond, Li Jun Li, Yao and Delroy Lindo.

Credits: Scripted and directed by Ryan Coogler. A Warner Bros. release.

Running time: 2:17

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Movie Review: Animating a footware farce about talking “Sneaks” turns out as you’d expect

The last thing you want to sense in an animated movie for children is cynicism, filmmakers and financiers who make no effort to hide their desire to turn over an easy buck by selling something to kids.

The “Space Jam” movies reeked of that, product placement (the NBA, Looney Tunes characters) masquerading as “movies.”

There’s plenty of cynicism in the trippy bore “Sneaks,” a film that tries to tap into “sneaker culture” and the hoop dreams attached to footwear, especially among inner city African American youth.

It’s not the Converse, Nike and Adidas jokes and plugs alone that make this Briarcliff Entertainment enterprise dubious. But there’s so little entertainment value that throwing a long list of famous, semi-farmous and used-to-be-famous voices at it looks and sounds like desperation. Which it is.

A couple of animation filmmakers with Disney credentials — writer and co-director Rob Edwards scripted the delightful “Princess and the Frog” — and a production that hired a “Sneaker Culture Consultant” turned out a modestly animated quest about two designer sneakers separated from each other and their rightful owner, a baller with “dreams,” in the big city.

Anthony Mackie voices Ty, half of the pair of Alchemy 24s (with sister Maxine (Chloe Bailey) that teen baller Edson (Swae Lee) hopes will help him make his mark on the basketball court. A hulking villain, The Collector (Laurence Fishburne) with a thing for designer athletic footwear steals the pricey shoe Edson could only acquire by winning a contest.

Maxine is to be put on display in a high-rise flat packed with rare shoes and a sea of Converse boxes. Ty, stumbling around until he hooks up with J.B. (Martin Lawrence), the sort of streetwise shoe that hangs from electrical wires in cities and towns all over America, can guide him through uptown towards his goal.

A Greek chorus of hanging sneakers comments on the quest as Ty and J.B. venture through a shoe underworld of dumpsters and nightclubs, where they mix with stilettos and swells from other strata of society. They even encounter a Brit-accented Broadway type in sneaker form.

“Perhaps you saw me in ‘The Taking of the Shoe.’ ‘Twelfth Nike?’ Much Adidas about Nothing?”

Rats must be fought off, skateboards and buses ridden and clues collected to track down Maxine.

Meanwhile, Maxine and other “collected” shoes await their fate as The Collector fights with The Forger (Roddy Ricch) for legitimacy in a world of stolen, half-shredded, worn-out and even counterfeit footwear.

“Sneaker culture consultant.” Right.

There’s barely a chuckle in any of it. The shoes “look” right, but no effort was made to make the eyes even “Cars” expressive, and that’s a low bar.

I kept thinking of the indie animated stinker “Tugger: The Jeep 4×4 Who Wanted to Fly,” another product placement in search of an animated story that would sell it to kids. I strained to make out the voice actors, who include Macy Gracy and Keith David.

And I kept a close eye on my watch. Because time stops when you’re grinding through a cynical bore like “Sneaks.”

Rating: PG

Cast: The voices of Anthony Mackie, Laurence Fishburne, Macy Gray, Swae Lee, Ella Mai, Amira McCoy, Roddy Ricch, Keith David and Martin Lawrence

Credits: Directed by Rob Edwards and Christopher Jenkins, scripted by Rob Edwards. A Briarcliff Entertainment release.

Running time: 1:32

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