Movie Nation

Amazon Prime Video has this July 15 release.

Cho was easily tabbed as the “most likely to have success playing dads” among the stars of “Harold & Kumar Go to White Castle.” Glad to see he’s living up to that promise.

Considering its subject matter and the insistence that this “inspired by a true story” is actually “fiction” in the closing credits, it’s no wonder the version of “I’m Charlie Walker” that makes it to the screen is nearly a dozen minutes shorter than an earlier cut.

As they’ve had to change the names of characters and a major oil company, it’s likely there were legal issues that led to the later cuts in this story of a contractor who battled racism at every turn in an effort to get a piece of a “money is no object” effort to clean up a massive oil spill in San Francisco Bay in the 1970s.

Late edits might also explain the sassy but somewhat perfunctory and “just-the-facts” nature of the finished film, when the trailers for this period piece suggest something more “stick it to the man” empowering, Blacksploitation in style.

That’s not to say “Walker” isn’t watchable and kind of fun. But the lack of style suggests a better movie might have been trimmed right out of it.

Mike Colter (TV’s “Luke Cage”) plays Walker, a dump truck owner-operator getting nowhere in San Francisco’s racist construction scene in the early ’70s. But the collision of two (Standard Oil) tankers becomes an instant all-hands-on-deck emergency for the area’s truckers. Charlie is reluctantly given one oil soaked beach nobody else can get to.

And once there, this born hustler hustles up unconventional solutions to an environmental disaster, charming the press and the “hippy volunteers” already pitching in as “The Mayor of Hunter’s Point,” “the contractor who’s going to clean up this mess.”

Along the way, he faces racist obstructionism, skepticism and blowback for his unconventional methods and “on the side” bookkeeping.

“We don’t use words like ‘on the side,'” the Tower Oil suit-in-charge (Dylan Baker) complains. But as Walker runs roughshod over Dept. of Labor, environmental and licensing issues, responding to an emergency and solving problems with “petty cash,” the viewer wonders if maybe they should.

A lot of details and points of conflict take place off camera, leading one to wonder what’s been edited out and who threatened to sue if it wasn’t. The film has a kind of jerky, truncated quality, with just a few scenes set on the actual worksite. Closing a beach while tractor scrapers scoop up oil-soaked sand would be hard for a modest budget film to permit, much less stage and film.

The script pays little attention to the environmental disaster unfolding — a news clip here and there — to focus on the “old boys’ network” Walker crashes into, the “open-ended contracts” and “blank invoices” that have local dump truckers cheering because they, like Charlie, see a situation ripe for abuse.

Walker comes off as a “get my foot in the door” and “get the job done” without fretting over legalities and the like kind of guy — sketchy, and made just amusing enough by Colter’s performance.

Safiya Fredericks plays the wife he leaves behind to hurl himself into this day-and-night job, a stand-by-your-man woman who narrates the story and copes with underhanded (and underexplained) efforts to frame and arrest Charlie and take away his contracts.

“I’m Charlie Walker” has just enough “feel good” and “that’ll show them” elements to get by. But I dare say a better film was hacked out of it, at some point. The evidence of that easy enough to see.

Rating: unrated, drug abuse, fisticuffs, nudity, profanity

Cast: Mike Colter, Dylan Baker, Safiya Fredericks, Mark Leslie Ford, Steven Wiig and Travis Johns.

Credits: Scripted and directed by Patrick Gilles. A Shout! Studios release.

Running time: 1:19

In a world where home computers co-exist with The Golden Age of Cassettes, where “hate mail” is still on the printed page and ’70s fashions, architecture and furniture are frozen in time, where kids’ sexual development is monitored by electronic collars and everybody gets a good Ted Bundy put-down, a boy named “Wyrm” comes of age.

Writer-director Christopher Winterbauer’s “Wyrm” wears its weirdness like a museum special exhibit — “Mid-century Mod Meets The Absurd.” His loopy debut feature, developed from his earlier short film of the same title, takes on grief and loss and adolescence, coming at every Big Theme and minor subtext just a little off center.

It’s cinematic proof that sometimes you have to look at things askew, wander through the odd or absurd, just to see the obvious.

Wyrm (Theo Taplitz) is about to start high school, joining his older sister Myrcella (Azure Brandi), who figures this next step on the road to adulthood means he should, you know, stop sharing a bedroom with her.

Things are seriously “off” at their house. Quirky Uncle Chet (Tommy Dewey) is raising them, alongside his new Spanish speaking girlfriend Flor (Natalia Abelleyra). The screwball parents who named their kids Wyrm and Myrcella aren’t around — not dead, just not around. Dad appears to be close by, but is keeping his distance. Mom is on “a trek,” some lengthy hike which she sometimes interrupts to call home.

Not that Myrcella takes those calls. Only Wyrm seems to care. He’s a cassette-recorder-obsessed kid, gathering sound and interviews for a planned tribute to their brother, the normally-named Dylan. Dylan, we gather, is dead.

But Wyrm’s more immediate problem is getting rid of this collar in which the state monitors his sexual development.

I know what you’re thinking, but as nobody drawls and there are no ten gallon hats or palm trees, this isn’t Texas. Or Florida.

A tween or teen’s first kiss is all it takes to “pop your collar” and clear “Level One Sexuality.” Wyrm doesn’t want to be the last kid in his new school with one, even if he’s cleverly hiding it behind a seasonally-inappropriate scarf.

The teens are the usual array of tactless, rude, mean and hormonal “types.”

“You shouldn’t make fun of him. His brother died.”

The administrators and even his pediatrician are worried about Wyrm’s “progress,” and the extreme steps he starts to take to improve on it. He takes note that “cousins don’t count,” any more than mothers or sisters (Myrcellaa hates him, and ridicules his “Oedipus complex” fixation on their absent mother). He takes shot at same-sex smooching, and even decides that physical injuries might win him a pity liplock. He breaks his own arm, something Myrcella has heard of another young man doing to get closer to the opposite sex.

“You and Ted Bundy have the same ideas.”

But even though the winsome, wine stain birthmarked Izzy (Lulu Wilson) seems half-interested, that first-kiss/romance thing is but a subtext. What “Wyrm” is really about is how people process grief. The parents ran away. Wyrm tape records “tributes” to his brother. And Myrcella lashes out by sending anonymous, abusive, secrets-spilling hate mail — by letter — to classmates and acquaintances.

She just wants them to hurt like she does.

All of this unfolds in a downbeat and deadpan film that finds humor in the inappropriate over-sharing of kids that age, in the dial-up “miracle” of the Internet, and of the formalized, codified nature of human development supervised by the state.

Yes, you need to “kiss” to “pop your collar.” The vice principal prefers the word “osculation,” as indeed would the state.

Taplitz, of “Gringo” and “Little Men,” makes an amusingly hapless leading boy-man, Brandi a perfectly cutting older sibling and Wilson (“Modern Love,” “The Glorias”) a disarmingly aloof but kinder than she acts (we think) new acquaintance.

Nobody on screen is a “star,” and the story is so odd and told in such an offbeat way that “Wyrm” — even the title’s kind of a turnoff — might be the quintessential “film festival film,” one more at home in the rarefied world of film fans who gather to see movies just like this.

That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t check it out.

Rating: unrated, sexual subject matter, innuendo

Cast: Theo Taplitz, Azure Brandi, Tommy Dewey, Natalia Abelleyra, Lulu Wilson and Alanna Ubach

Credits: Scripted and directed by Christopher Winterbauer. A Vertical release.

Running time: 1:37

Adam Sandler never makes it look easy. He’s never mastered the art of “selling” his various screen characters’ emotions or verbal explosions as actual changes in mood. The inexpressive — now middle-aged — face never quite matches the bellowing he’s always used for comic effect and now trots out for dramatic shocks.

But put him in the right milieu, “sports,” without trying to make us believe he’s a jock or dad-bodied ex-jock, and pair him up with Queen Latifah, his most-perfectly-matched leading lady, and the Sandman isn’t half bad.

“Hustle” is blandly predictable “feel good” sports drama in the tradition of “The Scout,” “Trouble with the Curve,” “The Air Up There” and yes, “Jerry Maguire.” Sandler plays an NBA scout who goes all in on a long shot, with bad to mixed results until things take that predictable turn towards “a Hollywood ending” that middling screenplays always deliver.

But it’s a pleasant peek inside the search for talent ready for the NBA, even in its more far-fetched moments. And if the one-liners feel more stale than usual here, at least it’s on purpose this time. The jokes go with the (dad) bod.

Stanley Sugerman labors behind the scenes for the Philadelphia 76ers, checking out overseas prospects, less known European and Asian talent, always with an eye for “that missing piece” for the franchise that his longtime mentor (Robert Duvall) owns.

That means he clashes with the old man’s son (Ben Foster), often as not. But Stanley has to keep his cool if he ever wants to finish that long journey from onetime Tempe U. hoopster to having a coaching seat on the bench next to Doc Rivers.

He’s oh-so-close to landing that gig, and thus getting to spend more time at home with wife Teresa (Latifah) and aspiring filmmaker daughter Alex (Jordan Elizabeth Hull) when the old man dies, and son Vincent (Foster, not his best work) hands down the new edict.

“You’re valuable as a coach,” the new owner declares, “you’re indispensable as a scout.”

Another bag packed, another trip to Europe, only to discover that a top Spanish prospect is sitting out the game Stanley came to see. No worries. There’s a pick-up game on a neighborhood court where this construction worker/hustler (Juancho Hernangomez of the Utah Jazz) is clomping around in boots, blocking shots like a Spanish Sultan of Swat.

Has Stanley found “the one?” Is his Spanglish good enough to tell the kid what he does for a living, and what he sees in him…without Bo Cruz getting the wrong idea?

“You’re a fantasy for a guy like me!”

Yes, it’s a Happy Madison Production, with flattery confused for homoerotic come-ons, “titty” jokes about his daughter and the similar vulgarity.

When the home office doesn’t buy Stanley’s “The New Freak” and “unicorn” labels for “The Cruz Missile,” the fading scout with a troubled past takes the big gamble on his own with this gigantic kid with tattoos, a daughter and a past of his own.

So we’ve got a redemption story set in The Association, underscored with old school hip hop and littered with NBA figures, past and present.

Credit screenwriters Will Fetters (“A Star is Born,” “The Lucky One”) and (first screenwriting credit) Taylor Materene for at least trying to take a few detours on the well-worn path this tale travels.

But you know the sports movie drill. It includes drills. A character gets knocked down, and launches into the training montage, with “Rocky” references and “He’s in your head” coaching to get this short-tempered Spaniard ready for “The Combine” where he can showcase his talent.

Sandler’s riffing may be half-hearted, but is much in evidence, because even if he’s lost his fastball, this script’s banter needs a little juicing. The kid needs to steel himself for NBA level trash talk.

“You know what’s crazy? A grown man hurting another grown man’s feelings…” The kid’s nemesis “said some mean words to you and you wanted to take your ball and go home.”

The actual production figured a cavalcade of cameos — Barkley and Shaq and Trae Young and Dirk and Dan — would cover a sea of scripted and acted shortcomings.

They don’t. Sandler’s in a role tailor made for him, and he still lets us see the wheels turning and the effort it takes to make this guy feel real. And for all its half-hearted twists, there’s rarely a minute’s doubt as to where this “Hustle” will end up.

Rating: R, profanity

Cast: Adam Sandler, Juancho Hernangomez, Queen Latifah, Ben Foster, Julius Erving, Doc Rivers, Dirk Nowitzi, Dan Patrick and Robert Duvall

Directed by Jeremiah Zagar, scripted by Taylor Materne and Will Fetters. A Netflix release.

Running time: 1:58

This comic romantic dystopia — in which the title character must wear a state sanctioned monitoring collar that won’t pop off until he has that first kiss, was filmed at least three years ago.

Lots of “It” kids in it, who aren’t necessarily kids anymore. But it looks adorably weird so here we go.

“Wyrm” opens Friday.

Director Christos Nikou did “Dogtooth,” to that’s worth remembering when deciding whether or not to check out this late June release.

Danny Trejo’s in this wackness on the half shell.

Charlie Clark (Who?) plays a character named Charlie Clark.

With veteran military movie set consultant Dale Dye, Sofia Pernas and Michelle Lee.

June 24.

A Thanksgiving theatrical release with a 1950s Sci Fi vibe.

Jake Gyllenhaal and Alan Tudyck are the only credited voices in this on IMDb at the moment.

Maybe it’s just me, but just once I’d like to see a “documentary” about aliens, mythic creatures, ghosts and the paranormal start from a position of “healthy skepticism.”

Yes, this baseball rolled off a staircase, on camera and seemingly on its own. And yes, the self-trained/self-anointed “experts” brought in a contractor to ensure that “The House in Between” is level, and an electrician to see if he could find no reason lights were/are flickering on and off.

But that doesn’t mean you’re licensed to go straight to “ghosts,” something from another dimension, psychic “energy” stored up in the limestone beneath the foundation and what not.

No, co-directors Steve Gonsalves and Kendall Whelpton, you or anyone else saying on camera “As soon as I came in the room, I felt uneasy,” doesn’t constitute “evidence.”

No, homeowner Alice Jackson, hyping the “fact” that “two mediums, who didn’t know each other” felt “a presence” is some irrefutable “fact.”

And former boxing reporter turned paranormal podcaster Brad Cooney, while video of a faintly rotating chandelier, its shiny shiny brass center capturing the reflection of two doors opening and closing, is a fascinating puzzle, that’s not “well documented” proof of the existence of ghosts.

Lacking that skepticism, with filmmakers hellbent on creating something “sensational” (meh) that fellow believers will want to see, “The House in Between” is never more than an endlessly-hyped collection of “Didjoo SEE that? (We see nothing), “Hear THAT?” (maybe a thumb) moments. Is your “investigation” really “balanced” with a couple of academics — one a foreign born physicist from Jackson State — politely indulging Gonsalves’ credulous questions and assertions, and gently suggesting that maybe “ghosts” aren’t the first “solution” to this puzzling house’s mystery.

“I don’t believe ghosts, I believe science,” a real physicist says, making us wonder why including Cooney’s drawled “It defies the laws of physics” assertion was a good idea.

Keeping the “technology” developed to “detect” spirits and the like at arm’s length was smart. A closer look might reveal how dubious that stuff is, no matter what the ad on eBay promised.

Give these folks the benefit of the doubt and assume this isn’t a hoax. But as curious as a couple of CCTV recorded “incidents” might be, there’s nothing here demanding that the viewer do what the filmmakers and their self-trained experts do — leap to the conclusion that they’ve got “proof” of anything paranormal.

But but, “a famous ‘alien abduction‘ happened”…just uh “three hours” from this house…in 1973. That doesn’t make the sale, any more than the fact that this house is on the Buckle of America’s Gullibility Belt — Florence, Mississippi.

Rating: unrated

Cast: Alice Jackson, Steve Gonsalves, Brad Cooney, John Bullard

Credits: Directed by Steve Gonsalves and Kendall Whelpton. A Gravitas Ventures release.

Running time: 1:20

“Paskal” is a Malaysian Seal Team Six thriller, an action picture that rarely missteps when it’s all about the action, but that takes too many detours into dull, cliched melodrama to recommend.

We see the county’s elite force, formed in the ’80s, deployed against Somali pirates and Filipino terrorists, doing undercover work, and in flashbacks, training for all this where we learn that Malaysian drill instructors are just like DI’s the world over — hardasses.

But the film, which opens with the recapture of a tanker in the Gulf of Aden off Somalia, loses its way through the middle acts as the tired tropes of such action pictures are trotted out — the crisis of confidence one commando (Hairul Azreen) suffers after the death of a comrade, his efforts to help out his dead colleague’s widow (Jasmine Suraya Chin), a finale that includes her being held hostage by a Paskal alumnus who’s “gone rogue.”

Director and co-writer Adrien Teh shows us a lot of commandos, but only a hint of the lives of a couple. He’s more interested in the chain of command, the places they’re sent (UN peacekeepers in Somalia, mobster tracking back home) and their various means of deployment — in an anti-piracy warship, on fast boats and inflatables, by helicopter, parachute and even submarine.

All fascinating stuff to take in as we study the tac gear they’re suited-up in, with multi-purpose eyepiece screen communications (night vision, through-wall X-ray scanner), armor and the omnipresent machine gun-with-silencer, sniper rifle, sidearm and — for the Big Fight — commando knives

Our hero, Amran (Azreen) just wants “to know what my Dad died for,” in Malay with English subtitles.

The sniper, targeted by suppressing fire by one group of terrorists, gets the sole tough-guy one-liner in the script.

“How impudent!”

Once “Paskal” finally slips back into combat for its action-packed third act, we’re treated to scores of terrorists, lots of hostages on an oil rig, a bad guy who used to be “one of our own” (Ammar Alfian), and over-the-top elaborate booby-traps and situations rendered in the “hero vs. villain” or “nick of time” traditions of such films, the obviously fictional exaggerations stuffed in this “inspired by a true story.”

Not half bad, but the bad half is all obvious self-inflicted wounds.

nasty knife fight

Rating: TV-14, violence

Cast: Hairul Azreen, Ammar Alfian, Jasmine Suraya Chin, Tiger Hu Chen

Credits: Directed by Adrien Teh, scripted by Adrian Teh, Chee Ang Keoh, Frank See. A Netflix release.

Running time: 2:00