Movie Nation

The “Money Shot,” and that’s really the only way to describe it, in the WWII bomber drama “The War Lover” gives us something no other Steve McQueen movie dared to show.

In the first B-17 mission depicted in the film, McQueen’s Captain Buzz Rickson is calm, collected and all business on an air raid. Then the bombs are released and um, so does “Buzz.” McQueen gives us an orgasmic eye-roll behind that mask. The character literally gets off on the thrill of combat and the killing his bombs do.

This was two years before “Doctor Strangelove” made that martial/sexual kinky connection more overt, but here it is, in one of the lesser known McQueen movies.

That moment isn’t repeated in the film, and McQueen never played a character as twisted, amoral and cruel as this one, a man who manipulates crew, including his more level headed co-pilot, Lt. Ed Bolland, played with romantic dash by Robert Wagner.

The film, based on a John Hersey novel, hangs on this central conflict with McQueen and Wagner as ego and id dueling inside their Flying Fortress, symbolically-named “The Body.”

They’ll quarrel over crew, who should stay and who should be transferred out, and over a woman. Shirley Anne Field plays a version of the local lover who isn’t the chaste dreamer of earlier movies in this setting and of this genre. She invites Ed upstairs, and pretty much on the “first date.” They live together when he isn’t on duty and locked-down on base.

The semi-psychotic Buzz plays god games with his crew, recklessly risking all their necks on a low altitude flyby (a “buzz”) of the base to show his displeasure at a leaflet-dropping mission they’d just completed. A tiny miscalculation and he could kill them all and put his base out of commission, and that barely merits a scolding from the CO.

But Ed’s showing his independence, in the cockpit, with the rest of the crew and in town. If he’s got a lover, Buzz must have her.

I remember seeing this movie on TV as a kid and being jarred by two things. McQueen NEVER played genuine bad guys, on TV or film. “Conflicted” “good bad men” sure. Individualists to a one.

But here, he’s repellent. Any excuse the viewer makes for his behavior seems inadequate. And the script’s suggestion that the Army Air Force wouldn’t have busted him, no matter his skills as a pilot who hits his targets, seems off. Plainly he bullies his crew, which is why he kicks one member out.

Hollywood at the time ordained that even the irredeemable must be ennoble themselves by the finale, but that lands flat, too.

And then there’s the state of British special effects. Many combat films were shot in black and white years after the Technicolor et al Revolution simply to make it easier to use actual stock footage of fighters attacking bombers. It was cheaper.

But as you can see in “The Dam Busters” and other war-in-the-air thrillers, the Brits lagged well behind Hollywood in terms of state of the art effects. Models carelessly doused in lighter fluid represent crashing planes, and the stock footage never seamlessly fits in with nicely-detailed aircraft interior and exterior shots of gunners trying to chase off fighters.

The few actual flying scenes remind us there were plenty of air-worthy B-17s around 17 years after World War II ended.

Howard Koch, who had a hand in “Casablanca,” “Sgt. York,” “The Sea Hawk” and “Letter from an Unknown Woman,” was one of Hollywood’s all time greatest screenwriters. If this script feels like it pulls its moral, sexual and violent punches, that must have been because he was running up against the mores of the day and a director (Philip Leacock, best known for his later TV work) without the status to push back at studio and star efforts to water it down.

But “The War Lover” still has merits — its vivid, foggy nighttime black and white (DP Robert Huke did David Lean’s “Great Expectations,” Bond’s “You Only Live Twice” and superior air combat thriller “The Battle of Britain”) recreations of wartime London and the nerve-wracking nature of every mission to every “just doing my bit before going home” member of the crew who isn’t off in the head, a “War Lover,” in other words.

Rating: Approved, combat violence, sexual situations

Cast: Steve McQueen, Robert Wagner, Shirley Anne Fields, Ed Bishop

Credits: Directed by Philip Leacock, scripted by Howard Koch, based on a novel by John Hersey. A Columbia Pictures release on Amazon, Tubi, Movies! and other streamers and specialty channels

Running time: 1:45

Every now and then as we travel “Around the World With Netflix,” one gets the idea that the streaming service is impacting global cinema in ways that aren’t the healthiest.

Watching formulaic romantic comedies from Peru, Italy, Brazil, Germany and The Netherlands, it seems obvious that either Netflix is dictating that “content” created anywhere fit the expectations of the North American marketplace, or local filmmakers in those countries are seeing what “sells” and pandering to the same lowest-common-denominator that most Hollywood filmmakers find themselves chasing.

“F*ck Love Too (F*ck de liefde 2)“ the sequel to the Dutch rom-com “F*ck Love” of 2019, is so bland and generic that it could be from anywhere.

The title is far and away the raciest thing about it. It’s closer to a PG-13 rom-com than an R-rated sex farce. Take away ritzy Ibiza, one of two settings, and the story could take place anywhere.

And the dull collection of characters struggling with marriage, babies, commitment and “love” are mostly a lost cause for the mostly-Dutch cast trying to make them interesting.

Hollywood’s had a hard time rediscovering the secret to writing and filming sharp romantic comedies. “F*ck Love Too” lets us see they’re exporting that malady, because plainly it’s contagious.

Lisa (Bo Marten) has come to the conclusion that traveling the globe with rich Dr. Jim (Géza Weisz) isn’t all she wanted.

Her narcissistic womanizing ex Jack (Edwin Jonker) has remarried and wants to sell their house. Oh, and he’s made his wife and another woman pregnant at the same time.

Kiki (Nienke Plas), the Samantha of “Sex and the City” maneater in Lisa’s circle of friends, has decided to give up the carnal life and get married, so she and bridesmaids Lisa and Angela (Bettina Holwerda) are off to Ibiza, where Lisa’s childhood pal Noah (Dorian Bindels) just happens to have a couple of seaside houses he rents out, and an ongoing crush on Lisa.

Back in Holland, their mutual friend Bo (Yolanthe Cabau) may have finally had it with her hapless husband Said (Maurits Delchot), even though he’s the father of their two children. Might this music biz A&R woman be distracted by a new rapper (Kraantje Pappie) at her record label?

Nobody in this is relatable or likeable enough to invest in. Jonker and Delchot make the strongest impressions in the cast, merely by playing the most outlandish characters in this. But even Jack and Said come off every bit as Hollywood homogenized as everyone and everything else in “F*ck Love Too.”

Four screenwriters shoehorn comedy into the script through coincidences — Jack’s wife and mistress have the same OB-GYN — gauche cell phone behavior (the OB-GYN has animated phone chats while his patients are in the stirrups, Said photographs Lisa’s dead granny and drops his phone in the casket) — PG-rated hook-ups with an Ibiza gigolo and a growing pile of evidence that Jack is perfectly piggish.

His advice to bestie Said, who wants to win Bo back?

“Send her a d*ck pic. Women love that sh*t.”

In Dutch or dubbed into English, that’s still not much of a laugh. And that goes for the entire film, which appears to have been filmed by separate crews and separate directors in the Netherlands and Spanish Ibiza locations.

Not that the sequences mismatch. They’re each as bland as day-old porridge, with all the sex appeal of an unsolicited “d*ck pic.”

Rating: TV-MA, some nudity, profanity, alcohol abuse

Cast: Bo Marten, Yolanthe Cabau, Bettina Holwerda, Nienke Plas, Géza Weisz, Edwin Jonker, Maurits Delchot and Kraantje Pappie

Credits: Directed by Appie Boudellah and Aram van de Rest, scripted by Appie Boudellah, Shariff Nasr, Sergej Groenhart and Mustapha Boudellah. A Netflix release.

Running time: 1:33

A tipsy drive in the North African desert, an accident and.. recriminations.

McDonagh did “Calvary” and “The Guard” and is nobody’s idea of “the lesser McDonagh brother, even if his sibling did “Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri.”

Evangelos Odysseus Papathanassiou was born in Greece, sought pop stardom in Paris before his mastery of synthesizers got the attention of major film studios.

As Vangelis, he scored “The Bounty,” “Blade Runner,” “1492,” “Alexander” and this film, whose opening is such a perfect synthesis of image, motion, memory and emotion that it became a touchstone and then a cliche and finally a cultural punchline. It’s that ingrained in any filmlovers’ psyche.

Honestly, I remember seeing this film in a preview in Charlotte, NC, and just weeping at how perfect this is.

Well done. Rest in peace.

There are so many film and TV versions of Ip Man, the legendary Hong Kong martial arts guru who taught Bruce Lee, that it’s pointless to try and keep track of them all.

So let’s not even try. Life was simpler when I thought that this growing subgenre of martial arts action was sci-fi and skipped it. But eventually, one realizes the great Donnie Yen played this character multiple times, and he’s fun even in sci-fi (“Rogue One”). So you watch and you lose the misconception and maybe you get hooked.

Yen has moved on, but that doesn’t mean the character has to. As Ip Man learned Wing Chun kung fu and first practiced it in the 1920s and ’30s, that makes for some great period piece settings for his feet and fists of fury to be on display.

Hong Kong veteran Tse Miu takes over the role for “Ip Man: The Awakening,” another “origin story” that parks our hero as a young man in 1930 (or so) Hong Kong, someone who awakens the human trafficking and British misrule — got to pander to those People’s Repubilicans — and stands up for friends and his people in a battle of Wing Chun vs “The Gentleman’s Martial Art” practiced by Sherlock Holmes, especially the Robert Downey Jr. version of him — “Bartitsu.”

Young Ip Man likes traveling the streets, resplendent in all white suits, and mixing it up with ruffians and bullies who try to rob the “weak” and the innocent in broad daylight.

Busting up a street car when a gang tries to rob Miss Chan (Zhao Yuxuan) is how he falls in with her brother, rickshaw driver Buefeng (Chen Guanying), whom he knew in childhood. And it’s while hanging out with Feng that he becomes aware of all the kidnappings of young women all over the city, something the Chinese/British police force turn a blind eye to and something that’s making a Euro-crime lord (Sergio Deieso, I think) rich.

Mr. Starke has the cops on the take or intimidated, so his version of “peace makes prosperity” holds sway. Take a little cash, look the other way, or somebody will find your pinky ring in their soup — that sort of thing.

If Mr. Starke and his countless minions out “rounding up piglets” are to be confronted, Ip Man will need to teach Feng and his fellow rickshaw drivers the ways of Wing Chun — “Sinking Bridge,” position, “Thrusting Fingers” and “Little Idea.”

The genre story’s simplicity is kind of mucked up by promising more than it delivers. Of course, Feng’s little sister Chan is kidnapped and of course this matter will have to be settled with a champion vs. champion martials arts prize fight.

Of course the “foreigners” will cheat. No, none of them speak good enough English to pass for “British.”

The big brawls are impressive enough, and Tse Miu is a competent if not the most compelling Ip Man ever to come along.

So unless you’re an Ip Man completist, “The Awakening” sits among the Ip Man movies you don’t bother with unless you’re behind on your sleep.

Rating: unrated, lots of violence — fists, knives and guns

Cast: Tse Miu, Chen Guanying, Hou Tongjiang, Sergio Deieso and Zhao Yuxuan

Credits: Directed by Li Xijie Adam and Zhang Zhulin, scripted by Fang Lan and Liu Bayin. A Well Go USA release.

Running time: 1:17

A gay Rom Com about inventing a “fake boyfriend” on social media to help poor Andrew finally leave a toxic lover behind, only to have the “fake” become a social media sensation?

Sounds about right. Looks cute, and it beats Billy Eichner’s gay Rom Com to the screen by months since it comes to Amazon Prime Video June 17.

Looks intense.

Funny thing about “There Are No Saints.” I went to IMDb to look up the spelling of the leading man, and Shannon Sossaman. And the title isn’t listed.

Not as a Schrader film, not as an acting gig for Tim Roth.

May 27.

You’d be hard-pressed to think of a darker or more delicate subject for a “dark comedy” than a double-suicide. “On the Count of Three,” the debut feature of comic turned comic actor/director Jerrod Carmichael manages to pull that off. It’s a hilarious comedy built around two adorable doofuses that somehow feels pro suicide and pro “sticking around” at the same time.

Carmichael’s debut feature is an almost jaunty “last day” romp through two guys who seem ready to end it all and willing — eventually — to do it together. It ridicules a “system” that’s “obsessed with keeping everybody alive” and America’s easy access to the suicide, murder/suicide and double-suicide instrument of choice — firearms.

“How are these LEGAL?” dopey/mopey Kevin (Christopher Abbott) bellows, after one impulsive misuse of a firearm — one among many, I should add. “Read the CONSTITUTION. It’s my RIGHT, for some reason, to ‘bear’ this ‘arm.'”

The performances have a making-it-up-as-we-go-along familiarity. The messaging of Arit Katcher and Ryan Welch’s script has the simple profundity of the obvious. Of course America has a “gun problem.” Of course America has a “mental health problem.” And of course one problem makes the other that much worse.

Abbott (of “Black Bear” with Aubrey Plaza) plays the easier role. We meet Kevin in a mental hospital, because he’s already made up his mind, already attempted suicide once. He’s so anxious to get on with it that he lies to his counselor/”assessor” (Sydney Van Delft) about how eager he is to “start living life again” just to get out and end it all.

Val (Carmichael) is just now getting there. Something about shoveling mulch at a groundcover supply business in wintry Ontario and the prospect of a “promotion” has him yanking off his belt in the bathroom stall and taking his first stab at “not waking up in the morning,” which he tells Kevin is “the most beautiful thought I’ve had in a long time.”

He visits his friend just to break him out. And after he does, Val shows Kevin and us his solution — two pistols. But Kevin, shockingly, needs a “last day,” a chance to “leave this world a better place” because “There’s no point in living a last day if we’re gonna live it like the rest.”

Kevin has an idea — ideas — about how each can make this day count. There’s a score from Kevin’s past he’d like to settle. And Val could take the day to reconcile with his dad (JB Smoove) and his ex (Tiffany Haddish) before saying farewell to all this.

“On the Count of Three” — that’s how they’ll do it when the time comes, each shooting the other in the head. But first they need to make and act on “last day” plans and have those plans go awry — sometimes grimly, sometimes hilariously.

For a comic, Carmichael’s damned good at playing the wacky Abbott’s straight man, still slipping in digs at his “white trash EMO POS” and “angry white boys shooting up high schools” in the middle of mocking Kevin’s on-the-nose choice of music (Papa Roach) for this odyssey.

Haddish, Smoove, Lavell Crawford and Henry Winkler make vivid, amusing and/or irritated impressions in small supporting roles.

Suicide isn’t dwelt upon even though it’s always present. The writers ensure that “On the Count of Three” never descends into a glib treatment of a potentially triggering subject. Kevin is one kind of potential victim, Val is another. They can joke around all they want, but hearing each out on his reasons allows the viewer to judge if, philosophically speaking, either or both make a good argument, pro or con.

Neither the subject nor the movie is for everyone. But “On the Count of Three” is a fascinating variation on a dark comedy theme, and its light touch with hidden depth is one of the most worthwhile farces about “the only serious question,” as Albert Camus famously put it — “whether or not to kill oneself.”

Rating: R for violence, suicide, pervasive language and some sexual references

Cast: Jerrod Carmichael, Christopher Abbott, Tiffany Haddish, JB Smoove, and Henry Winkler.

Credits: Directed by Jerrod Carmichael, scripted by Ari Katcher and Ryan Welch. A United Artists release.

Running time: 1:23

The full trailer to this eye popping thriller drops Friday. But there’s enough in this teaser to get one all worked up by the latest from Mr “Mad Max.”

The dystopian thriller “Mondocane” has the intentional misfortune — “unforced error” — of sharing its title with one of the most infamous “snuff” films of all time, 1962’s “Mondo Cane.”

Get past that and this grim slice of sci-fi — the title means “Dog’s World,” by the way — delivers violence, suspense in a Dickensian “Oliver Twist” package that maybe needed a few more days of workshopping the screenplay.

Dennis Protopapa has the title role, not that the tweenaged street urchin gave it to himself. He and his running mate Cristiano (Giuliano Soprano). These “strays” scavenge an over-industrialized/unregulated hellscape of a coastal city. Italy’s near future doesn’t have to be “post apocalyptic” director and co-writer Alessandro Celli reminds us. The rich are exploiting and polluting us into a climate-changed dystopia without any help from a global plague, nuclear war or asteroid strike.

This Italy looks like the poorest corners of any Third World country. Italy has devolved into Bangladesh.

The local gang, The Ants, are the ones who nickname Mondocane. They gave it to him for a piece of work he did on their behalf, something horrific involving a pet store. They call Cristiano “Pisspants (Pisciasotto)” because that’s what he does during the worst of his seizures.

As the lads dive for sellable junk in off-limits polluted lagoons, Cristiano’s seizures could be genetic or pathogen related.

Mondocane longs to join the gang, and its leader, Hothead (Alessandro Borghi) is open to the idea. It’s just that he has no interest in “Pisspants.” Mondocane sets out to change his mind.

A little girl ( Ludovica Nasti) connected with the torched pet store is grilled by a reckless, over-zealous cop (Barbara Ronchi), who then befriends her. Will working class Sabrina fall in with the strays and their forbidden zone anarchy, or will she figure out what these boys did?

Director and co-writer Celli takes us into a world of pistol-packing Artful Dodgers, where no child recruited into the gang is as innocent as Dickens’ Oliver Twist. We see how useful children can be when it comes to breaking and entering, and how awful they turn when they’re armed and turned into child soldiers.

The film loses the thread as Celli can’t decide whether to simply concentrate on the boys, or give Sabrina and the cop Katia some agency in figuring out who these kids are and what they’re capable of.

Mondocane and Cristiano settle into diverging gang paths, as is the way of such screenplays. But Celli works in a fine twist or two to add to the third act’s bullet-riddled mayhem.

The kids are good, holding their own with some seriously hardcase adult characters played by more polished professionals.

But “Mondocane” is a mixed bag, as its sci-fi without really committing to that, “Oliver Twist” without the warmth, entirely too predictable for stretches and entirely too frustrating in its finale.

Rating: unrated, violence, profanity

Cast: Dennis Protopapa, Giuliano Soprano, Ludovica Nasti, Alessandro Borghi and Barbara Ronchi.

Credits: Directed by Alessandro Celli, scripted by Alessandro Celli and Antonio Leotti. A Kino Lorber release.

Running time: 1:54