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She rumbles down a dirt path in a remote corner of Mexico in the Nissan pickup she’s put many hard miles on. The road’s so bumpy her ever-present straw hat drops over her eyes, not that this stops her.

Diana Kennedy doesn’t bother to adjust it in front of the camera operator. She pumps the clutch, shifts to a lower gear and waits for the next bump to give her back her clear view of the rutted road ahead.

She doesn’t look it or act it, but she’s well over 90. You’d never think it, but this 90something British expat is the doyenne of Mexican cuisine, a towering figure in the popularization of the “authentic” foods that have spread worldwide, and all but taken over the American palate. And you’d never guess it, but this tiny dynamo is still scouring her adoptive land for new flavors, new foods, new recipes.

“Diana Kennedy: Nothing Fancy” is an adorable and adoring portrait of the outspoken foodie, chef, cooking teacher and cookbook author whose 1972 book “Cuisine of Mexico” put salsa and ceviche, Pozole and mole on the culinary map and on the road to global popularity.

First-time documentarian Elizabeth Carroll lets the TV-seasoned Kennedy, whose cooking-on-the-tele days are decades behind her, just be her charming, blunt and bawdy self for a film portrait that is the next best thing to being declared a walking, talking, cursing and cooking U.N. Heritage Site.

If your first thought on hearing of an Englishwoman’s role in making Mexican cuisine popular is “cultural appropriation,” you might be surprised how that came up with her publishers, way back in 1970. She’s keenly aware of it, still.

“An Englishwoman making GUACAMOLE,” she fusses and chuckles. What matters is making it authentic, she huffs. “Do it RIGHT,” the way they do in the provinces. “No, you don’t put garlic in. You don’t use kosher salt!”

Use a mortar and pestle, “not a food processor.” And Madre de DIOS don’t turn it into a cream. “Leave it LUMPY!”

Carroll sits in on a cooking class where just that sound of brutally frank instruction is what well-heeled cooks and restaurateurs can expect. “I have five restaurants in Portland” and “I have three in Manhattan” may carry water there. Not with Kennedy, and not if you’re doing it wrong.

“You never stir the rice. NEVER.” “I cannot BEAR this ‘salt-less cooking,'” she says, and that’s before she corrects some hapless cook who has dared sub in garlic when SALT is what is called for.

José Andrés calls her “an Indiana Jones of food,” thanks to her expeditions (sampled here) in search of this or that. Mexican chef and TV show hostess Pati Jinich calls her “a prophet for Mexican food.”

“If her enthusiasm were not beautiful, it would border on mania,” longtime New York Times food editor Craig Claiborne, an early champion, wrote in the foreword to that epochal first cookbook (she’s written eight).

She smiles and stalks through village markets, enthusing for traditional dishes prepared “traditional ways,” sneering at a stall where the cook has used “food coloring.”

Carroll’s film takes Kennedy and us through her life story, “propelled by lots and lots of hormones” to be a world traveler, meeting her future husband, New York Times Caribbean correspondent Paul Kennedy in Haiti in the middle of a revolution.

Her enthusiasm for the food at their Mexican stop on Kennedy’s career-travels may be surprising. She had Mexican cookbooks to consult (by Josina Velasquez de Leon), but preferred exploring and finding recipes on her own. Cooking for visiting journalists and Times editors were her ticket to fame, recreating classic Mexican dishes for New York naifs, guided into publishing by a friendly ear, Times editor Claiborne.

As she fusses that “There’s so much more that I’d love to do,” about others “plagiarizing my recipes,” as she jokes “Thank God my black panties don’t show” at a photo shoot, you can’t help but fall for this twinkling spitfire, this Earth Mother (she’s big on “organic” ingredients and green landscapes) of Michoacan.

And as she tastes the foods of the country, delighting in this old favorite or that new regional wrinkle on a traditional recipe, you may find yourself fretting that you’re watching this on an empty stomach.

MPAA Rating: unrated, profanity

Cast: Diana Kennedy, José Andrés, Gabriela Camara, Alice Waters, Abigail Mendoza

Credits: Directed by Elizabeth Carroll. A Greenwich Entertainment release.

“Driven” is the sort of comic thriller you root for, but one you’re hoping turns out better than it does.

It’s “Collateral” in a ride-share, “Collateral” meets oh — “Buffy the Vampire Slayer,” even though the supernatural menace isn’t vampires. They are “‘demons,’ for lack of a better term.”

That’s a running gag in a movie that has a few of those, a few passable jolts and a couple of decent laughs. It’s almost enjoyable enough on its own merits. But the slack pacing, general lack of urgency or any sense of suspense do it in.

Casey Dillard, who was in James Franco’s adaptation of Faulkner’s “As I Lay Dying,” wrote and co-stars in this as Emerson, a broke would-be stand-up comic who tries out new material in the rear-view mirror between customers. She’s driving a Ferry ride-share car nights just to make ends meet.

We’re starting to figure out it’ll be a cold night in Tupelo (where they filmed this) before she ever gets a Comedy Central special when she picks up the customer from hell. Almost literally.

He (Richard Speight, Jr. of “Supernatural”) is menace incarnate, a testy customer of few words, in town to “visit a few old friends.”

He’s got assorted addresses, several stops. And Emerson, gay and fresh off a break up and trying to turn that into “material” (“Your hair is so beautiful…I want to RIP it out. Then it wouldn’t be YOUR hair anymore, would it?”) is oblivious as he makes his stops and awful shadow violence plays out behind the curtains of his “stops.”

She’s slow on the uptake. Then he gets into the car, bloodied. Then he shows her his big honking knife.

“Please don’t hurt me.”

“I’m not going to.”

“Please don’t hurt ANYbody.”

“I won’t…really.”

As “Roger” starts to speak, to explain himself and his errands, two things happen. One, we can’t help but notice that this scary guy is a lot less scary because he sounds just like funnyman Will Forte. And secondly, all this palaver about “demons, for lack of a better term” has just turned “Driven” into “Parked, and about to get towed away.”

Dillard’s written herself a colorful character to play, made her a comic and who loves language (“You have a LOT of ‘Word War’ notifications!”), a lovelorn lesbian obsessed with filling the air around her (in a CAR) with “essential oils.”

“What was that?”

“Mint.”

“Smells like Satan’s ANUS.”

There are a few funny lines.

“So, you’re a comic?”

“Not judging from your reactions.”

But as “Collateral” and assorted other thrillers confined to a car promise, the claustrophobia should make tension and suspense spike. And they don’t. We never fear for anybody’s safety, never connect with a single villain worth rooting against.

The more explaining that Roger does, the more flailing one-liners Emerson trots out, the duller “Driven” is. The stars are agreeable, even if they’re underplaying everything so much that they lower the stakes into “Who cares?” territory.

It’s likeable and worth rooting for. But in the end, it just isn’t all that.

Cast: Casey Dillard, Richard Speight Jr.

Credits: Directed by Glenn Payne, script by Casey Dillard. An Uncork’d release.

Running time: 1:30

Hard to believe Scott Derrickson got his start with “The Exorcism of Emily Rose.” I mean, it was a fine film, but who knew he’d be an effects driven blockbuster king?

This sequel idea has been around for years. Jim Henson’s movie came out 36 years ago, but in recent years talk of reviving it has grown louder.

https://www.hollywoodreporter.com/heat-vision/labyrinth-sequel-works-scott-derrickson-1295924

Here are the two jokes that work in “Rebelión de los Godínez (Mutiny of the Worker Bees),” an antic piñata colored-workplace farce from Mexico.

The hero, played by Gustavo Egelhaaf, has just asked a pretty office mate (Anna Carreiro) to the movies.

“What’s that one with the guy everybody loves?” he wonders (in Spanish with English subtitles).

“Eugenio Derbez?” she guesses.

“I said a GUY.”

The other gag involves a squeaky toy and its role in a riot.

Aside from those two giggles, a slap at the manhood of Mexico’s most popular comic export and a Picachu, “Rebelión/Mutiny” is a comedy that tries to make up for the lack of laughs with manic patter, mugging for the camera and quick cutting.

Not a bad instinct on writer-director Carlos Morett’s part. Comedy is close-up and quick, after all. But here, it’s no help. But he’s a veteran producer making his directing debut with a genre he has no feel for.

It’s about clever, ambitious Omar (Egelhaaf), something of a technology savant who shifts his dreams of making a costumed mascot he’s created for the family’s cell-phone repair business a viral sensation and joins the “white collar” world.

Whatever that phrase means in North America, in Mexico or in this film at least it’s treated as a term of derision – office drones, powerless in the face of bullying credit-thieves in mid-level management.

That’s Relo Tech, the place Omar finds work. Somehow, siblings Tania and Roberto (Bárbara de Regil, Mauricio Argüelles) rule two major departments there, lording it over the app makers, salespeople, accountants and clerical staff under them.

Omar is wised-up to the company’s soul-crushing ways by two colleagues, who teach him “the rules” which are hilarious only in how dull and generic they are.

“Rule #5, the less you work, the fewer mistakes…Rule #6, your boss is always ALWAYS right!”

Mischief is afoot at ReloTech, something Omar stumbles into as he’s binge-drinking with his podmates, prepping for the big karaoke-off with their rivals, KreaTech and dreaming up his “project,” an app idea to save them all.

Backs are stabbed, figuratively, and chests (literally, with scissors). Love is in the air, and treachery.

And the worker bees? They mutiny. It’s a riot. For real.

But the movie? You have your two laughs. I mentioned them at the top. Be content with them or find yourself something else to Netflix.

MPAA Rating: TV-MA, violence, sex, innuendo, profanity

Cast: Gustavo Egelhaaf, Bárbara de Regil, Anna Carreiro, Mauricio Argüelles and Alejandro Suárez

Credits:Written and directed by Carlos Morett. A Netflix release.

Running time: 1:34

Broadly-acted, brutally boring and downright bizarre, “The Accompanist” lands like a 7-chord pounded with a sledgehammer.

It’s a romantic mystery that ineptly blends ballet, an abusive relationship and the supernatural, often with groan-out-loud effect.

Writer-director and star Frederick Keeve is introduced to us, weeping at the keyboard in the opening scene. It won’t be long before he isn’t crying alone.

He plays Jason, the accomplished but grieving accompanist for an L.A. (Venice Beach) ballet school, a sad loner who has to be bullied into taking a goldfish a colleague at the office gives him to cheer him up.

Jason has a past. Jason has a secret. And the pushy-flirty dancer Brandon (Ricky Palomino) seems to know its existence, even as he arm-twists Jason into working nights so that Brandon can dazzle at an upcoming New York ballet audition.

“Will you trust me?” he pleads. “Whatever this big secret is, I can handle it!”

Him? Sure. Us? Not so much.

There’s an attraction, and complications. Brandon’s getting smacked around by his raging lover (Aaron Cavette). Jason’s “big secret” has something to do with all these car accident flashbacks and nightmares, the wife and kids in the car, and “the music of the spheres.”

Everything about this is just as clumsy as can be. Brandon’s instant belief “Did YOU do that?” after that an earthquake that interrupts a rehearsal, Jason’s cavalier way with his “gift,” even with the violent Adam, the long LONG rehearsal sequences (with the pianist off camera) interrupted by pretty scenic shots of the Hollywood Hills and the coast. Nothing blends together.

The mystery isn’t all that mysterious, the acting is borderline primitive with dialogue that suggests everybody just wants to rush through it in a monotone, with as little expression as possible.

Brandon: “What did you lie to me?”

Jason: “Lie to you I was trying to help you…”

Let me help you. Don’t bother with “The Accompanist.”

MPAA Rating: unrated, with violence, sex, nudity, profanity

Cast:  Frederick Keeve, Ricky Palomino, Aaron Cavette

Credits: Written and directed by  Frederick Keeve A Dark Star release.

Running time: 1:31

“Scheduling conflicts” forced the very busy Nicholas Hoult (“The Great”) to give up the bad guy lead in “MI:7.” Esai Morales, dazzling as the first heavy on Netflix’s “Ozark,” makes an apt replacement. https://t.co/4A8ouBqKAA https://twitter.com/THR/status/1265161264701083648?s=20

The only thing that’s “attack ad” in the Memorial Day offerings from Republican anti-Trump group is the glaring contrast thrown on the table when you start talking about honor, sacrifice, saving the republic, empathy and intelligence and imply those are traits the current occupant lacks.

This one reuses a Lincoln letter that was in Spielberg’s “Saving Private Ryan,” and possibly in Ken Burns’ episostlery doc series “The Civil War.” I think it was in there.

And using mournful fiddle music in the score reinforces that idea. I don’t think Spielberg recycled it for “Lincoln.”

The dirt, the cover-up, the conspircacy. This guy is going to be the subject of many docs. The first of many? Netflix has it, May 27

Chadwick Boseman stars, Jean Reno, Delroy Lindo and Isaiah Whitlock Jr. are in support, and the Spike Lee brand of mixing historical context news footage into the visuals returns for this tale of remembrance, loyalty, taking stock and reckoning. Oh, and smuggling out gold they hid In Country during the war.

It was supposed to open in June. We shall see.

Has it been banned in Russia, and uh Alabama yet?

Interesting topic for an animated short, ten years after “It gets better.”