Movie Review: Make Yourself Famous, try to be a “Better Man” and not a Pop Star Cliché

Whatever he means to other parts of the world — his UK homeland in particular — the pop star Robbie Williams falls somewhere on the “Remember him?” to “Who?” sliding scale here in the U.S.

So maybe the idea of a boy band member turned early 2000s solo act, a crooning, dancing and lyrics-writing “entertainer” in the Justin Timberlake/Michael Jackson mold being worthy of a bio pic seemed like a no brainer across the pond. It might be a film that “travels” as they say.

But I saw “Better Man,” with my fiance on opening night in the United States. We were an audience of two.

And while the occasionally familiar if not exactly immortal or even “memorable” song wafts off the soundtrack of “Better Man,” this isn’t “A Complete Unknown,” “Rocketman” or even “Get On Up” in terms of a portrait of a fascinating, complex and major artist who remade the (English language mostly) pop world.

“Rick Rolled: The Rick Astley Story” has more appeal, if not more cachet. “Adele: Having the Last Laugh” would seem more worthy.

But Williams’ clever-not-“brilliant” conceit for conceiving his hardscrabble (ish) life story is that he’d be played “as I see myself,” a not-particularly attractive CGI monkey extra from “Planet of the Apes.” We can infer that his idea that he’s a “trained monkey” or that he sees himself as just not-that-attractive, a maddeningly insecure pop singer who ventured from boy band background singer/dancer to pop-charts-dominating superstar. It’s a humbling way for this “The Ego Has Landed” icon to approach his life story.

Yes, it’s a gimmick but a clever one, a singer singing to massive crowds, but always as a simian singer, always seeing a version of his chimp self out in the mob, doubting and causing him to question his worthiness of the fame he always sought and the talent he never really doubted.

But what does working class Robert “Robbie” Williams of Stoke-on-Trent do with this CGI version of himself (dancing actor Jonno Davies does the motion capture “acting” for the ape), narrating his $110 million version of his life story? Why, he tells us of his desire to be “famous,” his descent into drugs, cheating with every English-speaking pop starlet on the planet, the “nan” (granny) who always believed in him, the aspiring singing-joking-emceeing “entertainer” dad who abandoned him and the boy band (Take That) that kicked him out before he “showed them” his true value to the masses.

Talk about tried and true and trite.

After the first blush of how cute this conceit is, this called-to-perform, fame-craving, spotlight-hogging Robert “Robbie” is wracked by insecurites even as he’s playing the British inspiration for Coachella — Knebworth — talking up audience sizes like an insecure, crooning Trump. “Better Man” becomes a simple catalog of pop stardom clichés

James Bond Aston Martin parked in front of the mansion he trashes in stoned, insecure rages? Check. “Nan” (Alison Steadman) who supported his dream, but whose dying moments he missed? Check. Involved with a girl group (Raechelle Banno) star from All Saints? Check…and mate.

The movie is a gloss of a life, not an in-depth portrait. If you sit through this slick, long, grim and utterly predictable bio-pic and ask yourself “And this ‘wanker’ is worthy of a bio-pic why?” you won’t be alone.

Steve Pemberton plays the Sinatra-worshipping, Music-Hall-missing emcee, the comic/”singer” dad who instilled in young Robert the need to “be famous,” to matter, to “have it” and “light-em-up (show off, onstage and off).”

It’s not enough to love what you do.

“What matters is other people loving you doing it!”

Kate Mulvany plays the long-suffering mother who indulges her soon-fatherless son’s dreams of trying out for a boy band, and becoming famous and all the downside that fame offers for her and him.

Damon Harriman plays that always-hated/mocked first manager, casting director for Take That who appreciates Robert’s “cheeky” attitude enough to cast him in a band where he’s just sung an audition song so far removed from the pop charts as to make one question what century the 15 year-old boy lives in.

We glimpse boy band rivals who hold Robert (renamed Robbie for Take That) back, the gay clubs touring to teen-girl shift in appeal, manufactured by that first manager. And we get Williams’ rock star version of earning the right to be kicked out of that “band.”

What we don’t get is anything particularly revealing. Bisexual? Seriously involved with a couple of Spice Girls? Copulating his way to fame/telling tales in interviews, etc? Skipped or skimmed-over.

This is very much the Robbie Williams-narrated and “officially approved” version of his life story. And for all the terrific dance numbers, the scenes of the chimp alter-ego version of “Robbie” behaving badly, this is never the least bit revealing, never a movie that reinvents the musical bio-pic genre.

They hired visual effects specialist and music video director (and co-writer) Michael Gracey and spent all this money to simian-ize their “star.” And they voice-over-narrate it to death and censor/embellish/omit/”shine” it into an unsurprising genre pic more worthy of Justin Bieber than the British Justin Timberlake.

Rating: R, drug abuse, self-harm, near nudity, profanity, constant smoking

Cast: Robbie Williams, Jonno Davies, Steve Pemberton, Raechelle Banno, Tom Budge, Damon Harriman, Kate Mulvany, Alison Steadman.

Credits: Directed by Michael Gracey, scripted by Simon Gleeson, Oliver Cole and Michael Gracey. A Paramount release.

Running time: 2:14

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Movie Review: More heists, more Butler and Jackson — “Den of Thieves 2: Pantera”

One hesitates to ever use the phrase “lazy” in describing the epic enterprise that is the making of any major motion picture. But the temptation is there in describing writer-director Christian Gudegast’s reunion with Gerard Butler and O’Shea Jackson, Jr. for “Den of Thieves 2: Pantera.”

They had all those years between films — “Den of Thieves” came out seven Januarys ago — and this lumbering, indulgent and nonsensical sequel is what they came up with?

There’s a hint of “French Connection 2” in the thought processes here. Let’s take our cop from the first film, send him to the South of France and have him “turn” and join the high-stakes heist artist he was chasing in the original.

But that resemblence is a fraud. If you’re going to get Butler back on board, you’d better promise him a working vacation in Nice and the Riviera, not the grit of Marseilles. You want Jackson, Jr. around, you’d better promise the same, plus a better wardrobe and a flashier character who tries his hand at speaking French.

Every situation is trite, under-motivated and perfunctory. Many a scene is drawn out for “acting” moments where our two antagonists swap pointless back-story anecdotes about their upbringing.

It opens with a tepid jet transport (in the hangar) heist and finishes with a derivative diamond district robbery. These underwhelming action beats come almost two hours apart in the movie’s dawdling narrative. Slapping a mountainside Nice to Northern Italy car chase onto the ending doesn’t do much for that “lifeless” feeling

Gudegast makes the distinction between his two characters clear in the most cartoonish ways. One’s a slovenly, just-divorced cop who drinks too much. The other’s a driven, team-assembling super-thief who dresses better and “can’t stop” his craving for bigger and bigger robberies.

Oh, and one smokes and the other vapes. I’ll leave that mystery for you to solve if you watch this two and a half hour bore.

Butler’s burnout-case Nick is freshly divorced when he hears of this Antwerp airport robbery that sounds…almost nothing like the one in “Den of Thieves.” Living in his truck (“I LOVE my car!”), he bullies his superiors into sending him abroad, faking Federal Marshal credentials so he can talk the French into letting him help catch his elusive mastermind, Donnie (Jackson).

There’s attempted humor in the cop to cop banter with Nick’s French counterpart (Yasen Zates Atour) about the pronunciation of “croissant,” “you Americans” and the like. It doesn’t take.

The only joke that works is Nick’s drunken, enthusiastic quotation of the title of the most famous song by Jackson’s rapper/actor Dad (Ice Cube), earning a double-take from criminal mastermind Donnie.

It takes literally nothing (that we see) for Nick to track Donnie down on the Riviera. He’s just abruptly in the apartment Donnie has rented to scope out the scene of his next caper, a “diamond district” bank heist.

Evin Ahmed plays the “overwatch” “honey trap” member of Donnie’s “Panther” team of colorless Serbians.

The Sicilian mafia has a problem with what they’re doing, leading to threats, more complications and some members of their crew backing out.

It’s going to take a lot of product-placement Audis to chase down that electric Porsche they use for their attempted getaway.

Our writer-director indulges his star by giving him quirks, speeches and put-downs, but little that amounts to “character” in any realistic sense. Nick’s “reason” for threatening his way into this cop-to-criminal career change?

“You got over on me, fraulien. No one gets over on me.”

The heists are derivative, un-rehearsed and unexciting, with curious gadgetry and half-assed problem solving.

But as the old song goes, “It’s nicer, much nicer, in Nice.” So at least one and all got a nice Nice visit to the South of France for their trouble.

Rating: R, violence, profanity, drug abuse, smoking

Cast: Gerard Butler, O’Shea Jackson Jr, Evin Ahmad, Salvatore Esposito, Dino Kelly and
Fortunato Cerlino

Credits: Scripted and directed by Christian Gudegast. A Lionsgate release.

Running time: 2:24

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Movie Review: Donnie Yen punches and kicks for justice as “The Prosecutor”

Martial arts icon Donnie Yen directs and stars in “The Prosecutor,” playing a two-fisted, idealistic Hong Kong cop turned prosecuting attorney.

Some of the most fantastic fights in recent screen history, choreographed by Takahita Ouichi and Donnie Yen Stunt Team leader Kenji Tanigaki, are what recommend this star vehicle for Yen, long a standout in action films from the East (“Ip Man” movies) and West (“Rogue One,” “John Wick 4”).

But it’s a talkative, convoluted tale that too often loses its way in Hong Kong’s (not People’s Republic) arcane, British-derived legal system.

“Stay strong and keep true” Detective Fok Zi Hu teaches his proteges (in Chinese with English subtitles). It’s been his motto and served him in his years on the force almost as well as his instincts, his deadly aim with a pistol and fists and feet of fury in a fight.

But Fok leaves his old team in the able hands of Lei Ging Wai (Michael Tin Fu Cheung) to pursue a law degree. Fok returns as a prosecutor, the guardian at the “last gate” for justice. In a crowded, crime-ridden city his chief prosecutor boss (Francis Ng) is more concerned with processing cases and cutting plea deals than “wasting time” on getting to the bottom of many cases.

And while Fok’s new mentor, Prosecutor Bao (Kent Chang) may appreciate his zeal and idealism, Bao’s faith that “Justice will prevail” because “heaven is on our side” seems naive.

All involved will be tested when a simple drug distrubution case comes to trial. A young man has been busted for, he says, taking delivery of a shipment of drugs dropped at his door. His aged grandpa (Kong Lau) insists on his innocence and disrupts court with his protests.

But two slick lawyers (Shirley Chan and Julian Cheung) with unknown employers have pushed the plea deal. Everybody is OK with it but Fok. Digging around, prodding the police and circumventing the seemingly compromised chief prosecutor, Fok kicks a hornet’s net of thugs, goons, international smugglers and corrupt lawyers as he snoops and punches his way to the truth.

The fights are epic, with Yen flying into action at swank mob-owned clubs, in alleys and on the subway. His boss Bao, struggling to keep all this legal, is sometimes a witness Fok’s fights.

“Fok’s beating up 100 people!” Bao shouts into his phone at one point. He’s not exaggerating…much. But he realizes that’s not the “call for backup” our prosecutor needs. “I mean, he’s being beaten up by 100 people!”

Over the decades Yen has graduated from supporting fighter roles in action films in Asia and Hollywood and become an icon of cool on the screen, with a crisp, clean acting style that stands out among Asian martial arts icons. He’s terrific in this part.

And as a director, he calls on the very best to stage his brawls and showcase still-formidable (at 60+) skills and physique.

But as a director, a little Eastwoodian “Is this scene/that novella of dialogue really necessary?” cutting was called for. “The Prosecutor” bogs down in pointless sequences where we see modern lawyers drag pushcarts of files into this or that office as part of their investigation. It talks us to death through setting and costume changes showing off the wealth and ruthlessness of the mob bosses and the thugs they send after our crusading prosectutor on foot, in SUVs and on trains.

The courtroom scenes drag between moments of melodrama, and what sets up as a lean loner’s hunt for justice talks us to death, bores us with clutter and undercuts the time the villain lawyers need to establish their worthiness as foes.

There’s also a hint of Chinese virtue signalling as the drug lords are mostly from other Asian cultures/races.

With “The Prosecutor” we come for Donnie Yen and for the fights, and if we’re studying Mandarin, to bone up on Chinese legal arcana. Because God knows there’s a lot of dialogue to this thing. But at some point, all that starts to feel superfluous and in the end, boring.

Rating: unrated, violence

Cast: Donnie Yen, Francis Ng, Shirley Chan, Julian Cheung, Kent Cheng, Michael Tin Fu Cheung and Kong Lau

Credits: Directed by Donnie Yen, scripted by Edmond Wong. A Well Go USA release.

Running time: 1:57

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Series Review: Blizzard Season is the perfect time to get Stuck on “The Sticky”

Margo Martindale, one of the grande dames of American character actresses, gets her best starring role in forever in “The Sticky,” a Quebec-set comedy about intrigues, betrayal, corruption and murder, all of it spinning around an infamous piece of Quebec history — the theft of brown gold, Canadian maple syrup, in mass quantities.

It’s bloody and it’s mean — pretty much nobody with a French Canadian accent comes off well, and “American” accents are all mobsters — and it’s laugh-out-loud hilarious at times.

A couple of screenwriters from “American Housewife,” Brian Donovan and Ed Herro, cooked up this dizzy, dark bit of fiction, “absolutely not the true story of the Great Canadian Maple Syrup Heist,” a credit before each episode reminds us. But who didn’t hear about the “real” heist at the time (2011/12) and laugh? I distinctly remember an NPR piece on it leaving me in stitches.

Martindale plays Ruth, a struggling maple tree-tapper trying to keep the farm and take care of her comatose husband at home. That’s hard, because a corrupt Quebecois father (Guy Nadon) and inherit-his-title son (Mickaël Gouin) run the local co-op/cartel (Association Érable du Québec) which weighs, stores and sells their sap for syrup, controlling both the price charged and how much the farmers there get for their tree-tapping labors.

Ruth struggles because the kingpin Leonard (Nadon) is determined to squeeze her out. That’s made her ill-tempered and foul-mouthed. Even the ever-placating son Leo (Gouin) of that kingpin can’t talk her out of doing things like sawing down a maple, dragging it through town with her truck, screaming obscenities and threats at Leonard as she does.

Ruth has ties to a frequent out of town visitor, Mike (Chris Diamantopoulos of “Red Notice” and “The Boys in the Boat”). And Mike’s a part of a Boston-based mob operation.

Mike’s the guy syrup warehouse guard Remy (Guillaume Cyr) approaches with a plan — steal a few barrels out of the $150 million hoard in the co-op’s warehouse. Mike sees dollar signs, and being from The States, has a pistol with a silencer, and isn’t shy about violence of any type.

The running gags in this series’ elaborately unraveling plot have to do with how nothing goes right, how Remy — nicknamed “Boo Radley” at one point — is nobody’s idea of a mastermind and Mike’s solution to every problem is terminal violence and how little patience co-conspirator Ruth has for all this.

“I can’t keep plannin’ around all the STUPID,” she bellows, between profane tirades. “What did I SAY about sayin’ dumb sh–?”

Schemes are advanced, evidence is planted and an out of town detective (Suzanne Clément) shows up to insult the local Sûreté du Québec cop (Gita Miller) and get to the bottom of this hick town’s first murder, and quick.

And sooner or later, with all this money on the table and Mike an impulsive liability, you just know somebody from Boston will have to come and “clean up your mess.” Bo is played with bravado and grand abandon by Oscar winner Jamie Lee Curtis, a producer on the series.

The laughs aren’t exactly fast and furious, but they do come at a fairly steady pace. The problem-solving and complications thrown into the scripts for these six episodes is fun.

“Sticky” is handicapped by a few shortcomings in the limited series format — a tendency to draw limited action into a series of cliffhangers, and the determination to leave things open-ended enough to set up more seasons of this oozing, supersweet “Ozark” variation, no matter how clumsy and unrealistically that’s handled.

But Martindale is in rare form, surrounded by a parade of supporting players portraying a lot of folks on a sliding annoying-hateful-vile scale. And the milieu, with fur trapping, mink farming (and killing) and a strip club that features a pretty good buffet, is an amusing place to visit, especially during a cold stretch during this winter of snow and ice and discontent.

Rating: TV 16+, violence, profanity, strip club scene

Cast: Margo Martindale, Chris Diamantopoulos, Guillaume Cyr, Gita Miller, Suzanne Clément, Guy Nadon and Jamie Lee Curtis.

Credits: Created by Brian Donovan and Ed Herro. An Amazon Prime release.

Running time: 6 episodes @ 30 minutes each

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Movie Review: All the World’s a Gamescape — “Grand Theft Hamlet”

Making art in the middle of the apocalypse is the literal and figurative ethos of “Grand Theft Hamlet,” one of the cleverest “What can we do during lockdown?” pandemic picture projects.

A couple of British actors — Sam Crane and Mark Ooosterveen –– stared into the same gutting void of everybody who was unable to work during the pandemic lockdowns. As they killed some time meeting in the online gamescape of “Grand Theft Auto,” they stumbled into the Vinewood (Hollywood) Bowl setting of that Greater L.A. killing zone. And like actors since the beginning of time, thought they’d put on a play.

As they wander and ponder this brilliant conceit, they wrestle with whether to attempt casting, setting and directing this play amidst a sea of first-person shooters/stabbers/run-you-over-with-their car. They face fascinating theatrical problem solving. How DO you make art and recruit an online in-the-game audience for Shakespeare in a world of self-absorbed, bloody-minded avatars, some of whom stumble upon their efforts and ignore their “Please don’t shoot me” pleas?

Crane and Oosterveen, both white 40somethings Brits, grapple with “what people are like in here,” as in “people are violent in the game.” VERY violent. But “people are violent in Shakespeare.” Pretty much “everybody dies in ‘Hamlet,'” after all.

Putting on a play in the middle of a real apocalypse set in a CGI generated apocalypse is “a terrible idea,” Oosterveen confesses (in avatar form). “But I definitely want to try to do it.”

Crane, struggling with the same mental health issues tens of millions faced during lockdown, enlists his documentary filmmaker wife Pinny Grylls to enter the game and film all this.

And as their endeavors progress, through trial and many many deaths (“WASTED,” the game’s graphics remind you), everybody interested in their idea trots out favorite couplets from Shakespeare as “auditions.” They round up “actors” from all over (mostly Brits, though), they remind us of the power of Shakespeare’s words.

“To be, or not to be, that is the question. Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, Or to take arms against a sea of troubles And by opposing end them. To die—to sleep…”

Dodging would-be gamer/killers and recruiting others, they will see how a marriage can be strained by work or video game addiction and fret over the futility of it all.

The film, co-scripted and directed by Crane and Grylls, with Crane playing Hamlet, and narrated and somewhat driven by Oosterveen, who portrays Polonius, is a mad idea but a great gimmick, one that occasionally transcends that gimmick.

We’re reminded of the visual sophistication of CGI landscapes — they try out a lot of settings, and use more than one, a scene staged on top of a blimp, seaside for a soliloquy. The limitations of jerky-movement video game characters, lips-moving but not syncing up to dialogue, are just as obvious.

And if all the gamescape’s “a stage, and all the men and women merely players,” some folks — MANY folks — need to buy better headset microphones. The distorted audio and staticky dynamic range of such gear spoils a lot of the dialogue.

In a production where the words matter as much as this, as “acting” in avatar form is a catalog of limitless limitations, one becomes ever more grateful that the film is a documentary of the “making” of a “Grand Theft Auto” “Hamlet,” and not merely the play. Because inventive settings and occasional murderous “distractions” aside, that leaves a lot to be desired.

Rating: R, video game violence, profanity

Cast: The voices/avatars of Sam Crane,
Mark Oosterveen, Pinny Grylls, Jen Cohn, Tilly Steele, Lizzie Wofford, Dilo Opa, Sam Forster, Jeremiah O’Connor and Gareth Turkington

Credits: Scripted and directed by Sam Crane and Pinny Grylls, based on “Hamlet” by William Shakespeare. A Mubi release.

Running time: 1:29

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Classic Film Review: Sarandon, Delany and Dafoe, as Schraeder’s “Light Sleeper” (1992)

Paul Schrader, the screenwriter of “Taxi Driver” and “The Last Temptation of Christ” and writer-director of “Cat People,” “American Gigolo” and “Light of Day” never really went away. But this most spiritual, Calvinist and cerebral filmmaker had his years in the wilderness.

Making a movie with Brett Easton Ellis and Lindsay Lohan (“The Canyons”) is as close to a trial by Satan as the cinema gets.

Every longtime fan had reason to hope he’d have the comeback that “First Reformed” afforded. For some, it was “Mishima” or “Hardcore” or “Afflication” that was the basis of that faith. For me, his serene, sinister classic “Light Sleeper” (1992) was the form I hoped he’d recapture.

It’s about upscale drug dealing in Manhattan, with an ex-addict/dealer (Willem Dafoe) writing and narrating his daily life and musings about his limited “future,” about guilt and responsibility in a brutally amoral and classist city where only the classiest are the clients of Ann (Susan Sarandon), Robert (David Clennon) and John “Jack, Johnny” LeTour (Dafoe).

A rich and connected Barnard College coed overdoses, and all of a sudden the cops might be noticing who this trio are, and what they’re selling.

LeTour — a made-up name — is our narrator and title character, a “Light Sleeper” who patrols the city in a Town Car, a well-turned out “delivery boy” with a pass through every VIP rope and every upscale apartment lobby to serve the well-heeled,. “White drugs for white people” Ann chortles.

LeTour can’t sleep. So he fills notebooks with his musings about his sleeplessness.

“It’s worse when I’m off,” he narrates. “I just walk and walk.”

He’s uncertain about his future, and emulating his flakey boss (Sarandon), he visits a psychic (Mary Beth Hurt) for direction. She tells him “A woman close to you, she will betray you.”

He doesn’t trust Ann, and neither do we. But he’s got a fresh distraction. He’s spotted an ex (Dana Delany) in town. She’s years sober. He’s two years “clean.” And her protests notwithstanding, LeTour attempts to ingratiate himself back into her good graces. He’s got a million questions about where she’s been and what she’s doing.

“I don’t want you to know about my life.”

Schraeder immerses us in this world, letting the camera settle on Dafoe’s face as he rides and rides and stops and makes warm exchanges, even looking out for clients who seem to be entering a death spiral.

“I’m not gonna put you in the emergency room.”

LeTour has a conscience. His silences and his writing, even if he tosses each notebook he fills, makes him seem soulful. Will Marianne let this reminder of her addicted past back into her life?

A very young Sam Rockwell plays a fellow dealer. David Spade, fresh off “Saturday Night Live,” plays a chatterbox coke customer. Victor Garber (“Titanic,” TV’s “Alias,” many other series) plays a rich and trusted European expat client, Tis.

Schraeder gets at the terminal allure of drugs and the romance of addiction in scenes where LeTour tries to reconnect with barely-sober Marianne. Addicts only remember “the good times.”

“I envy you,” she sighs. “Convenient memory is a gift from God.”

That relationship is the sentimental soul of “Light Sleeper.” But the brittle connection between LeTour and Ann is the heart of the movie. He’s paranoid. She’s charming, but self-serving and smart enough to know she’s got to have a Plan B. Might LeTour’s destruction be a part of that?

I saw this movie on my first trip to New York, and what’s striking about it now is its unerring grasp of that era, the character of the city then — laws flouted, the well-connected always connecting, an Orthodox Jew not judging Ann or allowing a guilty thought as he counts her cash for her, shortcut-taking cops, the trash-piles of a sanitation workers’ strike cluttering familiar, grungy and underlit streets.

It’s a near perfect snapshot of New York at the end of the Reagan Era, in the middle of the cocaine boom, when crack had flooded the downmarket, bringing in customers that Anna, LeTour and Robert would never cater to.

Delany, Sarandon, Clennon and Garber make sharp, lived-in impressions.

But Dafoe, high on the list of best actors never to win an Oscar, was at his very best in this portrait of a loner who starts to take stock of “the life” at 40. This is a nuanced portrait of a not-wholly-recovered addict who has let street smarts displace his ambition and education, a guy whose options and horizons are so limited he thinks consulting a psychic will offer a way out.

No wonder he can’t sleep.

Rating: R, violence, drug abuse, sex, nudity, profanity

Cast: Willem Dafoe, Susan Sarandon, Dana Delany, David Clennon, Sam Rockwell, Jane Adams, Victor Garber and Mary Beth Hurt.

Credits: Scripted and directed by Paul Schraeder. A Seven Arts/New Line release on Tubi, other streamers.

Running time 1:43

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Series Review: Tom Wolfe’s “A Man in Full” becomes an Oversexed Cracker Cartoon for Netflix

Tom Wolfe’s darkly comic 1998 novel “A Man in Full” comes to the screen, courtesy of another king of ’80s and ’90s entertainment, TV writer/producer David E. Kelley.

The book, uneven but page-turning trash encompassing Wolfe’s favorite themes — class, race, wealth and how sex and media and myth weave through them — becomes an R-rated spectacle of exaggerated characters, egos and situations in the hands of the prolific creator of TV’s “L.A. Law,” “Ally McBeal,” “Big Little Lies” and the TV versions of “Presumed Innocent,” “The Lincoln Lawyer” and “Mr. Mercedes.”

Kelley updates the book, trying to give it present-day currency as we see a blustery big talker facing the consequences of being a showboating braggart and perpetually over-extended builder and businessman.

Jeff Daniels gives full value, as always, playing a larger-than-life Atlanta developer whose reputation, career and business of juggled excesses is about to crash to the ground. As it is a handful of vindictive, resentful bankers who bring him down, the story enters the realm of fantasy, as America knows how compliant bankers enable bungling gamblers just like this. They’re not in the business of punishing them. Those guys don’t face consequences, even in Tom Wolfe’s “Vanity Fair” era America.

Charlie Croker was a Georgia Tech football star back in the last millennium, the “Sixty Minute Man” in the backfield of a national championship team. He’s parlayed that fame into a “Man Who Built Atlanta” empire.

Now in his 60s, with an ex-wife (Diane Lane) and a “trophy wife” (Sarah Jones of TV’s “For All Mankind”) half his height and half his age, drawlin’ Charlie Croker has his name on the biggest building in the Capital of the South, his crown jewel, Atlanta’s Concourse. He’s got a 29,000 acre ranch/plantation/game preserve he’s named TurpMtine and a portfolio that dominates Atlanta’s skyline.

And when we meet him, an overmatched, foul-mouthed and furiously jealous younger banker (Tom Pelphrey of “Ozark” and “Iron Fist”) and his blunt, hardass superior (the estimable Bill Camp) have him in a big bank boardroom where they’re going for a full-fledged emasculation.

Testicles are the big talk in this big talking man’s world, and Charlie’s aren’t just in a vice. He’s in the hole for over $800 million to just this one bank. Others are also holding hundreds of millions in bad paper over Charlie’s toppling businesses and Gulfstream Jet over-extended lifestyle.

This “Man in Full” has his manhood on the line as he schemes to fend off the wolves and keep up appearances in “his” town.

The city’s Black mayor (William Jackson Harper of “Midsommer” and TV’s “The Good Place”) is facing electoral defeat at the hands of a MAGA conservative with a shady past, a man who happens to be a former teammate of Charlie’s.

Charlie’s lawyer (Aml Ameen, who played Martin Luther King, Jr. in “Rustin”) was a Morehouse classmate of the mayor, and finds himself tested by both men’s crises, and in over his head in court defending the husband (Jon Michael Hill) of Charlie’s secretary (Chanté Adams), who gets in trouble for resisting an unjust arrest.

The divorced, late model BMW-driving banker Raymond Peepgrass (Pelphrey) has his own legal and financial issues, a patrimony suit by a Finnish sex worker. He’d like nothing more than sticking it to Charlie, and Charlie’s ex-wife (Lane), just not in the same way.

And that ex-wife’s beauty-icon pal (Lucy Liu) has her own testy relationship with Charlie and past connections that tie her to his difficulties, and the mayor’s.

I listened to the book on tape (read by a drawling David Ogden Stiers) on a cross country road trip when “A Man in Full” came out, and all that stands out in the memory is of the novel’s lurid thoroughbred “siring” scene, something delivered in all its sordid glory here.

Kelley does entirely too much to emasculate what was admittedly an inferior book to Wolfe’s “A Bonfire of the Vanities,” thinning out the manly outdoorsman/horseman/sportsman activities from our “full” man. But Daniels gives us the essence of the character, a poseur who would hate to be thought of as the embodiment of the put-down, “All hat and no cattle” he credits Georgia for coining about showboats like himself.

Lane gives the series a touch of heart and a few moments of fire.

But as Kelley plays up the court case, with its smirking biased judge (Anthony Heald) and the life threatening Fulton County Jail consequences that the stoic victim of an unjust system, Conrad (Hill), faces, it’s easy to see why Kelley focused on what he knows best — legal proceedurals. He’s out of his depth with most everything else.

Wolfe got “the South,” even if he wasn’t able to wrestle all the issues and threads of the culture into his bulky, researched but cartoonishly broad novel.

The performances — Camp is at his most venomous here — are what we cling to, as the narrative isn’t coherent and believable enough to cliff-hanger us through all six episodes.

But if this hits enough eyeballs, maybe Netflix will take a stab at turning Wolfe’s greatest novel — “Bonfire” — into a series. God knows that deserved better than the miscast, botched “blockbuster” that Brian De Palma, Tom Hanks, Bruce Willis and Melanie Griffith gave us in 1990.

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

Cast: Jeff Daniels, Diane Lane, Aml Ameen, Tom Pelphrey, Chanté Adams, Jon Michael Hill, William Jackson Harper, Lucy Liu and Bill Camp.

Credits: Created and scripted by David E. Kelley, directed by Regina King and Thomas Schlamme, based on the novel by Tom Wolfe. A Netflix release.

Running time: 6 episodes @45-50 minutes each

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Movie Review: Millennials try to buy-in or opt-out of the “American Meltdown”

“American Meltdown” is a comic buddy picture that taps into the deep well of Millennial angst and grievance about a “system” that is finally so broken it doesn’t work for them. At all.

Like a lot of fiction and op ed essays about the large and maligned generation, it’s very much in the eye of the viewer — this perception that these mid-20s to late30somethings are either the first to figure out American capitalism, culture and politics is “rigged,” or simply the first to considering giving up trying to fix it.

It’s an indie film that reminds us there’s talent out there that mainstream distributors haven’t embraced — in front of and behind the camera. And fittingly enough for the subject generation, “Meltdown” feels self-satisfied but incomplete, with a finale that plays like a pulled-punch.

Jacki Von Preysing makes her feature film debut as Olivia, an interior designer who learns she needs to take “90 days off” so that her scummy “blame the unions” (there are none) employer (Bella Shaw) can avoid paying her “full time” wages, with benefits, and on the same day comes home to see that her SoCal rental house has just been ransacked.

Broke, blamed for the break-in by the lazy, dismissive Millennial cop (Shaun Boylan) and her creeper corporate landlord (Clayton Farris), in a house she can’t afford since her inheritance baby beau (Christopher Mychael Watson) ditched her for “an influencer,” on a “background check” waitlist for a job driving for one of those predatory rideshare services, Olivia’s delusions of The American Dream are tattered.

She stumbles into this photographer under a pier on the beach, who snaps a picture that makes her look like someone’s who’s died, or just given up. Then shutterbug Marí (Nicolette Sweeney) chases Olivia down and returns the wallet “you dropped.” As it’s not the right wallet, and the right one and the wrong one, both in Marí’s possession, are empty of cash, Olivia needs to look past “super sketchy” apologies and see the pickpocket for who she really is.

Unlike Olivia, Marí has dropped off the capitalism hamster-wheel, living hand-to-mouth, off-the-grid and in a van in the desert. When she’s in town, prowling this or that beach or street scene, she “only” steals “from those who deserve it.”

As the cop IDs Olivia as “Bougie,” we understand Marí’s mistake. She thought Olivia had money and takes pity on her when she realizes otherwise. And “sketchy” or not, Olivia could use a little company right now — for binge drinking, and for companionship in the tony and now scary house Olivia is afraid to sleep in alone.

An unlikely friendship drifts towards “partnership” as the movie hints at a big crime to come. Olivia is interviewed by a detective (DeMorge Brown) in the aftermath of that event, viewed in flashbacks as the script reconstructs the nature of Olivia and Marí’s relationship.

Olivia is passive. Marí seeks revenge or some form of rough justice. Olivia despairs at her plight — calmly.

“What’s the use of being calm,” Marí’ wants to know” “ANGRY people get s–t done!”

The leads and supporting players are make believable characters out of one and all. But writer-director Andrew Adams leaves out connecting scenes that would make the abrupt shifts of setting and attitude less jarring.

Expressions of generational angst and rage register. But while some seem rational and justified, others come off as “Ok Boomer” cant from folks who deserve at least some of the “entitled,” impatient and (intellectually and physically) “lazy” labeling and abuse tossed at them by their elders.

No matter where your birthday falls on the generational dividing line, “American Meltdown” never quite shakes the “letdown” it seems destined to become.

Sharper contrasts in the character’s arcs were called for, maybe a few pickpocket and anarchist politics lessons from the van-dweller jarring Ms. Buys-in into questioning her faith in a system that either denies her dreams, or is to blame for her having those dreams in the first place.

Whatever its failings, “American Meltdown” should inspire others to tackle this subject at this point in time. Because as bad as things might seem to Millennials and those coming up after them, something tells the rest of us that these will soon be the “good old days” for those who don’t consciously work, shop, vote and fight to change the future they so despair of facing.

Rating: TV-16+ (profanity)

Cast: Jacki Von Preysing, Nicolette Sweeney, Shaun Boylan, Clayton Farris, DeMorge Brown and Bella Shaw.

Credits: Scripted and directed by Andrew Adams. An MPX release on Amazon Prime.

Running time: 1:22

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Damn. Snowed/Iced-in and no wifi — Let’s rewatch “The Duke”

“Winter Storm Blair,” the drama queens at The Weather Channel call it — Looking at you, Meryl Cantore.

Bad weather means no internet.  No screener links, no Netflix or Prime or 🍏 work.

And the Biden Administration’s “Build Back Better” bring rural America fibre optic cable/high speed internet initiative is just a mile or so from us as the snow falls. Maybe next week.

Dish TV it is, maybe a TCM classic later. But FXX just dropped “The French Dispatch” followed by Broadbent, Mirren and Goode in”The Duke.” An aging gadfly steals a painting in the classist ’60s UK. Liked it then, perfect day to watch it again.

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Classic Film Review: Hopkins is “The Efficiency Expert,” but are Crowe, Collette and Mendelsohn getting the ax? (1991)

Three future stars from Down Under pop off the screen in “The Efficiency Expert,” a delicate, dated and yet timeless fish-out-of-water period piece set in Australia at the birth of the job-cutting “consultant” boom.

Toni Collette, impressive and emotional in a romantic supporting role here, would break out in “Muriel’s Wedding” three years later, and have the most impressive career of the three.

Russell Crowe shows off the blustery tough guy he’d become as a thin, dashing and vain villain in this wistful, sentimental comedy about a workforce that’s a “family.”

And Ben Mendelsohn, top billed among the three back then, would age and smoke his way out of the higher-voiced baby-faced youth he appears as here to play grand villains as a late bloomer, cranking up the evil in everything from the “Star Wars” universe to the “Marvel” one.

Director Mark Joffe’s movie — scripted by Max Dann and Andrew Knight — came out the same year as the all-star film adaptation of the downsizing dramedy play “Other People’s Money,” and reaches for some of the same emotional notes. Long before “Up in the Air,” the “Greed is Good” ’80s sent venerable and vulnerable companies around the world into cut-cutting/stock-price-boosting layoffs, which eventually launched a whole new industry — layoff “management.”

But before that, consultants were hired to show up at companies, look at the books and carry out “time and motion” studies of the workforce to bring “efficiency” to (mostly) manufacturing concerns.

That’s what Errol Wallace (Anthony Hopkins) and his partner Jerry (John Walton) do. They’re wrapping up such a consultancy with an Australian auto parts manufacturer, where big layoffs would make a union company more attractive to American buyers in the mid-60s.

Jerry’s an amoral “Someone’s always going to lose out” rationalizer. “The trick is to make sure it’s not us.”

But Errol, as brittle and blunt as he can be, is hitting the midlife pangs of guilt stage over what he does in his career. That next consultancy, at the Balls moccasin manufacturing concern in Spotswood, a working class suburb of Melbourne, just might put our cutthroat cost-cutter over the edge.

Sure, there’s “ineffeciency” everywhere. The women doing the shoe-stitching chat all day, even during their long group lunches in the cafeteria. The shipping department is a bunch of old-timers and trainees wasting time on personal calls and plotting their strategy for the big state slot-car racing grand prix they hope to win.

Old Man Ball (Alwyn Kurts, just twinkly enough) has relatives all over the payroll, and is bringing in his daughter (Rebecca Rigg) “for a while,” just until she can get her modeling career going.

That makes young inter-department runner Carey (Mendelsohn) and everry other male his age on the workforce breathless with lust. Does he stand a chance against the young sales exec Kim (Crowe)? And does that mean he’s no longer besties with his young stitcher-neighbor Wendy (Collette)?

But they all have something bigger to worry about when Errol Wallace rolls up. The smart ones are either alarmed, or conniving (Kim) to survive this doomed factory’s fate. But most of these lifers are happily oblivious.

“Crikey,” Wallace mutters (a Hopkins first). It’s “like visiting my grandather’s house, and finding it full of people!”

He enlists Carey as a stop-watch clicking “time and motion” measurer. And as the “other” deal Wallace’s consultancy has turns into protests and near-riots at the auto parts supplier, he finds himself at a crossroad. Can he do anything to “save” this company and the people in it from obsolescence?

A telling scene has another kid there get a co-worker to splash eye drops in his eyes, as another worker tells Wallace “He’s allergic to sheep skin,” the material they make their moccasins from.

“Why does he WORK here?”

Why, “It’s where his future is!”

It was wistful and melancholy to look back on the ’60s and the death of manufacturing from the early ’90s, when this film was released. “Efficiency Expert” can seem downright quaint today, with its dusty, anitquated factory, slacking-off workforce and the idea that “the future” could be a job for life that somebody might be guaranteed, or that anybody would want to stay with such a gig for more than a short stretch.

But Hopkins, on the cusp of his greatest decades as a star, gives us a hint of humanity peeking out from the callous “cost cutter.” Mendelsohn is adorable as a kid too naive to gracefully manage asking the owner’s daughter out, too dim to see what she’s really like and slow to catch on to the new “promotion” that has him in a coat and tie every day, and makes all his friends turn on him for turning them in as “inefficient.”

Crowe sets off sparks as the office bully. But Collette lets us see the great character actress she would become in a couple of simple moments of romantic heartbreak.

Among the several comedies of this subgenre from that era, “The Efficiency Expert” plays as the lightest, if not the most lightly delusional in a wish-fulfillment fantasy light. As Springsteen sang in the middle of the Reaganomics/”Wall Street” ’80s, “foreman says ‘These jobs are goin’, boys, and they ain’t comin’ back.”

The storytelling is, pardon the word, “efficient,” with just enough heart and “cute” to get by. The characters are archetypes, but realistic and functional ones. And how can we tell the difference between Errol and his partner Jerry? One drives a practical (if anachronistic) ’72 Rover. The other’s in a flashy Volvo P1800.

Tthe cute setting, quirky characters and a very good cast putting their best foot forward, young and old, to keep up with Hopkins make “The Efficiency Expert” a worthy outing in the “fish out of water” and “obsolete industry/workforce” genres.

It’s worth tracking down just for the chance to catch Crowe before his Oscar, Mendelsohn before he aged into the villains he’s grand at playing or Collette at her most winsome.

Rating: PG

Cast: Anthony Hopkins, Ben Mendelsohn, Toni Collette, Rebecca Rigg, Alwyn Kurts, John Walton, Bruno Lawrence and Russell Crowe

Credits: Directed by Mark Joffe, scripted Max Dann and Andrew Knight. A Miramax release on Tubi, Amazon, other streamers

Running time: 1:28

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