Movie Nation

The images are impressive, as you’d expect in any new nature doc about the giants of the sea.

But the behaviors observed and revelations about whale “language,” “culture,” knowledge passed-down, generation to generation, expressions of curiosity, “love” and “grief” are what’s eye-opening in “Secrets of the Whales,” coming to Disney+ on Earth Day, April 22.

Beautifully photographed by whale photographer/experts like Brian Skerry, poetically put-together, written and directed by Brian Armstrong and Andy Mitchell, with Sigourney Weaver sympathetically narrating it, “Secrets” is a singularly impressive nature doc series, on a par with the best of the BBC and Disney Nature.

Orcas, belugas, humpbacks and others are highlighted over four episodes, each shown in the corners of the world where they hold forth, each distinct in its culture, songs, genetic memory and tradition and skills passed on. It took four years and trips from Alaska to Antarctica, Patagonia to the Falklands, Norway to New Zealand to film it.

“Bubble net feeding” is passed down, generation to generation, by some pods of humpbacks. Some have figured out ways to amplify their globe-girdling songs by bellowing into coral reefs, “like an amphitheater.” Only in Patagonia have orcas learned to pluck sea lions off the beach. Only in New Zealand has this one pod mastered catching sting rays, holding them upside down “which puts them to sleep,” the mother of the pod sharing her catch with her extended family.

The kid-friendly prose can tilt towards the cute, with humpbacks vying to be “the singing sensation of a hidden world.” A trip by belugas to Cunningham Inlet in Canada “is like a family trip to the spa,” where “the gravelly bottom (of the river) is like a loofah for an itch they’ve been waiting all year to scratch.”

But with just enough experts weighing in on the new “secrets” that are coming out — matriarchal orca pods, non-family herring and krill-hunting humpback parties that gather in the same places to team up, year after migratory year, belugas “may even give themselves names” — with a generally upbeat tone (photographer-divers free an orca wrapped in cables that drag fishing nets), “Secrets of the Whales” makes a great escape from the generally glum environment news piling up like “overdue” invoices all over the world.

MPA Rating: TV-PG

Cast: Narrated by Sigourney Weaver, featuring Brian Skerry and others.

Credits: Written and directed by Brian Armstrong and Andy Mitchell. A National Geographic/Disney+ release (premiering April 22)

Running time: Four episodes @ :50 minutes each

Staid, stiff and stately history, “Queen Marie,” titled “Queen Marie of Romania” in Europe, plays like a lesser installment of “Masterpiece Theatre,” a reminder that not everything in costume and ripped from the pages of royal history is a “masterpiece.”

It’s about the granddaughter of Queen Victoria, who married a Hohenzollern (tied to the Kaiser of Germany, but also descended from Victoria) and found herself the unlikely heroine of her adoptive country by charming, challenging and intimidating the leaders of the Four (victorious) Powers at the peace talks where empires were divvied up in Paris at the end of World War I.

Those negotiations, where the leaders of France, Britain, Italy and the United States made most of the decisions, were infamous for a lot of reasons. The reparations imposed on a bellicose Germany, setting up the grievances that led to World War II, was most infamous. But it’s also where The Balfour Declaration about Palestine’s status and other arbitrary “lines on a map” were made that set the stage for the a century of conflict in the Middle East, and where the imperious imperialists dismissed an Indochinese delegate pleading for independence, a fellow who became famous himself — Ho Chi Minh.

Queen Marie, played by Romanian Roxana Lupu, was once a great beauty pursued by a cousin who later become King George V of France. Here, she’s pretty but matronly, a mother with a spoiled, short-tempered adult son (Anghel Damian) determined to marry his bedmate — not a royal — and carry on adding to his car collection, and another son in university in Britain, and a few younger daughters to tend to.

But Romania is in crisis. It was on the wrong front of the Great War, an Entente ally whose fate was tied to Russia, and when Russia folded, Romania was occupied and forced to sign a treaty with Germany. That has the other allies inclined to ignore territorial claims — Transylvania, among them — that the government feels should be under its flag.

The barking, bellowing prime minister (Adrian Titieni) is good at getting ignored. American president Woodrow Wilson (Patrick Drury) never misses a chance to walk out on the strident man’s increasingly irate pleas (in English and Romanian with English subtitles).

“The American president can’t even find Romania on the map!” Well, as he was a university president, maybe that tag is meant for a later president.

With the Western world starting to share the right to vote with women, maybe “It’s high time women expressed their opinions.”

Romania’s queen lobbies the politicians and her husband, King Ferdinand (David Plier), no more Romanian by birth than her, to let her have a go at it. After all, she is a queen, “granddaughter of Victoria,” which still impresses the Brits. She can ask “Cousin George” (King George V of the UK, played by Nicholas Boulton) for help.

With “the will and the heart of the nation” at her back, she packs up the princesses, arrives in Paris and being the lone royal about, proceeds to dazzle the press and slowly wrangle her way to meetings with Clemenceau, David Lloyd George and Wilson. She tries pleas to their humanity, charm (on Wilson’s royally-awed wife). And when that fails, she lights into one or two in her best “WHO is Queen?” voice.

“I would be careful where you draw your lines, Mr. Prime Minister. The consequences might be felt 100 years from now!”

After all, if they let Romania down, perhaps it’ll go the way of Russia and turn Bolshevik!

The movie’s grim tone stems from the tragedy of Europe right after a devastating war. Romanians are starving. So any chance this palace and grand hotel-set costume drama had at being a light, plucky proto-feminist romp is tossed aside for Real Romanian and Royal European History.

They go for “musty” and “overly-impressed-with-inbreds” in other words. The film’s great virtue is in reminding us of just how tiny this “world” was, with everybody related through Queen Victoria, and merely invoking Victoria’s name is enough to make the Brits and to a lesser degree everybody else quake in their presence.

And Marie’s family problems, disappointing sons whose loyalty is to title, wealth and privilege and not their parents’ adoptive country, a need to “marry off” the daughters on this Paris trip, remind us that family is family and always messy.

The performances are dry and a bit starchy, with Lupu occasionally achieving the outskirts of “inspiring” as the Queen. The dialogue is middle school Romanian history text stiff.

Handsomely staged, costumed and filmed, “Queen Marie” is more valuable as history, even with its blue blood biases, than as entertainment. But while Romanians may get more from it than outsiders, one has to hope they don’t see this as any representation of “The Good Ol’Days,” when even a foreigner from the “right family” was more entitled to represent your country than anybody produced by a meritocracy.

MPA Rating: unrated, nudity in one explicit sex scene.

Cast: Roxana Lupu, Daniel Plier, Richard Elfyn, Patrick Drury, Caroline Loncq, Ronald Chenery, Adrian Titieni, Anghel Damian and Nicholas Boulton

Credits: Directed by Alexis Sweet Cahill and Brigitte Drodtloff, script by Alexis Sweet Cahill, Brigitte Drodtloff, Gabi Antal, Ioana Manea and Maria-Denise Teodoru. A Samuel Goldwyn release.

Running time: 1:50

A little Lumberton, N.C. after dark, a little Zoom Q & A with Isabella Rossellini afterwards.

Let’s see if I can get “off script” for my introduction.

A 35th anniversary showing at the 30th anniversary FFF. Great way to polish off the middle weekend of the Florida Film Festival.

Morgan Freeman sits in a wheelchair and orders B-movie action queen Ruby Rose around in “Vanquish,” a slow-walking, slow-drawling thriller filled with actors who have no business being in a movie with Freeman, who’s barely in it himself.

It’s bad in so many bizarre ways you wish it was bad enough to be fun, but it isn’t.

Freeman plays “America’s police commissioner,” a crooked cop confined to a wheel chair who kidnaps the sickly daughter of his “friend.” Victoria used to be some sort of secret agent “courier,” and with dominoes tumbling around a Federal investigation of this unnamed state’s “dirty cops” going all the way up to the governor (Julie Lott), Damon (Freeman) needs her services in the worst way.

He offers to pay for her kid’s treatment, and for insurance, takes her hostage. Victoria has to make five runs around town collecting mountains of cash that will make this world of Federal trouble go away.

She’ll get on her electric bike with “Blade Runner” synthesizers zinging behind her and zip around this seaside city from “a German bar,” to an African-American money laundering scheme backstage at a…curling ring? I think? That’s for starters.

The gay mobster’s lair is just delish, because a lot of people drawl in this Gothic noir nonsense. Victoria has quite the reputation, and everybody she meets wants her dead.

“I heard you killed more people than Quentin Tarantino!”

She tries, Lord knows she tries.

It’s a thriller with a lot of older bit players muttering updates into the phones at each other as Damon watches Vicky’s pick-ups, which seem to always end in glib gunplay, via a camera on her bike helmet and on her jacket lapel.

He’s always barking “Up ahead, Vicky!” and “Don’t PASS OUT, Vicky!” “It’s a TRAP.”

A half-assed car chase here, MO-lasses slow chats between dirty cops there, and on and on this clunker goes, at half-speed crawl from start to finish.

George Gallo, who wrote “Midnight Run” and “Bad Boys” back in his salad days, has lost whatever sense of forward motion even his worst scripts had. Hallucinatory fish-eye lenses, blurred sequences, extreme close-ups and flashes of an editor’s “Maybe I can save this” ambition show themselves.

Not a chance. A Southern drawl can convey peril, but only when it’s wielded by a master. Every scene that doesn’t end in gunplay is static as a still-life, only one of them with lines as funny as this.

“He’s dead?” “Pretty sure.” “What happened?” “You’ll…have to ask him.”

The bizarre stuff has to do with locale. The drawls give-away “local hires” in a lot of supporting roles, so it’s good a few Biloxi, Mississippi natives cashed a check or two, and not just Freeman, who lives there and owns a blues club in Clarksdale.

But a German language nightclub…in Biloxi? A French mobster? In Biloxi?

Rose, perhaps picking up on all the accents, lapses into her native Aussie, but just once or twice.

Weak villains, dull supporting players, and now it can be said — Rose only works in thrillers where she’s a menacing, mysterious figure of palpable menace, a supporting player who gets the fight choreography, stunt support and editing to carry it off.

But “John Wick” this isn’t.

MPA Rating: R for bloody violence, language, some sexual material and drug use

Cast: Morgan Freeman, Ruby Rose, Chris Mullinax, Patrick Muldoon and Julie Lott.

Credits: Directed by George Gallo, script by and George Gallo. A Lionsgate release

Running time: 1:36

No one went to Neon’s doc “Gunda,” to “Minari” or “The Father” either.

“Chaos Walking” tripped like every other movie in wide release.

All the box office cash went to “Godzilla vs Kong,” another $7.7 million. The monster mash has made $80 million in the US. It will have cleared $400 million worldwide by next weekend.

“Voyager” finished it’s last quick swirl down the toilet, as only “Nobody,” ($2.5),”Unholy” ($2) and “Raya and the Last Dragon” ($1.9 million) picked up any Kong scraps.

Those figures come from studio reports filed tob@ExhibitorRelations and @BoxOfficePro.

There’s not a lot about Burhan Qurbani’s updating of “Berlin Alexanderplatz” that declares itself “adapted from one of the greatest novels of the 20th century.”

It’s stately and long — nearly three hours. But Rainer Werner Fassbender’s definitive 1980 version, for German TV, ran for over 15 hours and was shown in theaters over multiple nights in the US.

Reduced in scale and stripped of the moment-in-time poignancy of Alfred Döblin’s Weimar (“Cabaret” without Liza) gangland morality tale, it seems more run-of-the-mill than intended.

But Qurbani — “We Are Young. We Are Strong” was his — gives his version a cable-news-headlines currency, making our anti-heroic hero “Franz” into “Francis (Welket Bungué), a traumatized immigrant from Bissau on the west coast of Africa.

His transition, from troubled, exploited and unwanted Francis to gangland player Franz may seem genre picture routine, with grim flashbacks and overt oxen symbolism reminding us that Döblin set his 1920s story in a poor neighborhood previously known for its cattle pens. But it’s still an arresting slice-of-underworld-life tale, as lurid and seamy as ever.

Francis loses his unpermitted subway building job thanks to his temper and morality. He insists on summoning a doctor to help a gravely injured colleague. It’s what the man falls into that makes his story interesting.

His journey began “washed up on the shores of a new life,” as the unnecessary voice over narration notes. But it truly picks up when he hears the pitch of fey, faintly insulting and almost thoroughly-corrupt Reinhold (Albrecht Schuch). Others may tell Francis “This isn’t for you” or “You’re not a real man.” Reinhold tells all the Africans crammed into their apartment, “You deserve more from life.”

Francis finds himself cooking meals for Reinhold’s vast drug-trade street team, a well-oiled machine consisting of “the cash boys,” “the stash boys,” “the couriers” and “the scouts,” moving from group to group with a baby stroller filled with today’s freshly-cooked African cuisine.

As he is befriended, used and abused by Reinhold, he faces up to sexual guilt and uncertainty (someone drowned with him on the way to Europe) dealing with Reinhold’s “girls,” and earns some standing with the racist boss-of-bosses, the much-older Pums (Joachim Król).

Francis completes his journey to Franz when he meets the successful, imperious but sympathetic Nigerian club-owner/madam Eva (Annabelle Mandeng) and is “saved” by the hooker-with-a-heart-of-gold Mieze (Jella Haase).

But are there ever happy endings in “Berlin Alexanderplatz?”

Bungué makes a compelling, confused lead. We spend much of the first two “parts” of this five-part story wondering if he’s gay and confused or guilt-ridden by the drowning-nightmares that fill his nights.

Haase and Mandeng make terrific female foils, women with agency and the smarts to see what Francis/Franz may not, that Reinhold is nobody’s friend.

But if this tale depends on a complex, cruel-to-be-kind villain, Schuch more than fills the bill, an Iago to Franz’s Othello. His affected, effeminate stoop and way of keeping one hand on his hip suggests “underestimate me.” His motivations aren’t the clearest, based on the movie.

Which underscores the film’s overarching weakness. As familiar as such rise-and-fall tales are, “Alexanderplatz” leans on the invisible novel that’s not entirely lost in this adaptation. It’s as if Qurbani expects the viewer to know Döblin and Fassbender’s texts as canon. In Germany, this may very well be the case.

But it’s been a long time since I plowed through the Fassbender film, and two generations have come along, outside of Germany, who have no acquaintance with it or the novel (recently given a readable and faithful English translation).

That renders this saga into a skimming of that book, and a rehash of dozens of Hollywood films of the same genre and structure. Its power to move and shock is reduced accordingly.

The filmmaker has boiled it down to make it practical and watchable, and updated “Berlin Alexanderplatz” to make it topical. But he’s lost too much of what made it special.

MPA Rating: unrated, violence, sex, nudity, drug abuse

Cast: Welket Bungué, Albrecht Schuch, Jella Haase, Annabelle Mandeng and Joachim Król

Credits: Directed by Burhan Qurbani, script by Martin Behnke and Burhan Qurbani, based on the novel by Alfred Döblin. A Kino Lorber (April 30) release.

Running time: 2:55

Sure, I’m as done with vampire movies as anybody. But a Bram Stoker riff in thick Irish brogues? Let’s have it, then.

“Boys from County Hell” is about an outbreak of the undead in the homeland of “Dracula” author Stoker. It’s slangy and profane, bloody and bloody funny, as well.

“Most people don’t even know Stoker was Irish,” Eugene (Jack Rowan) gripes to a couple of Canadian tourists he’s just picked up in The Stoker, the pub in tiny Six Mile Hill, a village connected to Stoker. He’s leading them to see “The Cairn,” a rock pile of local lore that may have something of a bloodsucking variety buried beneath it.

The story is that Stoker got inspired by a local legend, and merely grafted it onto accounts of Vlad the Impaler is much-more-exotic Transylvania.

But Six Mile Hill is due to get a highway bypass. Eugene’s contractor dad Francie Moffat (Nigel O’Neill) has the contract to move the earth, and maybe the cairn.

If only Eugene and his mate William (Fra Fee) hadn’t taken that shortcut home from having a few “scoops” down t’the pub. If only this beast hadn’t charged them and gored poor William to death.

That’s cast a pall over cairn-tearing down day — that, and the warning by William’s under-taker dad (John Lynch).

“Don’t toss that cairn, Eugene. Yer not f—–g cut out for all this.”

All what? The undertaker knows.

And when the blood starts to splatter and the dead won’t stay dead, the Moffats are the first to find out. Will there be enough “Boys from County Hell,” with barmaid Claire (Louisa Harland) pitching in, to stop this?

The story’s another variation on the “‘Dracula is fiction,’ this is real life” vampire formula. As in, don’t expect all the old standbys to “kill this thing.” The violence is just serious enough to pass muster and the effects are quite good.

But it’s the Irishness that sells this, the “craic” and “cute hoor” slang, the effective deployment of beer, profanity and “feckin’ eejit” and the like.

“Is he on droooogs?””Aye took th’coke once. Through six different scraps, didn’t feel a ting”

“The wee f—-r tried t’bite me!” “Bite? Like a…”

“Like a (rhymes with RUNT).”

And on and on it goes, with many “scoops” and slashings, bites and impalings to keep the faithful and the diaspora amused. There’s nothing much you can do with this genre any more except mock it. Mocking is one thing the Irish are quite good at.

MPA Rating: unrated, bloody and profane as all get out

Cast: Jack Rowan, Nigel O’Neill, Louisa Harland, Fra Fee, Michael Hough and John Lynch.

Credits: Scripted and directed by Chris Baugh. A Shudder release (April 22)

Running time: 1:29

As tortured hostage in Iraq tales go, “Wildcat” plays as entirely too chatty and slackly-paced. But it has its moments, a middle-sequence turnabout and a finale that has all the urgency missing from the first two acts.

“Black Mirror” and “Broadchurch” veteran Georgina Campbell plays Khadija, a “journalist” taken hostage by a terrorist gang in Mosul. She’s hurled into a cell with Luke, a Marine (Luke Benward of “Field of Lost Shoes” and “Grand Isle”), the only other survivor of the convoy they were in that was ambushed.

They barely have time to bond before they’re separated for interrogations. “Kat” meets a brute (Maz Siam) who promptly pulls out a fingernail, followed by an English speaker (Mido Hamada) who asks the questions.

“What is your name? Are you with State Department? Are you CIA?” He’s never satisfied with her answers.

But when the Marine is tossed back into the cell, he calls her a “lightweight” for answering any question, for pleading “Please, I am Muslim, you don’t have to do this,” etc.

“Wildcat,” as its title implies, is about how wrong our Marine might be.

This is no “particular skills” action hero thriller. Kat’s gifts include memory, details, some sort of training in a “work the problem” vein. They reason out where they are by the sounds of a mosque’s call to prayers. They figure out who has them.

But how can they get out of this?

Writer-director Jonathan W. Stokes (he scripted the Scott Adkins/Christian Bale actioner, “Bullet”) doesn’t shy away from the torture, but the picture dawdles through the middle acts, conversations filled with bonding, interrogations built on debates, with both prisoner and torturer reading the other’s psychological profiles, and threats.

“When I look at you, I see fear…If you act like a victim, people will victimize you.”

Campbell makes a solid lead, the captor/villains are passable stock “types.” But entirely too little is done to up the pace, raise the stakes. These characters should be in pain as they struggle to figure out why they were taken. Their captors need to be in more of a hurry to get what they want out of them.

The best dramatic moment, when Kat starts to intellectually turn the tables, is a great place to “cue rising suspense.” Nobody behind the camera took that cue.

MPA Rating: R (Language|Violence/Torture)

Cast: Georgina Campbell, Luke Benward, Mido Hamada, Maz Siam and Ibrahim Renno

Credits: Scripted and directed by Jonathan W. Stokes. A Saban Films release (April 23)

Running time: 1:33

It’s coming in mid May. He’s been a “Star Wars” hero, a Bond villain and a teacher with a drinking problem.

Why not a vigilante?

It’s one of those pieces of early football history, like the legends of Pop Warner and Jim Thorpe and Knute Rockne and “The Gipper.”

“12 Mighty Orphans” recalls a Depression Era football team of over-achievers from a Texas orphanage.

Like Wilson, Vinessa Shaw, Martin Sheen, Treat Williams and Robert Duvall star in this June release from Sony Pictures Classics.