Movie Nation

What is it about black and white celluloid that makes its modern digital equivalent feel so flat and washed out?

Is it the texture, the nearly-invisible but implicit “grain” and sharpness? The contrast between light and shadow, the many shadings of grey, the far darker blacks, the physical/chemical limits of film’s depth-of-field that mimic the eye?

I fret over this every time I dive into a much-praised modern monochromatic movie or even Disney’s “WandaVision,” wondering what it is that makes “Roma” and “Mank” leave me cold visually.

There were hints of the disappearing art of lighting and shooting in black and white as early as the 35MM “Schindler’s List,” which still has scenes of stark monochromatic beauty that nothing produced in black and white today can match.

But to really see the difference, a vintage production by a master filmmaker working in the medium is what you look to for comparison.

John Frankenheimer’s 1964 thriller “The Train” is a flawed gem, basically a fictionalized, action-amped story from the pages of the “Nazis stealing art” saga that “The Monuments Men” documented.

It was filmed in glorious “European widescreen” in French-processed black and white. That makes every information-packed image of Frankenheimer’s exquisite mise en scene pop, sometime to a breathtaking degree.

Watching it again for the first time in many years, I was struck by how much better it still works than George Clooney’s more historically-accurate but still bowdlerized “Monuments Men” of 2014.

Both films are based on historical accounts of the risks of wartime destruction and the Nazi looting of the patrimony of Western Civilization, the Great Artworks of Europe. Both are fictionalized, especially when it comes to the heroine of that saga, the French art historian and curator Rose Valland, whose record-keeping was the German Philistines’ undoing at war’s end, tracking the artworks she was not able to hide from thieves to those who did the stealing.

Valland’s name was changed in both films, although “The Train” comes closer to the real Rose, even if the incident portrayed never happened.

Screenwriters Franklin Cohen and Frank Davis had the clever idea of putting this story on heist picture footing and setting it literally in motion. An urbane, amoral Nazi (Paul Scofield) spirits scores of paintings and artworks out of Paris as it is about to fall to the Allies in 1944. The Rose Valland figure (Suzanne Flon) sounds the alarm to the Resistance. And the job of stopping this train hauling the art falls on the railyard supervisor Labiche, played with brute panache by Burt Lancaster.

The artwork is a wide array of genres, from impressionist masterpieces to the “modern” works the Nazis banned as “degenerate art,” thus working in another of Germany’s crimes against civilization (art destruction and censorship) into the story.

Our villain is a classic “type,” polished, well-spoken — a sophisticate.

“Beauty belongs to the man who can appreciate it,” Col. von Waldheim (oopsie) purrs. Right.

This trope is like the serial killer as Man of Letters and Taste cliche that “Silence of the Lambs” helped perpetuate. No, serial killers are statistically most often truck drivers. And the Nazis were largely oompah-music loving thugs and goons — not unlike nationalist cretins the world over, mouth-breathing lovers of “country” music, whatever fits that definition in whatever country, the US to Brazil, Russia or the Philippines, in the present day.

What brings “The Train” to life are its action beats — chases and strafings and bombings and sabotage, which includes here renaming whistle stops to fool the Germans on board that the art-filled train is heading in a direction it isn’t.

Frankenheimer spent a lot of United Artists’ money and a lot of screen time on a movie that only has to hint at World War II in most cases. We see but a single (distant) British Spitfire, a couple of bombers, a railyard turned into devastation.

But every immaculately-framed shot packs in characters, background and information — anti-sabotage posters in a rail clerk’s office, sharply focused huge closeups of actors in the foreground, stars in the middle or background, and sometimes the exact opposite, built around the big, chiseled and soot-stained face of Lancaster, playing a character who can’t get over the fact that they’re being asked to die for art.

“You know what’s on that train? Paintings. That’s right, paintings. Art. The national heritage. The pride of France. Crazy, isn’t it?”

Lancaster is the linchpin who holds this long, smoky dash across France together. It’s a classic movie star turn, with gravitas and sparkling flashes of his acrobatic past. He manhandles heavy machine parts, casting brakelines to fix a sabotaged engine as if he’s done it all his life. He clambers through windows, over walls and up roofs, and in his most memorable bit of business, slides down a long switching station ladder to the tracks like a guy who’s worked the rails since childhood.

The picture has too much bloodshed to allow for the lighter moments a movie like “The Monuments Men” went for. The dialogue is melodramatic and arch, the characters archetypes. But in simplifying the stakes, narrowing the focus, giving us a fixed villain, and shooting in “WWII period piece” black and white, Frankenheimer gives us a riveting ride through a war fought over values and fundamental freedoms — among them, the freedom to create, value and appreciate whatever artistic expression you choose, and not just the oompah music, idealized landscapes and muscular propaganda of the tasteless goons in charge.

And he did it in the black and white tones that don’t just look but actually feel like the era they’re depicting, not a cheap, washed-out facsimile of that past.

MPAA Rating: unrated, violence

Cast: Burt Lancaster, Paul Scofield, Jeanne Moreau, Suzanne Flon, Michel Simon, Albert Rémy and Wolfgang Preiss.

Credits: Directed by John Frankenheimer, script by Franklin Cohen and Frank Davis. A United Artists/MGM release on Tubi, etc.

Running time: 2:13

Horror veteran Caroline Williams, who’s been around since “Texas Chainsaw Massacre 2” back in the ’80s, gets a fine C-movie showcase in “10 Minutes to Midnight,” a tale of a “rabid” bat and the hallucinatory bloodlust consequences it has on an aging DJ’s last night on the job.

Or that’s what she would have gotten had the script lived up to her performance and the third act not reached student film levels of “let’s play around, here.”

Williams is Amy Marlowe, thirty-year veteran of her little radio station and hostess of a free-form all night show with the arresting name of “10 Minutes to Midnight.”

Amy’s a local legend and has been since she was “Punk Rock Amy.” Now 50something, she still wears the T-shirts, the leather and the ink, still rocks a commanding presence on the air.

But as a hurricane bears down on her and her town (“Midnight” was filmed at WILI in Willimantic, Connecticut), she and we can see this won’t be a routine night.

There’s the nasty bite mark on her neck, the one the chatty security guard (Nicholas Tucci) goes on and on about, offering to take her to “urgent care down the street” for. Ernie’s a whittler. Might that wood he’s carving be…HOLLY?

Creepy-pervy manager Bob (veteran bit player William Youmans, quite good) is drooling over some freshly-graduated possible new hire named Sienna (Nicole Kang), letting her “shadow” a host she “grew up listening to.”

And piercing-packed producer Aaron (Adam Wepler) finds himself trying to talk Amy down from the mania that grips her from the moment she signs on…at “10 Minutes to Midnight.”

“She’s here to take my job,” Amy blurts out, and between the bite, the paranoia of 30 years playing radio career roulette and the obnoxious “shadow” threat sitting right across from her, she just loses it in a tirade of f-bombs, recriminations and accusations.

Kind of the classic way one ends a radio gig, I must say.

During this long night, Amy becomes increasingly unhinged, lashing out and biting — or is that just the rabies talking? Is she hallucinating this “farewell broadcast” nightmare?

Here’s a quick list of all the ways I think writer-director and “Project Greenlight” alumnus Erik Bloomquist goes wrong.

We lose track of the storm, and with it any possibility of a growing sense of doom and isolation.

He abandons the “radio show” part of the tale in a flash. That opening meltdown, with Amy ripping into callers, Sienna, Bob and radio in general, is all the “broadcasting” done here.

Radio’s “ticking clock” thriller structure — squeezing in action, confrontations and drama between breaks or live on the air — is lost. Netflix “Talk Radio” or the recent Eddie Marsan thriller “Feedback” to see the possibilities thrown away here.

So while the “All About Eve” replaced star vs. ingenue dynamic may work — “You are SUCH a little girl.” “And you HATE that, don’t you?” — while Bob is hitting on Sienna the way he used to hit on Amy (Flashbacks!), while Amy’s mania lurches between hallucinatory and cannibalistic, we’re left with all these deadly dull INTERLUDES of intimate conversation that stop the story cold.

When all we want out of this 73 minute countdown is spiraling madness, violent revenge, panicked attempts at survival and Ernie to finish that damned whittling.

Williams and the cast are better than the movie they’re saddled with.

MPA Rating: unrated, bloody violence, sexual situations

Cast: Caroline Williams, Nicole Kang, Nicholas Tucci, Adam Wepler and William Youmans

Credits: Directed by Erik Bloomquist, script by Erik Bloomquist, Carson Bloomquist. A 1091 release.

Running time: 1:13

I blame karma for “Savage State.”

You spend a lifetime bitching about “pace” and “urgency,” the notion for motion pictures to remember the “motion” part, and you’re punished with a French-Canadian still-life like this.

“Savage State” is a Civil War era Western about French transplants to the South fleeing West when their bubble is burst by those damned uncouth Yankees. It devolves into a slow-motion chase led by a lady brigand/smuggler (Kate Moran) in pursuit of five beautiful women, the quartet of men taking them overland to San Francisco.

French director David Perrault (“Our Heroes Died Tonight”), cinematographer Christopher Duchange, production designer Florian Sanson, costumer Véronique Gely and art director Sylvain Dion ensure that most every frame is just gorgeous to behold.

The hair and makeup department make certain that every woman in the cast — especially the fleeing family played by Alice Isaaz, Déborah François, Maryne Bertieaux and Constance Dollé and their voodoo practicing hired (not enslaved) servant “Because we are not like those (racist) savages” — are “Project Runway” perfect in every damned frame as they stumble, on foot, from Missouri to California.

Isaaz, playing the brooding but plucky youngest sister, smitten with their smuggler/guide Victor (Kevin Janssens) is stunning in every frame, nary a hair out of place.

It’s based on the historical effort of Napoleon III to recruit French colonists to move to America and help finance the Confederacy, with smugglers dabbling in pearls, diamonds and perfumes as part of that. Missing diamonds are what drive the brigands led by Bettie (Moran) to hunt the family once they’ve lost their insulated St. Charles, Missouri lives of dress balls and luxury.

That “hunt,” crossing much of the country, is “slow-walked” in the extreme. The few shootouts are well-staged, but far between.

“Savage” is more a movie of women reading French novels by candlelight in a tent, brooding (mostly in French, with English subtitles) over missing lovers or would-be “bad boy” crushes, and beautiful actresses and actors set against beautiful scenery.

Suffice it to say, there’s a reason the French aren’t known for their Westerns. And it isn’t just because they have a trail guide singing “Home on the Range” a decade before it was composed. This is pretentious, chatty and maddeningly slow.

“Savage State” is a Western as animated as a Daguerreotype.

MPA Rating: unrated, violence

Cast: Alice Isaaz, Kevin Janssens, Déborah François, Armelle Abibou, Maryne Bertieaux, Bruno Todeschini, Constance Dollé and Kate Moran

Credits: A Samuel Goldwyn release.

Running time: 1:58

A Sundance film from Belgium.

The first hint I had of Indonesia’s thriving horror scene was the best segment of one of those horror anthologies that have been turning up in recent years. I think it was “V/H/S/2.”

“The Third Eye (Matin)” is another iHorror feature that sticks in the mind. The film doesn’t have to be the most original to leave a lasting impression, and the limited sample of bloody Indonesian exports I’ve watched have fit both descriptions.

There’s a healthy dose of “nothing new to see here” to the plot of Kimo Stamboel’s “The Queen of Black Magic.” Story beats and key components of the tale are familiar from many a film that’s preceded it.

But the simple, chilling effects — think “When Millipedes Attack!” — and not-quite-over-the-top gore set “Queen” apart and deliver a memorably gruesome moment or two.

It’s the story of an orphanage haunted by the horrors of its past, terrors visited on those who left there when three of them return, with their families, for a little reunion celebrating the dying old man who has long owned and run the place.

Scores of films have been built on those “Ghost Story” bones.

Those three “alumni” — Hanif (Ario Bayu), Anton (Tanta Ginting) and Jefri (Miller Khan) seem enthusiastic about being there, even if the old man who ran it (Yayu A.W. Unru) is confined to his bed, facing his final hours.

Two disfigured orphans who never left (Ade Firman Hakim, Sheila Dara Aisha) married and now run the place. They’re here to greet the three guys, their wives and Hanif’s three kids.

The place is empty because all the orphans went on a bus field trip and are due back. Hanif’s little boy (Muzakki Ramdhan) hears why one room has remained empty forever, and wants to hear all about the former employee who “practiced black magic” and had to be removed.

But those who used to live there know there’s more to the story. And the viewer knows that wasn’t a “deer” Haniq hit on the way there on their long drive through the country.

Pretty soon everybody else does, and some even know what’s become of that busload of children.

A “demon,” vengeful ghost or something is out for revenge. And with assorted employees, guests and family members always finding an excuse to separate — See? It’s not just ditzy Americans in “dead teenagers movies” who do that. — the bugs overwhelm this guest, instill the need to harm oneself to another, and so on.

This isn’t going to be pretty.

The cast is required to mime that “demon has me but I WON’T point the gun at that child” self-struggle shtick. One is moved to attempt self-surgery with a kitchen knife. The horrors pile up quickly.

I liked a couple of effects — that bugs-crawling-all-over-people and into somebody’s mouth is good, and there’s a demon-throws-her-across-the-room stunt that’s as impressive as any I’ve ever seen.

But Joko Anwar’s script leaves a bit to be desired — twists that seem trite, counter-twists that are even worse, over-explaining things to the point where the forward motion is lost.

And the near-pointless epilogue had me shaking my head.

I’m the first to admit this isn’t my favorite genre. But anybody can tell when a horror movie works. The few chills hand one or two almost jaw-dropping moments of gore delivered in the most predictable ways don’t quite get the job done here.

“The Queen of Black Magic” herself isn’t a letdown, but how she’s dealt with is.

MPA Rating: Unrated, gory as all get out

Cast: Ario Bayu, Hannah Al Rashid, Adhisty Zara, Muzakki Ramdhan, Ade Firman Hakim, Sheila Dara Aisha, Tanta Ginting and Miller Khan

Credits: Directed by Kimo Stamboel, script by Joko Anwar. A Shudder release.

Running time: 1:40

We all have an idea of what this going to be like, but let’s try and keep an open mind, eh?

Release dates are flexible, so you’ll have to watch the trailer to get an idea of when they pray they’ll be able to release this Indie Spirit Award contender.

“Minari” is a near classic of the timeworn “troubles on the farm” drama, a story of a family of non-farmers facing the whims of nature and the widening fracture in a marriage as they set out to work the land and grab The American Dream.

It’s “Country” or “The Southerner” or “Jean de Fleurette” but with Korean immigrants tested this time, a family whose problems arrive with them when they got their 50 acres of Arkansas in the mid-1980s.

Delicately acted by leads Yeri Han and Steven Yuen and vividly-detailed, it covers familiar ground for the genre, with the odd moment of novelty here and there, much of that coming from the locals they interact with.

The fissures are there the day we meet them, rolling up in a station wagon and moving truck onto a piece of land with a double-wide on it in rural Rogers, Arkansas.

Jacob (Yuen, of “Okja” and “The Walking Dead”) wants to show Monica (Han of “Worst Woman”) “the best soil in America.” She’d like a word (in Korean, with subtitles, and in English) about this “house.”

“It has…wheels.” As the kids adapt and unpack, Mom is quick to say “We’re not saying long.”

Whatever their history — California was their previous stop — this latest move is not one she’s on board with, hissing at his “Garden of Eden” description of the 50 acres he’s dreamed of owning.

They’ve been hired as chicken sexers at a local hatchery, because Jacob is “one of the fastest” at this — picking up chicks and determining their gender with a quick glance — that anybody has ever seen. Lots of first generation Korean-Americans will be their co-workers.

The work is drudgery itself, and towering over the building is a chimney, smoking like a crematorium. Male chicks are “disposed of” they tell their kids.

But Dad dreams of lifting them out of this labor. He will farm a huge truck garden on their land and raise vegetables. His “better mousetrap idea?” They’ll be Korean vegetables which he’ll sell to burgeoning Korean markets servicing the growing Korean immigrant communities in nearby large cities.

But first, he’s got to find water. The land has “history,” something a slightly-crazed neighbor (Will Patton) reminds them. They should get it exorcised. Jacob should probably hire a douser, the locals figure. But he’s quick to dismiss all that as primitive “nonsense.”

“Korean people use our minds,” he tells his doted-on little boy, David (Alan S. Kim) . “Never pay for anything you can find for free.”

Foreboding and foreshadowing are one in the same in this story, from the creepy crematorium to the first night they experience the difference between a “tornado watch” and “tornado warning.” Monica frets constantly about how far away the nearest hospital is, because David is doted-on for more than just being a prized son. He’s sickly.

And Jacob is awfully quick to dismiss the idea that they’ll need babysitting for David and tweenage Anne (Noel Cho).

“There’s no one around. What could happen?”

Monica semi-silently fumes at the myriad risks they’re piling into this life inside a tornado magnet and fire trap, with a weak child who needs surgery and jobs that hold no future.

Maybe church will help, although Jacob’s not keen on that, either. Maybe the arrival of Monica’s Mom (Yuon Yuh-jong) will improve Monica’s mood and improve their odds.

One pleasant surprise of “Minari” is the tactless but warm embrace of the locals. Patton’s neighbor (and farm help) Paul embodies that with his “The minute I saw you, I knew we were going to be friends.” His eccentricity may stand out, but from the banker who buys into their business plan to the church that welcomes them with applause, Chung ensures that his film reminds us of America’s long history of welcoming immigrants.

But just as much care is put into the multiplying perils facing the family. David is quick to dislike his new “not a real grandmother,” and Monica makes no effort to hide “I’m sorry you have to show you our lives now” pain at being here. She visibly winces when little David gushes at the land, the creek and woods with “I’m going to live here until the day I die!”

That’s what she’s worried about.

The title is the name of a Korean vegetable, one that “grows like weeds,” and it’s meant to be a metaphor. Because when the dream cracks, bends and breaks, when the water dries up and crises pile up, remembering weeds survive where hearty plants fail is a straw worth clinging to.

Chung (“Lucky Life”), filming a tale both familiar and alien and a story not far removed from his own childhood, has made a breakout film of brittle tenderness, heart and hope — one that we hope makes him a filmmaker to watch from here on out.

MPA Rating: PG-13 for some thematic elements and a rude gesture 

Cast: Steven Yeun, Yeri Han, Alan S. Kim, Youn Yuh-jung, Noel Cho and Will Patton

Credits: Scripted and directed by Lee Isaac Chung. An A24 release.

Running time: 1:55

Netflix should have kept the original title to this Spanish comedy.

“Salir del Ropero” translates to “Leaving the wardrobe.” It’s a running gag in the film. Celia, one of the two senior citizens who are in love and hope to marry with “the blessings of Pope Paco” (one’s nickname for Pope Francis) confuses “coming out of the closet” for “leaving the wardrobe.”

And “So My Grandma’s a Lesbian” makes a middling comedy worse.

Here’s the best thing in the film — the glorious, exotic Canary Islands location. Volcanic hills, sun-soaked waters, whitewashed Spanish architecture. Who wouldn’t fall in love around all that?

That may be why Celia (Rosa Maria Sardà) fell for Sofia (Verónica Forqué). Her son, a primate researcher in the Congo doesn’t see that. Jorge (David Verdaguer) takes Celia to see a neurologist. She claims to be chatting on the phone with Pope Francis in an effort to get his blessing, after all.

But this late-life “change” and marriage is a far bigger concern for Eva (Ingrid García Jonsson). She’s a young lawyer marrying into a rich family of Brexit-backing/Trump loving Scottish conservatives.

Considering Scotland’s moves to stay in the EU and ban Trump from moving there, that seems far-fetched.

They’re a whole clan of homophobes, well save for the guy (Leander Vyvey) she’s marrying. The shock of Grandma Sofia’s news sends her jetting off to the Canaries to try and stop the wedding.

She’s got a gay granny, Muslim stepbrother and her oft-married mother’s (Mónica López) in show business.

How do you say “Skeletons in the closet” in Spanish?

There aren’t many laughs in this, and most of them come from the physical tomfoolery of Verdaguer, who’s a Spanish Jemaine Clement look-alike/pratfaller.

Writer-director Ángeles Reiné comes up with a lot of disparate characters and complications, but fails utterly to build this into a farce of rising confusion, pace and mayhem.

You’ve got a reluctant coach/city councilman/priest who won’t perform the ceremony without orders from the Vatican, a media scandal that blows up when news gets out about these two sweet little old discriminated-against Catholics can’t get a Church-sanctioned wedding, Scottish hypocrisy and Jorge and Eva — who keep meeting cute, with Jorge imitating the Great Apes he studies in his version of a mating ritual.

“Cute” is about as good as it gets in “So My Grandma’s a Lesbian.” Sweet, even. But funny? Almost never.

But I”ll say this for all that. Come pandemic’s end, the Canaries are going on my bucket list.

MPA Rating: TV-MA, adult themes, drinking

Cast: Rosa Maria Sardà, Verónica Forqué, Ingrid García Jonsson, David Verdaguer

Credits: Scripted and directed by Ángeles Reiné. A Netflix release.

Running time: 1:35

As acting “baggage” goes, you could do worse than be saddled with the rep Jason Segel takes with him from film to film.

He’s carved out a niche playing softies, pushovers, semi-lost souls who go through life always erring on the side of “sweet.” From “Forgetting Sarah Marshall” to “Jeff Who Lives at Home,” years on TV’s “How I Met Your Mother” and in the new film, “Our Friend,” he’s the best friend you’d ever want to have, the sensitive one who may be “lost” but who always has time to help you find yourself.

“Our Friend” doesn’t lose track of its title character, but it does wander around him an awful lot as it skips through time, tracking a marriage from its early days through the terminal cancer that takes the life of the wife and mother. That diffuse focus and meandering narrative is the only real shortcoming in this consequential and touching weeper, a film inspired by a true story written by the magazine journalist who survived that loss, largely through the semi-divine, half-aimless intervention of “Our Friend.”

Dane (Segel) doesn’t make a great first impression on Matthew (Casey Affleck). He’s a stage hand at the New Orleans theater where Nicole (Dakota Johnson) is in a play, the one stage hand with the temerity to ask her out.

He didn’t know she was already married, and Dane’s disarming, hangdog self-loathing is all it takes for Matthew to take to him, just as his wife as.

In a narrative that skips back and forth through time, we see Nicole and Matthew early in the marriage, when Matthew is starting his journalism career at the Times-Picayune and she is acting, the period right after her cancer diagnosis, then back to later stops on Matthew’s globe-trotting career path, then the day a doctor tells them “It’s terminal.”

Parties and birthdays, plays and assignments overseas pass by. And Dane? The die is cast the first time he’s asked about his ambition. He’s an aspiring stand-up comic. How’s that coming?

He’s “started to think about it.” He’s looking ahead to the day when “I get a pen, get a pad,” and starts writing funny ideas and jokes down.

That’s Dane. A little dreamy, a little lonely, seriously self-defeating. That’s Dane even after he finally gets a serious girlfriend. He moves in, but almost to the day that’s when he dashes down to Fairhope, Alabama where the his friends and their two little girls have settled. Nicole’s gotten sick, and Matthew, trapped and lost in a domestic crisis beyond his grasp, has let the house go to pieces and left the girls (Isabella Kai, Violet McGraw) to half-fend for themselves.

“Would it help if I stayed for a while?”

Yes. Yes it would. And as the couple wrestles over “when to tell the kids” and Nicole’s impulsive and near-impossible “bucket list,” the guy Mom nicknamed “Fruit Loop” way back when, who now insists the kids address him as “Grandma Dane,” steps into the void. He might be an aimless, rootless 30something, but he’s well-stocked with “Dad jokes.”

“Me? I didn’t do nothing. I’m like the Mona Lisa. Framed!”

He’s there to get the kids to school, leading sing alongs to “Call Me, Maybe,” to take the dying dog to be put down. His girlfriend may be frustrated, and Dane’s own issues — visited throughout the time periods of the story — make us and him wonder if he has the stamina to “help you get to the other side of this.”

Director Gabriela Cowperthwaite, who transitioned from documentaries (“Blackfish,” the movie that ended orca captivity at SeaWorld) to features (“Megan Leavey”) has her own brand, making movies of emotional substance.

She lets Segel stay in his comfort zone and do bits of cute shtick with the kids, but never lets us forget what Nicole is going through and how that is pummeling everyone around her. The oldest daughter (played by Kai) knows what is happening and is acting out. Earlier strains in the marriage might re-open. Matthew had a fainting problem earlier on, and as doctors and others (Cherry Jones plays an angelic hospice nurse) in the know realize, as the illness progresses, friends are “going to fall away, one by one.”

The downbeat tone and constant shuffling of the order of events in the narrative only makes the viewer forget where the real center of gravity is here. But as disorienting as that is, it’s reinforcing, in a way, what the laid-back manner of Dane’s introduction sets up as its message.

Sometimes, it’s the last people you expect when you first befriend them who stick around. And when the chips are down, their biggest surprise for you is that they’re the very last ones to leave.

MPA Rating: Rated R for language

Cast: Dakota Johnson, Casey Affleck, Isabella Kai, Violet McGraw, Denee Benton and Jason Segel

Credits: Directed by Gabriela Cowperthwaite, script by Brad Ingelsby, based on an article by Matthew Teague. A Gravitas Ventures/Universal Home Ent. release.

Running time: 2:05

Big big viewership numbers as Pixar’s “Soul” makes its mark on Disney Plus.

Pixar’s ‘Soul’ Records Historic Nielsen Streaming Win In Christmas Bow On Disney+

News like this makes me wonder why Amazon or Hulu didn’t jump at the chance to buy the latest James Bond film rather than seeing it pushed back on the release calendar repeatedly.

Deadline.com reported Sony/MGM wanted $600 million for it back in the fall. Netflix doesn’t need it. Disney doesn’t. Amazon and Hulu do.