Movie Nation

In “Palmer,” Justin Timberlake plays an ex-con, a hard man who comes back to his hometown and the grandma who raised him, looking for a second chance.

But that second chance doesn’t really present itself until his granny (June Squibb) dies, and a little boy with a feminine air she’s been looking after requires Palmer to soften, develop tolerance and compassion and think of somebody else for a change.

It’s a role with a lot of silent, sullen brooding built in. And in the hands of actor turned director Fisher Stevens (“Stand Up Guys”), it’s never much more than a “star vehicle” in the classic sense — lots of close-ups of Palmer’s thousand-yard-stare, tank tops showing off the tattoos, a sex scene and out-of-his-league romance, and sympathetic moments of a fatherless ex-con easing into fatherhood.

Not terribly demanding, in other words. But Timberlake is intensely likeable in the part, and that makes it work.

Palmer used to be somebody in Sylvain, Louisiana, a star footballer who left to take a scholarship at L.S.U. But life went off the rails for “Eddie,” and now he’s back where they know him, and how he went wrong, to start over. He’s just Palmer now, and while Grandma Vivian makes him go to church with her to “get yourself back out there,” he’s inclined to make “out there” Benny’s Place, the local bar where his old cronies hang.

And that single-mom living in Granny’s rental trailer out back? She’s played by Juno Temple, who has made a career out of loose, “nothing but trouble” train wrecks who are DTF with the leading man — in the film’s first act.

But Shelly’s son is different. Sammy (Ryder Allen) is about 8, dotes on his mom and on those occasions when she skips town on a bender, Palmer can find him doing Grandma Vivian’s hair, losing himself in his favorite fairy princess TV show and getting bullied by the locals for it.

As the only place that’ll hire an ex-con is the elementary school that needs a janitor — and that takes an intervention from a sympathetic principal and compliant school board — the disinterested Palmer witnesses Sammy’s life up-close.

And when Grandma Vivian dies, Palmer faces what could be his first responsible adult decision — dump the kid at the police department (Mom’s been gone a month) and into “the system,” or look after him.

Timberlake’s look in this film does a lot of the heavy-lifting for him. Muscled-up, with a beard and Farm Supply cap pulled down over his eyes, he’s the spitting image of Ben Foster. Foster plays a lot of hardcases.

But he manages the transition well, and in a lot of crowd-pleasing ways. A fatherly bit of business — Palmer asks Sammy if he’s taken a bath, assured he has, he tugs him by the shirt, takes a sniff, and begs to disagree. The kid’s cute and sympathetic and Timberlake does a nice job of taking Palmer on the journey from “not my problem” to father-figure.

You can’t let yourself think too much about Sammy’s beautiful teacher (Alisha Wainwright of TV’s” Shadowhunters”) taking a shine to the rough-hewn ex-con janitor, or about the nature of the crime that sent Eddie to prison and brought him back as Palmer.

Cheryl Guerriero, who has a Paris Hilton movie among her screenwriting credits, hews to a formula and doesn’t sweat the implausibilities.

But if “Palmer” isn’t that demanding of star and audience, it’s a perfectly serviceable story for at least reminding the film world that you’re out there, available and perfectly capable of delivering the dramatic goods.

MPAA Rating: R for language, some sexual content/nudity and brief violence 

Cast: Justin Timberlake, Ryder Allen, Alisha Wainwright, Juno Temple and June Squibb

Credits: Directed by Fisher Stevens, script by Cheryl Guerriero. An Apple Original release.

Running time: 1:50

Jason Clarke, Alexandra Shipp and Nick Robinson star in this Lionsgate thriller about “the rise and fall of Silk Road, the infamous darknet site that sent a seismic shock through the World Wide Web.”

Internet cops and robbers

It’s the famous walk, a steady, cat-like lope that hasn’t changed with the decades, the way he turns on a half-menacing/wholly insincere smile when he needs it.

It’s the way he lowers his head and raises his eyes in glowering disdain, the patience he gets across with his pauses, the eye that wanders over a co-star playing a suspect, an apartment dressed as a crime scene.

With Denzel Washington, it wasn’t just one big thing, it was all “The Little Things” that he pieced together in performance after performance that ordained his stardom.

Pack him in an autumnal thriller with two other Oscar winners and some of the years melt away, even if no high-mileage Kern Co. California sheriff’s deputy could spend that much time and effort on Hollywood dentistry. Especially in 1990.

“The Little Things” is a solid, downbeat mystery thriller that uses three sharply-observed performances to surf past its shortcomings. Writer-director John Lee Hancock (“The Blind Side”) serves up an old fashioned star vehicle/police procedural that turns into a game of cats-vs.-mouse once our detectives have a suspect in mind. It’s a story whose implausibilities lessen in importance every time Washington shares a scene with either Rami Malek (“Bohemian Rhapsody”) or Jared Leto (“Dallas Buyers Club”), especially when all three are in the frame together.

Washington’s “Deke” Deacon is a “detective” in the past tense, only. These days he’s a sheriff’s deputy, low enough on the totem pole to be the guy the boss sends to LA to collect a piece of evidence for a case, old enough that we recognize, in an instant, that there are reasons this guy was never promoted.

The evidence, being used in another case the LAPD is helping prosecute, puts Deke into the same room with an old partner (Terry Kinney) now a captain, and in the field of view of the hot new “college” detective, Sgt. Jim Baxter (Malek).

Somebody is stalking young women. We’ve seen the duct tape in the trunk of the faceless driver pursuing somebody through a lonely corner of a SoCal night.

For Deke, stuck in LA an extra day waiting on his evidence to clear processing, the case brings flashbacks and curiosity. Baxter is a “good cop,” a “face of the department” type, idealistic and pious. He’s eager to size up the Old Guard.

“I hear you’re a good cop,” Deke offers.

“I hear things, too.”

At Mike’s invitation, Deke ends up at a crime scene, picks up a few loose ends Mike’s team has missed, and that invitation becomes an open one. Let’s track this serial killer together.

Hancock works entirely too hard to throw these two together and procedures and protocols out the window. He manages the suspense well enough and is expert at structuring a thriller that will attract stars and toss in a surprise or two, if no more than that.

His dialogue is packed with bromides and cop-picture cliches, the “something I gotta know” questions, the sharper-than-he-looks suspect who invokes famed crime photographer Weegie when dismissing crime scene photos.

But the characters are fleshed in nicely, with Malek’s Baxter lecturing his underlings with a line he must have heard on any number of “C.S.I.” TV shows.

“From now on,” he says, stopping any light talk of a dead woman, “we work for HER.”

Onetime Joker Leto, Manson-bearded and Manson-eyed, brings a lipsmacking villainy to Suspect One, a guy who may have access, means and mentality to do these awful things, or may just a working stiff with a psychotic passion for messing around with cops.

Washington gives a haunted touch to Deke, although there’s a lot of image polishing in both his “dark” past and demoted present. He hasn’t crawled into a bottle, and his sins seem pretty PG in light of policing problems in modern America. But this was pre-Rodney King, remember. Deke is allowed the luxury of seeing potential victims in every coed-packed convertible.

Deke’s promotion-free career gave him the chance to master his craft, which might have mastered him.

“It never goes away,” he confesses at one point. The flashbacks, the sincere conversation with and promise to a corpse once the coroner (Michael Hyatt) has shown him the road map of her demise, all show how this awful work weighs on him. The murdered, he tells Mike, “they’re your lifelong responsibility.”

But the old dog savvy and the instincts remain.

“It’s the little things,” a detail picked up at a crime scene, a tiny mistake the killer made, “that get you convictions.”

And its the pleasure of this cast’s company — grounded, detailed performances with a flourish here and there — that make this otherwise routine thriller pay off.

MPAA Rating: R for violent/disturbing images, language and full nudity 

Cast: Denzel Washington, Rami Malek, Jared Leto, Michael Hyatt, Terry Kinney and Natalie Morales.

Credits: Scripted and directed by John Lee Hancock. A Warner Bros./HBO Max release.

Running time: 2:07

As far as “fears” go, I typically prefer mysterious and unknown peril to frights shoved in my face, explained, back-storied and underlined.

But that’s not how the “Wrong Turn” movies work. For twenty years these films have gotten good looking actresses and actors lost in America and the world’s fast-disappearing wild places, menaced by whatever primitives live there and the “rules” of this perilous hidden world.

While there might be a half-decent thriller buried under the point-by-point details-and-endless explanations of this reboot of the franchise, it’s as lost as the “yuppies” who take a detour off the Appalachian Trail in “Bum-F-Virginia” in its story.

Matthew Modine plays a concerned father whose pretty, over-educated barista daughter has gone missing.

Visiting backwater Wrenwood, Va., “the last place she texted from,” gets a “probably sunning herself down in Key West” from the sheriff, a few words of caution from one local and the “We don’t like strangers asking questions” treatment from some others.

Rather than have this concerned, out-of-his-depth city Dad pick up hints, clues and injuries as he unravels, in growing panic, his way to learning The Awful Truth, screenwriter Alan P. McElroy does what he usually does. He shows us their fate in a long, detailed flashback.

Why build the movie around the best actor you cast when there are six hotties heading into the woods, joshing about “Bum-f— Virginia,” insulting the locals, drawing the wrong kind of “Deliverance” attention, starting their hike and taking that “quick side trip” to see something special, just off the trail?

Charlotte Vega plays Jen, the missing daughter with the degrees in art and dance and a life “serving coffee,” Adain Bradley plays her boyfriend, Emma Dumont the doctor in their group, Dylan McTee resident douche-bro and Vardaan Arora and Adrian Favela as the Gay Couple of Color holding hands as they trek through Appalachia.

What could go wrong? Aside from threats in the honky tonk, the stalker eyeballing their SUV, the woodland snares and traps, pitching their tents at night and waking up in a graveyard, losing all their phones and then getting picked off one by one?

These movies live or die by their creative killings, but most of the ones here are of the routine murderous booby-trap variety. Think “Vietnam” and “bear pits.”

There’s panic and torture, friends letting friends down and awful choices. And eventually, Dad shows up again and commences to hunt for answers.

As with far too many thrillers, the more explaining of every mysterious thing there is, the less interesting the story becomes. The actors are expected to freak out at their growing peril, and kind of manage that, although their characters are awfully quick to “forget” the fallen and focus on self-preservation and as they repeat their mantra — “We need to get the F off this mountain!”

The script’s sops to political correctness, to not stereotyping or judging strangers, makes for some maddening moments of the “We started this, but you hurt one of our’n, so it’s YOUR fault” reasoning. Mitch McConnell’s people?

I didn’t hate it, but didn’t get much out of it and found it boring. Still, fans of kidnapping, impaling, hot-poker-in-the-eye cinema may take to it as their cinematic happy place.

MPA Rating: R for strong bloody violence, grisly images and pervasive language 

Cast: Charlotte Vega, Adain Bradley, Emma Dumont, Dylan McTee, Vardaan Arora, Adrian Favela and Matthew Modine.

Credits: Directed by Mike P. Nelson, script by Alan P. McElroy, based on his seven-film franchise. Saban Films release.

Running time: 1:49

Not sure how Netflix productions qualify as “Independent,” but somehow, they’ve garnered 16 nominations (Universal offshoot Focus had 10), and “real” indie A24 got a bunch.

A wide range of films, streaming series and TV shows gained nominations, with films from “Saint Frances” to “Nomadland,” “Sound of Metal” and “The White Tiger” to “The Assistant” and “Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom” collecting kudos.

The 36th Indie Spirit Awards are handed out April 22 this year, just before the Oscars.

BEST FEATURE
(Award given to the producer)

FIRST COW
Producers: Neil Kopp, Vincent Savino, Anish Savjani

MA RAINEY’S BLACK BOTTOM
Producers: Todd Black, Denzel Washington, Dany Wolf

MINARI
Producers: Dede Gardner, Jeremy Kleiner, Christina Oh

NEVER RARELY SOMETIMES ALWAYS
Producers: Sara Murphy, Adele Romanski

NOMADLAND
Producers: Mollye Asher, Dan Janvey, Frances McDormand, Peter Spears, Chloé Zhao

BEST FIRST FEATURE
(Award given to director and producer)

I CARRY YOU WITH ME
Director/Producer: Heidi Ewing
Producers: Edher Campos, Mynette Louie, Gabriela Maire

THE FORTY-YEAR-OLD VERSION
Director/Producer: Radha Blank
Producers: Inuka Bacote-Capiga, Jordan Fudge, Rishi Rajani, Jennifer Semler, Lena Waithe

MISS JUNETEENTH
Director: Channing Godfrey Peoples
Producers: Toby Halbrooks, Tim Headington, Jeanie Igoe, James M. Johnston, Theresa Steele Page, Neil Creque Williams

NINE DAYS
Director: Edson Oda
Producers: Jason Michael Berman, Mette-Marie Kongsved, Matthew Linder, Laura Tunstall, Datari Turner

SOUND OF METAL
Director: Darius Marder
Producers: Bill Benz, Kathy Benz, Bert Hamelinck, Sacha Ben Harroche

BEST DIRECTOR

Lee Isaac Chung, Minari

Emerald Fennell, Promising Young Woman

Eliza Hittman, Never Rarely Sometimes Always

Kelly Reichardt, First Cow

Chloé Zhao, Nomadland

BEST SCREENPLAY

Lee Isaac Chung, Minari

Emerald Fennell, Promising Young Woman

Eliza Hittman, Never Rarely Sometimes Always

Mike Makowsky, Bad Education

Alice Wu, The Half of It

BEST FIRST SCREENPLAY

Kitty Green, The Assistant

Noah Hutton, Lapsis

Channing Godfrey Peoples, Juneteenth

Andy Siara, Palm Springs

James Sweeney, Straight Up

JOHN CASSAVETES AWARD
(Given to the best feature made for under $500,000; Award given to the writer, director and producer)

THE KILLING OF TWO LOVERS
Writer/Director/Producer: Robert Machoian
Producers: Scott Christopherson, Clayne Crawford

LA LEYENDA NEGRA
Writer/Director: Patricia Vidal Delgado
Producers: Alicia Herder, Marcel Perez

LINGUA FRANCA
Writer/Director/Producer: Isabel Sandoval
Producers: Darlene Catly Malimas, Jhett Tolentino, Carlo Velayo

RESIDUE
Writer/Director: Merawi Gerima

SAINT FRANCES
Director/Producer: Alex Thompson
Writer: Kelly O’Sullivan
Producers: James Choi, Pierce Cravens, Ian Keiser, Eddie Linker, Raphael Nash, Roger Welp

BEST MALE LEAD

Riz Ahmed, Sound of Metal

Chadwick Boseman, Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom

Adarsh Gourav, The White Tiger

Rob Morgan, Bull

Steven Yeun, Minari

BEST FEMALE LEAD

Nicole Beharie, Miss Juneteenth

Viola Davis, Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom

Sidney Flanigan, Never Rarely Sometimes Always

Julia Garner, The Assistant

Frances McDormand, Nomadland

Carey Mulligan, Promising Young Woman

BEST SUPPORTING MALE

Colman Domingo, Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom

Orion Lee, First Cow

Paul Raci, Sound of Metal

Glynn Turman, Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom

Benedict Wong, Nine Days

BEST SUPPORTING FEMALE

Alexis Chikaeze, Miss Juneteenth

Yeri Han, Minari

Valerie Mahaffey, French Exit

Talia Ryder, Never Rarely Sometimes Always

Yu-jung Youn, Minari

BEST CINEMATOGRAPHY

Jay Keitel, She Dies Tomorrow

Shabier Kirchner, Bull

Michael Latham, The Assistant

Hélène Louvart, Never Rarely Sometimes Always

Joshua James Richards, Nomadland

BEST EDITING

Andy Canny, The Invisible Man

Scott Cummings, Never Rarely Sometimes Always

Merawi Gerima, Residue

Enat Sidi, I Carry You With Me

Chloé Zhao, Nomadland

BEST INTERNATIONAL FILM
(Award given to the director)

BACURAU (Brazil)
Director: Juliano Dornelles, Kleber Mendonça Filho

THE DISCIPLE (India)
Director: Chaitanya Tamahane

NIGHT OF THE KINGS (Ivory Coast)
Director: Philippe Lacôte

PREPARATIONS TO BE TOGETHER FOR AN UNKNOWN PERIOD OF TIME (Hungary)
Director: Lili Horvát

QUO VADIS, AIDA? (Bosnia and Herzegovina)
Director: Jasmila Žbanić

BEST DOCUMENTARY
(Award given to the director and producer)

COLLECTIVE
Director/Producer: Alexander Nanau
Producers: Hanka Kastelicová, Bernard Michaux, Bianca Oana

CRIP CAMP
Directors/Producers: Jim LeBrecht, Nicole Newnham
Producer: Sara Bolder

DICK JOHNSON IS DEAD
Director/Producer: Kirsten Johnson
Producers: Katy Chevigny, Marilyn Ness

THE MOLE AGENT
Director: Maite Alberdi
Producer: Marcela Santibáñez

TIME
Director/Producer: Garrett Bradley
Producers: Lauren Domino, Kellen Quinn

ROBERT ALTMAN AWARD
(Given to one film’s director, casting director and ensemble cast)

ONE NIGHT IN MIAMI
Director: Regina King
Casting Directors: Kimberly R. Hardin
Ensemble Cast: Kingsley Ben-Adir, Eli Goree, Aldis Hodge, Leslie Odom Jr.

PRODUCERS AWARD

(The Producers Award honors emerging producers who, despite highly limited resources, demonstrate the creativity, tenacity and vision required to produce quality independent films)

Lucas Joaquin

Gerry Kim

Kara Durrett

SOMEONE TO WATCH AWARD

(The Someone to Watch Award recognizes a talented filmmaker of singular vision who has not yet received appropriate recognition)

DAVID MIDELL
Director of The Killing of Kenneth Chamberlain

EKWA MSANGI
Director of Farewell Amor

ANNIE SILVERSTEIN
Director of Bull

TRUER THAN FICTION AWARD

(The 26th Truer Than Fiction Award is presented to an emerging director of non-fiction features who has not yet received significant recognition)

CECILIA ALDARONDO
Director of Landfall

ELEGANCE BRATTON
Director of Pier Kids

ELIZABETH LO
Director of Stray

BEST NEW NON-SCRIPTED OR DOCUMENTARY SERIES
(Award given to the Creator, Executive Producer, Co-Executive Producer)

ATLANTA’S MISSING AND MURDERED: THE LOST CHILDREN

Executive Producers: Jeff Dupre, Joshua Bennett, Sam Pollard, Maro Chermayeff, John Legend, Mike Jackson, Ty Stiklorius

CITY SO REAL
Produced by: Zak Piper, Steve James
Executive Producers: Jeff Skoll, Diane Weyermann, Alex Kotlowitz, Gordon Quinn, Betsy Steinberg, Jolene Pinder

IMMIGRATION NATION
Executive Producers: Christina Clusiau, Shaul Schwarz, Dan Cogan, Jenny Raskin, Brandon Hill, Christian Thompson
Co-Executive Producers: Andrey Alistratov, Jay Arthur Sterrenberg, Lauren Haber

LOVE FRAUD
Executive Producers: Rachel Grady, Heidi Ewing, Amy Goodman Kass, Vinnie Malhotra, Jihan Robinson, Michael Bloom, Maria Zuckerman

WE’RE HERE
Creators/Executive Producers: Stephen Warren, Johnnie Ingram
Executive Producers: Eli Holzman, Aaron Saidman, Peter LoGreco
Co-Executive Producers: Erin Haglund, Sabrina Mar

BEST NEW SCRIPTED SERIES
(Award given to the Creator, Executive Producer, Co-Executive Producer)

A TEACHER
Creator/Executive Producer: Hanna Fidell
Executive Producers: Michael Costigan, Kate Mara, Louise Shore, Jason Bateman, Danny Brocklehurst
Co-Executive Producer: Daniel Pipski

I MAY DESTROY YOU
Creator/Executive Producer: Michaela Coel
Executive Producers: Phil Clarke, Roberto Troni

LITTLE AMERICA
Executive Producers: Lee Eisenberg, Joshuah Bearman, Joshua Davis, Arthur Spector, Alan Yang, Siân Heder, Kumail Nanjiani, Emily V. Gordon

SMALL AXE
Executive Producers: Tracey Scoffield, David Tanner, Steve McQueen

UNORTHODOX
Creator/Executive Producer: Anna Winger
Creator: Alexa Karolinski
Executive Producer: Henning Kamm

BEST FEMALE PERFORMANCE IN A SCRIPTED SERIES

Elle Fanning, The Great

Shira Haas, Unorthodox

Abby McEnany, Work in Progress

Maitreyi Ramakrishnan, Never Have I Ever

Jordan Kristine Seamón, We Are Who We Are

BEST MALE PERFORMANCE IN A NEW SCRIPTED SERIES

Conphidance, Little America

Adam Ali, Little America

Nicco Annan, P-Valley

Amit Rahav, Unorthodox

Harold Torres, ZeroZeroZero

BEST ENSEMBLE CAST IN A NEW SCRIPTED SERIES

I MAY DESTROY YOU

Cast: Michaela Coel, Paapa Essiedu, Wruche Opia, Stephen Wight

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