Classic Film Review: MGM’s Blunt, if Belated Warning about Fascism — “The Mortal Storm”

The first time I pondered the “coincidence” of a classic film turning up on my TV at a particular moment in history was coming home from school in the ’70s and seeing the Cold War era gem “Seven Days in May” showing on a local CBS affiliate.

This was in the mid-70s, during the debate over one of the SALT treaties — Strategic Arms Limitations Talks. It can’t have been a coincidence that John Frankenheimer’s Kirk Douglas/Burt Lancaster/Ava Gardner and Fredric March 1964 thriller, about an attempted military coup staged when a president dared to propose such a treaty, was airing on WFMY-TV at this precise moment in time.

It wasn’t until years later, when I was making newspaper-sponsored movie review appearances on that same station, that I pondered what message a right-wing-owned-and-leaning TV affiliate in North Carolina was sending by dropping that movie in that time slot at that moment in history.

Since Jan. 20 of this year, BBC America has been slapping 1984’s America-taken-over-by-communists thriller “Red Dawn” in its lineup on a regular basis. Nudge nudge, wink wink.

And then the little-seen WWII classic “The Mortal Storm” turned up on Turner Classic Movies the other night. Showing that movie now is, again, no coincidence.

An MGM film that pretty much pulled off the gloves and bluntly called-out Germany, Naziism and what was going on there over a year before America entered the war, I remember being gobsmacked by its outspoken anti-fascism during a university film society screening in grad school.

You go to film history classes and read all that was written about Hollywood in the run-up to war, with Warner Brothers films the first and most prominent to call out fascism and big, heavily-invested-in-Germany-and-Occupied Europe markets MGM’s timidity on the subject. And then Mr. Mayer’s studio went and made the one film they’d avoided making, an all-star thriller calling blasting Nazi Germany and contrasting fascism with American values in the most direct terms imaginable.

It was MGM’s only anti-Nazi movie before the war. But it’s a doozy.

The courage and urgency that the studio lacked wasn’t reflected by the career of Oscar-winning director Frank Borzage. He’d already made “Little Man, What Now?” and “It Happened Here,” films with similar themes, settings and warnings.

The film’s infamous avoidance of using the word “Jew” as it depicts the early days of the Hitler regime, with its assaults on academics and ethnic minorities, may be the one cowardly thing about it. But much of what is in this adaptation of a novel by the wife of a British diplomat, who viewed this history from postings in Austria and Germany during that period, still stings.

The film was banned by Hitler. Because big conservative and sentimental MGM lands some political punches, for once.

” I think peace is better than war. A man’s right to think as he believes is as good for him as food and drink.”

“We should be intolerant, of anyone who opposes the will of our leader!”

“Tell him peasants HAVE no politics, they keep cows!”

“They want to KEEP their cows, they’d better have the RIGHT politics!”

“May we not believe as we choose and allow others to do the same?

University science professor Viktor Roth (Frank Morgan) turns 60 and is feted by his admiring family and colleagues, and is treated to a verse of the university song (“Guadeamus igitur”) by his adoring students.

But on this Jan. 30, 1933, it’s not his birthday that’s big news in town. Adolf Hitler is named Chancellor of Germany, and smart academics, civil rights watchers and Europe’s Jews appreciate what that means, even if a lot of young people and the Roth family’s Hitler-loving maid do not.

“The Mortal Storm” is about the conflicts and moral stances taken under the roof of the Roth household, with adopted sons donning the swastika and a pushy student with a closet full of brown shirts, Fritz (Robert Young) insisting that daughter Freya (Margaret Sullavan) say “Yes” to his enthusiastic proposal even though she’s merely pondering the question.

Freya has another option. Martin (James Stewart) is savvy enough to know what the Nazis will do and what it means to peace, and to “freedom” for Germans in Germany. Martin stands up for Professor Roth in front of Nazi bullies, and for others similarly threatened.

That doesn’t mark him. Not right away. But as Professor Roth and others are rounded up and sent to camps where they wear “J” badges, the gauntlet is thrown. Martin must join or face consequences and Freya and family had best take the next train out.

The Nazis don’t say “Not so fast.” But as every move they make is aimed at obliterating independent thought, burning books and banning the teaching of Einstein and other scientists with the wrong surname, we and the characters know what’s coming.

One thing that impresses about this classic 85 years since its release is the fervent commitment of the cast to their parts in this anti-fascist passion play.

Stewart is fiery and fiesty as the unbending humanist and anti-fascist. Morgan, the one and only Wizard of Oz, is properly saintly and martryed. And Sullavan manages to seem confused, despairing and put-out, sometimes all at once.

A Nazi’s assuming she’ll marry him as her dad is among the first rounded up? The nerve!

But it is the actors playing Nazis who stand out in the “fervor” department.

Young has no trace of his future as “Father Knows Best” and “Marcus Welby, M.D.” He’s gleefully hateful. Robert Stack’s clipped, efficious cruelty is a few years shy of leading “The Untouchables.” Dan Dailey‘s future as a song and dance man (“There’s No Business Like Show Business,” “Give My Regards to Broadway,” “My Blue Heaven”) is nowhere to be glimpsed in the wide-eyed fanatic he portrays in his MGM debut.

Ward Bond? Considering his later coming-out in far right politics and Hollywood “Blacklist” mania, he slips into his Nazi guise the most easily.

Character actors were the backbone of every studio in Hollywood’s Golden Age. But it’s still jarrring when the familiar, cracking whine of the busybody neighbor commenting on George Bailey’s inept courting of Mary in “It’s a Wonderful Life” and the future mayor of Mayberry, Dick Elliott, demanding to see “Your PAPERS” as a Nazi passport clerk.

Borzage won two Best Director Oscars, including the very first one ever handed out — for “Seventh Heaven” (1929). “The Mortal Storm” isn’t his or screenwriters Claudine West, Hans Rameau or George Froeschel’s subtlest work.

But in 1940, that was very much the point. Europe was in flames and seven years after Hitler’s ascendency as Chancellor, there could be no doubt of the threat he represented to democracy, personal freedoms and Western Civilization itself. Subtlety and “both sidesing” were out of fashion.

And there’s little subtle about showing “Red Dawn” or “The Mortal Storm” to American viewers in 2025, either, for very much the same reasons. This 1940 film is a stark reminder of when we had a surer sense of our values and the common sense to act on them when faced with a man and a movement antithetical to them.

Pointing out that ignorant totalitarians and their violent minions always go after academics, learning and books first is always a welcome first step, even if it’s a belated one.

Rating: “approved, TV-PG, violence

Cast: James Stewart, Margaret Sullavan, Robert Young, Dan Dailey, Anita Granville, Robert Stack, Irene Rich, Maria Ouspenskaya, Ward Bond and Frank Morgan.

Credits: Directed by Frank Borzage, scripted by based on a novel by Phyllis Bottome. An MGM release on Youtube, Roku TV, TCM’s Amazon Channel, etc.

Running time: 1:40

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Movie Preview: Sydney Sweeney’s committed a crime, Mom Julianne Moore “took care of it” — “Echo Valley”

Yes, this trailer to the June 13 Apple TV+ release pretty much gives away the whole show. It’s an 83 minute long thriller, guys. TOO MUCH PLOT is spoiler alerted in this.

Domhnall Gleeson, Fiona Shaw and Kyle MacLachlan join the Oscar winner and the “It” girl of the moment for this thriller from the director of “Beast.”

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Movie Preview: An extended family of French descendents learn about their shared ancestor and 19th century life — “Colours of Time”

This French period piece/fantasy stars and Suzanne Lindon, Julia Piaton, Zinedine Soualem, Cécile de France and Paul Kircher.


François Berléand plays Victor Hugo, which tells us where director and co-writer Cédric Klapisch (“The Spanish Apartment,” “Rise,” “Chinese Puzzle,” “Family Resemblences”) is going.

I’ve seen a few of his films, and interviewed Klapisch once. This has me intrigued.

May 22, “Colours of Time” begins its run in theaters.

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Movie Preview: Sydney Sweeney, Halsey, Paul Walter Hauser, Eric Dane and a stolen piece of “Americana”

This gonzo Lionsgate release is getting “early Tarantino” hype coming off the film festival circuit.

A Lakota Ghost Shirt is the MacGuffin, with characters stealing it, shooting each other over it with guns or bows and arrows, and generally making mayhem all over America’s Country Music and Cowboy Boots Belt.

Toby Huss, Zahn McClarnon, Harriet Sansom Harris and Simon Rex star in it.

As it’s being released on the next to last weekend of August, a dumping ground where unpromising studio pictures go to die, don’t get your hyped hopes up.

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Movie Preview: Bloody, Somnambulent horror from Indonesia — “Soul Reaper”

This looks different.

Well Go USA has this thriller from the director of “Ali Topan” slated for June 17 release.

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Documentary Review — “Garbo: Where Did You Go?” fills in Gaps in Greta Garbo’s Story

Some decades ago, I was ensconed in the archives of the University of Tennessee in Knoxville, researching one of the university’s most famous alumni for a news article appreciation of his life and film career on the 100th anniversary of his birth.

And there, tucked into the papers of “National Velvet” and “The Yearling” director Clarence Brown were several screenplays, the filmmakers’ own copies of his scripts. There were notes and hand-written strike-throughs jotted on most every page of every one of them.

On the margin of one script — it probably wasn’t “Flesh and the Devil,” but might have been “Anna Christie”” — were the letters “GG” and a four-digit number. It took my breath away the moment I figured out what the hell it was I was looking at.

It was Greta Garbo’s Los Angeles phone number circa 1930. MGM paired up Brown and Garbo for four films, beginning with the silent blockbuster “Flesh and the Devil,” and including “A Woman of Affairs,” the Eugene O’Neill adaptation whose advertising tagline was simply “Garbo Talks!,” “Anna Christie, and the Tolstoy romance “Anna Karenina.” Of course Clarence Brown would have had her number.

That was April of 1990, when all the world had one last go at Greta Garbo mania. It was the month the reclusive Swedish screen icon died at 84. She’d retired half a century before, but thanks to endless media coverage of her passing, that phrase the critic Kenneth Tynan coined about her in 1954 was one many could quote.

“What when drunk, one sees in other women, one sees in Garbo sober.”

But it’s been decades since she died, and as almost nobody watches old films any more. Who remembers much more than a pose, a stare, a reputation built on a line from one of her films that she took to her grave?

“I want to be alone.”

Aside from the period piece “Queen Christina,” appreciated as “queer cinema” today, and the screwball comedy “Ninotchka,” her films are largely forgotten if not forgettable. It might be too much to expect Greta Garbo would still command public fascination. But has she disappeared from pop culture, five-going-on-six generations since her abrupt “retirement?”

The new documentary “Garbo: Where Did You Go?” asks this question. Filmmaker Lorna Tucker (“Westwood: Punk, Icon, Activist”) leans on Swedes descended from Swedes who knew her, a Swedish stage director and Swedish journalist and a few Americans related to people who knew her well in her later years, as well as archival interviews with Orson Welles, George Cukor, Kate Hepburn, George Cukor and Marlene Dietrich. A sampling of a BBC/MGM appreciation of Garbo knowingly narrated by her contempary Joan Crawford also summons up a life, an unlikely career and the culture that shifted under the weight of her celebrity.

It’s an excessively gimmicky documentary, putting an actress in an unflattering Old Garbo mask at a dressing table for many voice-over-narrated scenes, using a willowy blonde actress (Ellyn Daniels) as “The Investigator,” the narrator who sets up the “acts” of Garbo’s life and tells her story through the journalists of her day. The great Swedish actress Noomi Rapace (“The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo”) voices Garbo’s own words in decades of letters, writing to relatives, drama school friends, lovers, would-be suitors and the Svengali director Mauritz Stiller who “discovered” hat counter clerk Greta Gustafsson, talked her into changing her name and took his “muse” to America with him when Hollywood and MGM talked him into moving.

But Tucker smartly sets up conflicting takes on Garbo’s best films, her best destiny, best friends and mental state and lets the viewer decide.

Was the working-poor girl who never went to high school “happiest” in drama school in Stockholm? Was the much-older (and possibly bisexual) Stiller the best thing that could have happened to her, or the worst? Was “Anna Karenina,” “Queen Christina” or her teenaged Swedish breakthrough film “The Saga of Gösta Berling” her best film? Was “Ninotchka” really “the role that was closest” to the “real Garbo?”

Taped phone conversations from the ’70s and ’80s and the recollections of who made up her circle of friends remind us that the media labels celebrities who don’t want to talk to them “recluses,” when that’s rarely the case. They’re simply media shy.

The paparazzi were invented for Garbo, who was stalked, “pursued, chased” and hounded by newshounds all of her adult life.

“Why must people talk about me?” she asked in a letter. Why couldn’t people — the press, in particular — allow her the privacy she craved?

“Where Did You Go?” sets the record straight (again) about the abrupt retirement (she gave one late-life interview to a veteran Swedish journalist who earned her trust over weeks and several vacations at a European hotel). That notion that she set out to “close the door” by leaving the cinema at her peak popularity and sex appeal is promptly dashed by that.

We see screen tests from movies she thought about making throughout the late 1940s. These provide a still glamorous contrast to her first Swedish film appearances — in a silent celluloid theater ad for bread and an educational/industrial silent or two.

Orson Welles regales an interviewer about being treated to those  earliest clips via the Swedish Film Academy in the decades before home video, and marveling at how that plump (a LOT of people called her “fat” in her youth) child became “the most divine creature to ever be on the screen.”

We learn from a descendent of a little known Swedish suitor, and hear about the much younger men who angled to be her “walking companion” in New York, men who used her and sold gossip about her to scandal sheets and photographers aiming to score that rare “Garbo sighting.”

Much of what has become her legend is verified by Garbo’s letters — her depression, her loneliness in America, her dismay at the slick shallowness of Hollywood films, the heartbreak of losing her sister young and then her mentor Stiller shortly after he returned to Sweden to leave his “creation” to the stardom he helped give her.

“Garbo: Where Did You Go?” is content to “verify” much of what has come before in biographies over the decades. And the gimmicks suggest writer-director Tucker had to content herself to simply providing an entertaining overview of the first truly famous life spent seeking, then shunning the world cinema spotlight.

The costs of fame were readily recognized by a pioneering figure who sought to shed it even as she stayed obsessed with what people in and out of the press were saying about Greta Garbo.

“Why must people talk about me?”

And yet thirty-five years after her death, with just a couple of her films still celebrated as “classics” and evidence of her legendary beauty only viewable in black and white stills from those films littering the Internet, people still do.

Rating: TV-PG

Cast: Greta Garbo, Ellyn Daniels, Orson Welles, Katharine Hepburn, narrated by Noomi Rapace.

Credits: Scripted and directed by Lorna Tucker. A Sky TV film on Netflix, other streamers.

Running tim: 1:30

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Netflixable? “Meet the Khumalos”

If you’re looking for a South African comedy, in English with sprinklings of Zulu, about feuding neighbors whose hostilities escalate when their children fall in love you could do worse that “Meet the Khumalos.”

It’s so generic and derivative of so many movies from so many cultures that South African quiblers who complain about its similarity to an Indian South African comedy (“Keeping up with the Khandasamys”) should sample Hollywood’s “Meet the Parents” and any of the comedies imitating it, or which that Hollywood franchise borrowed from — movies spanning the screen comedy globe.

But while the joke-writing is tepid and the situations less than wholly original, “Khumalos” is the very meaning of the phrase Around the World with Netflix. It’s a genial, colorful dip into another culture in rom-com form.

Set and filmed in and around an upscale “estate” in Durban, it’s about an affluent family, the Khumalos, and how they react when their new neighbors are “moving on up” strivers who earned their way out of KwaMashu Township to more luxurious digs.

Husband Vusi (Bonga Dlamini) and his “traditional” mother Mavis (Connie Chiume) roll with it. But the preening, stylish Grace (Khanyi Mbau) is beside herself. A professional woman so overly coiffed and made up and pale that her mother-in-law refers to her as “that white woman,” Grace isn’t having this riffraff next door.

“They’re not RIGHT for the neighborhood,” she huffs. “Standards must be upheld!”

It turns out that self-made township tour entrepreneur Bongi Sithole (Ayanda Borotho) has “history” with the woman she calls “Gracious,” her old township name, when she isn’t calling her “witch” and “Satan.”

It also turns out that Bongi’s traditional, educated and socially conscious teen daughter Sphe (Khosi Ngema) has history with Grace’s college-bound son, Sizwe (Jesse Suntele), and not just from high school debate competitions. They’re in love.

That brings the two feuding mothers into a conspiracy to break them up — sabotaging a camping trip the kids are sneaking off for in a campground where the lions may or may not “sleep tonight,” trying to send him abroad to study in Ireland and bringing back old flames to tempt them out of this Montague and Capulet calamity they’re considering.

It’s all standard rom-com stuff — stalking parents, bickering moms, dads who bond over beer and the mountains of meat that Bongi’s Desmond (Siyabonga Melongisi Shibe) lures Vusi back to eating, which Grace doesn’t allow.

The mother-in-law has a side-hustle, her “traditional” beauty treatment that she’d love to market as “Mavis’s Miracle Mud.”

And the young folks mix it up with a goofy childhood beau who became a wannabe rapper and the church-obsessed bombshell Charlotte (Nandipa Khubone) who’d be more than happy to take Sizwe off Sphe’s hands.

The local color spices up the path to “True Love Will Find a Way.” The “history” the two women have is dusted with tragedy, the remnants of South Africa’s racist Apartheid past. And the urgency Bongi feels about preserving Sphe’s “virtue” is tied to her upcoming Umemulo ceremony. That’s beautifully and movingly acted-out in the third act.

With material this over-familiar, the best one could hope for is witty dialogue (not really), a sprinkling of physical comedy and pratfalls that pay off (sure) and an upbeat ending.

It’s the sampling of the culture — no novelty for South African audiences, but a revelation to international viewers — that makes this mixed-bag of a rom-com worth your time and the “Khumalos” worth meeting.

Rating: TV-14, sexual material

Cast: Ayanda Borotho, Khanyi Mbau, Khosi Ngema, Jesse Suntele, Siyabonga Melongisi Shibe,
Bonga Dlami, Connie Chiume and Nandipa Khubone

Credits: Directed by Jayen Moodley, scripted by Gillian Breslin and Wendy Gumede. A Netflix release.

Running time: 1:32

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Movie Review: Existential Angst, Midlife Crisis and a Testing of Manhood face “The Surfer”

Nicolas Cage has been making “push me over the edge” B and C movies for so long that all longtime fans have to hear is a title — “The Surfer,” for instance — to guess the movie built around it.

But he’s such a fascinating figure — antic, twitchy and edgy is his brand, easily and often impersonated, but also revered, an Oscar winner and fangirl/fanboy legend, and an actor disturbed to the point of constantly working “to stay out of my own head” he once told me in an interview — that pigeonholing him ALWAYS has the potential to blow up in your face.

Casting him in a movie titled “The Unbearable Weight of Massive Talent” is about as on-the-nose as movies about movie-star reps gets.

“Pig” was the title that should have taught us, once and for all, that “Nobody puts Nic in a pigeon hole.” We figured “Somebody stole his pig, and he’ll go all NICOLAS CAGE on them.” And that wasn’t what the movie was about. At all.

But that “anticipation” of a Cage breakdown drove “Pig” just as surely as it drives “The Surfer.” Because somebody stole Nic Cage’s surfboard. And somebody’s going to have to give it back.

Thomas Martin’s screenplay presents Cage’s Surfer as a man in crisis. He’s longed to buy the coastal Australian home he grew up in, perhaps hoping to patch-up a failed marriage with that act, to give his teen son access to the great waves that made The Surfer so good at surfing. He’s well over 50, driving a Lexus and making enough in the firm where he works that he’s close to closing the deal on that Luna Bay home on the hill overlooking the sea.

But it’s all just beyond his reach, and he’s on the edge of manic about it. Even taking a day off, pulling his son (Finn Little) out of school for a little surfing has him cell-phone badgering his real estate broker for cash and leverage to get this deal done.

And then they park at his childhood beach, and the “localist” locals greet him with open hostility.

“Don’t live here, don’t surf here.”

Public beach? It’s not crowded? Even “I grew up here” falls on furious deaf ears among the brawny young belligerents who get in his face. “Surf Nazis” people used to call them. And if you remember a wacky Troma Films comedy of a few decades back, you figure you know where this is going.

Surf Nazis Must Die.”

But even the presence of a perfectly vile villain is a set up to defy expectations. Julian McMahon of “Nip/Tuck” and “FBI’s Most Wanted” summons up a little Victor Von Doom (his one Marvel role) villainy as Scally, a privileged Luna Bay lifer who dabbles in “men’s movement” counseling when he’s not running this gang of surf bullies as his personal “redisover and assert your maniliness” cult.

Our Surfer, raised in America after a tragedy took away his family home, runs right up against an Aussie stereotype — violent macho bully boys and their robed, uncompromising guru leader.

Scally keeps presenting his advice as peace offerings, consoling the surfer about “losing face” in front of his son, but firmly telling him “you gotta know when to back down. Or it could get a lot worse.”

It does. And as The Surfer starts losing his son’s respect, his possessions, his status and his dream, he starts to reason out how this all might end.

Trapped there, dehydrated, without access to cash or contact with his broker, he can see The Bum (Nicholas Cassim) living in an old Subaru wagon, swearing vengeance on Scally for what happened to his own life and own son. The Surfer can see his life unraveling and this bum as his future.

The movie is about a man facing emasculating old age and the destruction of everything he thinks his life is about. The fact that he’s hallucinating flashbacks to his childhood trauma makes us and him question if he is who he thinks he is and which version of “reality” is the one he’s fated to live in.

Irish director Lorcan Finnegan (“Vivarium,” “Nocebo”) doesn’t wholly transcend his rep for cerebral thrillers that don’t quite come off. But this “frustrating” film does a great job of portraying a man in crisis who might not recognize that crisis, and of painting Australia in forbidding terms — a beautiful place with all sorts of deadly wildlife (seen in closeup as The Surfer dodges snakes and the like) and plenty of less-than-welcoming locals who treat belligerence as a national birthright.

“The Surfer” bites off more than it can existentially chew, but it works well enough. And Cage, McMahon, Cassim and Justin Rosniak, as the stereotypical cop-who-sides-with-the-bullying-locals are terrific — by turns hatefully or ruefully so.

And with this film Cage puts over another curveball in a career that’s taught us to expect the high, inside bean ball with every pitch.

Rating: R, violence, drug abuse, profanity and “some sexual material.”

Cast: Nicolas Cage, Julian McMahon, Finn Little, Rahel Romahn, Justin Rosniak, Alexander Bertrand and Nicholas Cassim.

Credits: Directed by Lorcan Finnegan, scripted by Thomas Martin. A Lionsgate/Roadside Attractions release.

Running time: 1:40

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Movie Review: Woe oh Woe for this “Juliet & Romeo”

“Juliet & Romeo” isn’t an “updating” of Shakespeare’s immortal star-crossed lovers. It’s still set in the Renaissance, with doublets and dirks and dueling, a prince trying to end an ancient family feud, with a not-quite-helpful friar, nurse, etc.

It features almost all of the characters from the play — some with more prominent roles in the story than ever before.

But it’s a musical, littered with instantly forgettable songs by Evan Bogart and Justin Gray and a decent dance number or two that still doesn’t answer the questions posed by many of the singers.

Did all of them do their own singing? Even Dan Fogler as the Apothecary? And did they have autotune in the Italian Renaissance?

Long review short, this is Shakespeare’s play without the poetry.

Throw in that it also lacks a balcony scene, but with added political intrigues that drive the competing Montagues and Capulets as they try to either win favor with the Prince of Verona (Rupert Graves) or outflank him in the era’s struggles between Italian rule and a papal empire.

It’s not rubbish, just completely and utterly unsatisfying.

Clara Rugaard and Jamie Ward are the pretty but bland, colorless leads. The hothead Tybalt (Ferdia Walsh Peelo) towers over his dueling foe Mercutio (Nicholas Podany), making us wonder if that was ever a fair fight.

Rebel Wilson hisses and sings as the mother of Juliet.

Rupert Everett and Jason Isaacs are the Capulet and Montague patriarchs, famed actors in fabulous costumes with nothing much to play.

The legendary Derek Jacobi lent his presence to this, bringing a little gravitas to Friar Lawrence, but like the rest of the cast, condemned to recite writer-director Timothy Scott Bogart’s lines and not the Bards. For shame.

Because woe, woe unto this show, a misguided misfire on so many levels one cannot ennumerate them. Let’s just say the costumes and settings are first rate and wait for one and all to erase this from their resumes as we erase it from our memories.

Rating: PG-13, bloody violence, “suggestive material” (hanging out in a brothel)

Cast: Clara Rugaard, Jamie Ward, Ferdia Walsh Peelo, Nicholas Podany, Rebel Wilson, Rupert Everett, Dan Fogler, Jason Isaacs, Rupert Graves and Derek Jacobi.

Credits:Directed by Timothy Scott Bogart, scripted by Timothy Scott Bogart, based on the play by Wm. Shakespeare.

Running time: 2:02

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Movie Review: Dorky Swedes “Watch the Skies” as they close in on UFO answers

You’re going to have to make an effort to find a theater (or very soon a streamer) playing “Watch the Skies.” And the whole point of this review is to ensure that sci-fi fans make the effort.

Smuggled into cinemas three years after its Swedish release by minor distributor XYZ Films, “Skies” is a plucky, low-budget action comedy about UFO hunting, and a lightweight thriller that wears its inspirations and plot point borrowings with pride.

With a little “Stranger Things,” a bit of “Interstellar, a touch of “Back to the Future” featuring a Saab, not a DeLorean, and a heaping helping of “Safety Not Guaranteed,” it’s about UFO hunting the Swedish way — dogged, organized, occasionally anarchic but always accompanied by paper work, tarts and fresh pots of coffee.

Denise (Inez Dahl Torhaug) grew up in the swirl of her father Uno’s (Oscar Töringe) obsession. He was a founder of the ragtag group of “Truth is Out There” fanatics — UFO Sweden. We meet Denise when she’s 8 (Lilly Lexfors) and already game for any crazy quest Dad cooks up.

But that’s when Uno and his Saab disappeared into the Swedish mountains — back in 1988. His risk-taking got astrophysicist and fellow UFO Sweden enthusiast Lennart (Jesper Barselius) fired, as their biggest stunt was stealing data from the Swedish weather bureau.

Uno’s big theory was that botched weather forecasts are connected to UFO sightings, and that this ties into peak nights of the Aurora Borealis (the Northern Lights). But after his disappearance, even Lennart can’t make heads or tails out of Uno’s mathematical scribblings.

Denise grew up orphaned and troubled, hanging with vandals, mastering breaking and entering and the birth-of-the-Internet hobby of hacking. It’s 1996, and seeing her father’s empty Saab after it crashes through a farmer’s barn convinces her “My Dad is still alive, ‘out there'” somewhere.

There’s nothing for it but to reconnect with Lennart, biker babe gone to seed
Töna (Isabelle Kyed), flaky magical thinker Karl (Niklas Kvarnbo Jönsson), aged plodder Gunnar (Håkan Ehn) and edgy and sometimes armed Mats (Mathias Lithner), the relics of UFO Sweden who will pile into Lennart’s VW Vanagon to help her discover the “truth.”

Eva Melander plays Kicki, the sketchy head of Swedish weather research, who seems to be hiding something — perhaps their own investigation of Uno’s theories. The idea that she might steal credit for Uno’s insights makes her the villain of the piece.

Denise also has to evade a cop (Sara Shirpey) who has taken an interest in her welfare, but won’t have her stealing government secrets to feed her obsession. Denise and her motley crew will go into the country, into the woods, into a lake and into government labs looking for answers.

But before any and every step they take, Gunnar has to make the coffee and pull the tarts out of the UFO Sweden HQ refrigerator.

Votes must be taken, risks avoided and Denise recruited and pinned as a member of this venerable — at least in their own minds — organization — all according to Roberts Rules of Order and their own bylaws.

The comedy comes from the officious slow-walking UFO Sweden way of things, and the way nothing-to-lose-Denise revives their more gonzo “X-Files” fanatical past.

And the picture’s heart is its coming-of-age story, a child seeking the truth about her Dad, come what may.

Torhaug makes a fiesty lead, literally bouncing off older, more staid other characters.

Director and co-writer Victor Darnell keeps the movie more or less on the move, and he drifts late model Volvos and Saabs in the car chases, and does things to a classic Saab 90 that would get him locked up anywhere but Sweden.

The effects have a hint of “Close Encounters” polish, but on a “Safety Not Guaranteed” budget.

It’s dark and silly, fun and even touching. The Swedish cast does a decent job of performing it in English (almost 1970s ABBA phonetically at times) and the laughs land.

It won’t be in theaters long, so watch the streaming menus for “Watch the Skies” if you miss it at the multiplex.

Rating: PG-13, bloody violence, smoking, profanity

Cast: Inez Dahl Torhaug, Jesper Barkselius, Sara Shirpey,
Håkan Ehn, Eva Melander, Isabelle Kyed, Mathias Lithner, Niklas Kvarnbo Jönsson and Oscar Töringe

Credits: Directed by Victor Darnell, scripted by Victor Darnell and Jimmy Nivrén Olsson. An XYZ release.

Running time: 1:55

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