Movie Nation

The Big Race didn’t finish exactly the way it’s depicted in “Ford v. Ferrari.”

And the Money Moment, the hilarious scene previewed in the trailers and TV commercials where racing driver and race-car building legend Carroll Shelby delights and then frightens to the point of tears the Ford heir and CEO of the Motor Company on a mad lap in the company’s Ferrari-fighting GT40 racer? Never happened.

But damn, it feels right — dramatically, comically and thematically. And in James Mangold’s epic, bracing and breezy spin around a piece of motorsport legend, if it didn’t happen, it sure as hell should have.

Want a lesson in how a two and a half hour period piece can just fly by? Mangold (“Walk the Line,””Logan”) gives a master class in it, using the struggle, the titanic figures engaged in it and the pedal-to-the-metal setting to plunge us into American motorsport’s equivalent of The Moon Landing.

Here’s Shelby, a hustling hard-selling Texan given a compact, cunning and comic understatement by Matt Damon. He was the first American to win the prestigious 24 Hours of LeMans, and when he was forced to stop racing himself, he put a Ford V-8 into tiny British AC Ace sports car and created a world beating racer, and one of the most valuable collectible automobiles in history — the Shelby Cobra.

At Ford in the early ’60s, Lee Iacocca (Jon Bernthal) has just innovated the company out of the doldrums with the young-motorist-magnet Mustang, and convinced the boss, Henry Ford II (Tracy Letts), amusingly nicknamed “The Deuce,” that what Ford REALLY needs, image-wise, is to buy the great European sports car builder Ferrari, which runs the fastest cars in the races that have cachet among the young — sports car races.

Bernthal gives us a taste of the Great American Salesman and cheerleader that Iacocca would become.

“James Bond does not drive a Ford, sir!”

The Deuce is sold. Sure, let’s cut a check. Even if the CEO thinks James Bond is “a degenerate.”

But the Italian-American Iacocca gets hustled by the real Italian, Enzo Ferrari (Remo Girone), who finishes his “NO deal” tirade (Fiat bought an interest in Ferrari instead) with a flurry of insults about the “fat” Ford and his “ugly factory” putting out millions of “ugly cars.”

The bluff and deadpan Ford — we’re introduced to him shutting down an assembly line to chew out and motivate the work force during a downturn — has had enough of “getting it in the tailpipe from a Chevy Impala.” And he’s not going to take this insult from some snooty Italian slur. Oh no.

Build a car. Form a team. Win LeMans. And do it quick.

That’s how they come to Shelby. But Shelby comes with baggage, an ornery Brit who owns a garage that services British sports cars like the MGA in Southern California, a champion SCCA race car driver with a test pilot’s feel for tweaking, adjusting and turning a car into a world beater.

“Brilliant, but difficult” is the label Ken Miles wears. Christian Bale wouldn’t be insulted by noting how on-the-nose casting him as Miles is. Yeah, they have a few things in common.

Shelby has to “handle” Miles and please his Ford masters, including Leo Beebe (Josh Lucas), Director of Special Vehicles at Ford, basically the “suit” in charge of its racing teams, set up as the villain of the tale.

The Italians are the exotic foreign menace, arrogant again a mere two decades after their World War II humiliation. But the “enemy” in this 90 day sprint to put a car on the track that will humble them is ponderous American Corporate Culture, and Beebe becomes a thorn in Shelby and Miles’ side — hated, always putting “the company” and its culture and “image” first.

We don’t see the Brits who hastily designed the GT40, just them delivering it to Shelby and Miles and Shelby’s ace in the hole, engineer Phil Remington (Ray McKinnon). The movie focuses on that trio’s efforts make this burly beast hold the corners, hug the track and “go like hell” when she does.

The car is iconic, and gets that “Right Stuff” sort of star entrance here. Brits designed it, but it feels American — bluff, muscular and aggressive. Put a Ford V-8 in it and you can’t wait to hear her get angry.

Casting Bale pays dividends in all the scenes with the car being tested, through Remington’s DIY wind-tunnel on-the-track idea of figuring out why it’s trying to go airborne, through engine changes, brake issues, all the racing failures leading up to “The Big Race.”

Bale’s Miles is in the car for all this, thunking through gears, talking to himself and the car in his no-nonsense Cockney cheerleader accent. “Oh YES,” at everything he likes in the set-up. “I’ll have some more of THAT, if you please!” Inevitably punctuated with a disappointed “Bloody hell!”

Characters show their emotions in “Ford v. Ferrari” in fits of recklessness — ex-Air Force pilot Shelby taking the controls of a Ford company plane to land at the big announcement ceremony, Miles’ venting his fury at Shelby on the track, Mrs. Mollie Miles (Caitriona Balfe) scaring Ken half to death careening their Ford station wagon through backroads as she chews on him for not telling her he’s getting back into racing.

And then there’s that Shelby drives Hank the Deuce in the “$9 million car you paid for” moment.

Letts, a playwright and actor who has made deadpan authority figures something of a specialty in his film career, gets a laugh every time he turns up in the film. He’s got Ford-during-World-War II anecdotes to underscore his “just win” lectures. He’s peevish at failure, and you could believe this man would spare no expense just to get even with somebody who insulted him. This is a great supporting turn.

Damon’s take on Shelby is colorful and canny, letting us see the wheels turning as he sizes up people and summons up the appropriate, drawled “My Daddy used’t tell me” anecdote to get what he wants — from Miles, Remington or Ford. His Shelby is a compromised hero, never quite living up to “larger than life,” but still a Western archetype whose laconic narration puts the film on a man-finding-out-what-he’s-made-of footing.

Bale’s Miles has just enough manners to not tell off customers who don’t know how to drive the British sports cars they bought and that he services. He never loses his suffer-no-fools-gladly demeanor, even as he faces corporate shunning and other disappointments.

Mangold and his screenwriters didn’t make this movie just for gearheads and racing fans. Including Miles’ son Pete (Noah Jupe) lets Ken explain to him and the audience the danger, performance requirements and other tests of LeMans.

The racing sequences are low-camera-angle montages passing by at a whiplash-quick blur. Suspense builds, humor defuses it, and the thrills feel hard-earned, deserved and well, patriotic.

It stands with the greatest racing movies ever, and it’s certainly the most entertaining. But there is no doubt about one last superlative. “Ford v Ferrari” is one of the best pictures of the year.

MPAA Rating: PG-13 for some language and peril

Cast: Matt Damon, Christian Bale, Caitriona Balfe, Tracy Letts, Jon Bernthal, Josh Lucas

Credits: Directed by James Mangold, script by Jez Butterworth, John-Henry Butterworth and Jason Henry. A 20th Century Fox release.

Running time: 2:32

All star cast, funny trailer, great buzz.

Here’s a holiday movie that has it all — Jamie Lee C and Toni Collette, Chris Evans and Christopher Plummer.

Don Johnson, Michael Shannon.

Murder most foul, a dead rich guy, a house full of suspects.

Daniel Craig trotting out a Foghorn Leghorn Southern accent, Suh!

Something came down here, via meteorite.

The South African writer of “Hardware,” one of the great indie dystopian sci-fi thrillers of the ’90s, directed this adaptation.

Joely Richardson, Q’rianka Kilcher and Tommy Chong co-star with Nicolas Cage. Looks trippy enough.

Bale and Damon, and Tracy Letts — Ford crashes the 24 Hours of LeMans with its brand-new Ferrari et al killer, the GT40.

Yeah, kinda looking forward to this one.

“Crown Vic” is a grounded and gritty cops-on-the-night-shift melodrama built around a tightly-coiled turn by Thomas Jane.

He plays a 25 year LAPD veteran assigned to FTO (Field Training Officer) duty, mentoring a “transfer cherry” (Luke Kleintank) through his first night on the job.

And that set-up inevitably forces a comparison to “Training Day,” because a century of cop films and seven decades of PD-TV demands it. There have been so many police procedurals that it takes a lot to make such a story stand out, to avoid the label “Training Day Lite.”

On a night when the duo deal with a belligerent drunk BMW princess, a punk who throws something at their Crown Victoria cruiser, a domestic disturbance call, a manic mouthy meth-head, a convenience store theft, a burning SUV (with a “crispy” body in it) and lots of “personal” business, all while two armed and trigger-happy bank robbers are working their way across the city to their patrol zone, we see how difficult it is for writer-director Joel Souza’s film (“Break Night”) to break formula. And it’s impossible for it to avoid melodrama.

Jane is Ray Mandel, a twice-divorced loner whose razzing of the “cherry” is profane and not at all good-natured. It’s “I ain’t your f—–g valet, sweetheart” when the rookie from Oakland makes him wait, “genius” this and “rookie” that.

Nick Holland (Kleintank) is the son of a cop, married, with a baby on the way. Everything he says to anybody else in uniform gets him cussed out. Every bit of “us vs. them” advice from Ray seems confrontational.

“Somebody looks guilty? Watch’em. They look innocent? Watch’em closely!”

Ray’s ethos? This car is “home,” dividing the world between “in here” and “out there.”

Their philosophical debates, common to the genre, reveal Ray’s cynicism — “Married? That’s…optimistic.” — and “dark” and defensive worldview.

“The world was dark when I got here,” he grouses.

He orders the kid to watch him, stay behind him, follow his lead. And the kid does.

Even when they see the roid-and-speed-raging plainclothes detective Jack (Josh Hopkins, way over the top) start the evening amped up, and take things to illegal extremes with a suspect — his partner (David Krumholtz) egging him on.

Even when Ray starts dealing with personal matters having to do with his dead partner’s junkie widow (Bridget Moynahan).

The highlights here are a nervy opening sequence, a bank robbery as seen from inside and outside of the getaway car (shots fired out, and into the vehicle), and Jane’s flinty performance and smooth mastery of world weariness.

“There’s the person you want to be when you’re young. And there’s the person you wind up being.”

Jane’s Ray Mandel is resigned to that, a lifetime of being most comfortable on the job, most at home in his Crown Vic.

A few moments like the roid-raging detective and a couple of other encounters took me right out of the picture, which is largely a straight-arrow “Adam-12” (this team is “20-Lincoln-14”) dangers and drudgery of the job drama.

Ray can complain that “They think it’s take-a-free-shot-at-a-cop night,” but we see lots of police restraint, none of this shoot-on-suspicion nonsense that has dominated the news about police killings nationwide. “Blue Lives Matter” doesn’t figure into the thinking either.

But Souza’s film reminds us that being apolitical is a political statement, too.

And after all the movies and TV shows, “Training Day” and “Rampart,” “End of Watch” and “Blue Knight” and years and years of “Cops” and “Live PD,” it’s not just the cops who’ve “seen it all.”

“Crown Vic” isn’t a bad picture. It’s just too unexceptional to stand out.

MPAA Rating: R for strong violence and pervasive language, disturbing content, sexual references, drug material and brief full nudity

cast: Thomas Jane, Luke Kleintank, Josh Hopkins, David Krumholtz and Bridget Moynahan

Credits: Written and directed by Joel Souza. A Screen Media release.

Running time: 1:50

Bound to happen. Cheaper than casting the real thing,beceb the ones who aren’t dead?

https://www.hollywoodreporter.com/news/afm-james-dean-reborn-cgi-vietnam-war-action-drama-1252703

One way to get past that seasonal “holiday movie phobia” thing more than a few of us suffer from is to throw in some Italian-Americans, as writer-director Robert Tinnell does with “Feast of the Seven Fishes.”

Make it a period piece, nostalgic for the days when a lot of your relatives were World War II vets, and one was at D-Day.

Make’em cook, you know, the “seven fishes” of this Italian Catholic Christmas Eve dinner tradition — bacaloa, smelt, whiting, shrimp, oysters, eel and calamari.

Let’em grab each other by the neck, for hugs and brother-on-brother wrestling fights.

Give’em plenty of sassy banter, throw-away lines that are the garlic of any dishy Italian-American comedy.

“What am I, Kojak?”

“You’re an idiot. Not your fault. You take after Uncle Carmine’s side of the gene pool!”

“Very funny. Tell me when to laugh!”

A little wistful romance, a touch of leaving the cozy family nest, all set against a holiday feast — prepping for it, cooking it, bickering, chasing the womenfolk out of the kitchen — that’s a winning combo for a holiday rom-com.

No low-hanging comic fruit is left unplucked in this sentimental easy-going and at times adorable entry in the seasonal comedy onslaught.

“On Christmas Eve in this town, EVERYbody is Italian. Or thinks they are!”

Tony Oliverio (Skyler Gisondo of “Booksmart”) is college age, but stuck at home in Greentown, West Virginia (actually Rivesville and Fairmont, West Virginia). He’s a painter who works in the family meat market his parents run. No chance of accepting admission to a “pretty good art school” in Pittsburgh.

It’s 1983 and his big Italian family is one generation removed from working in the coal mines. They’ll never go for anything as seemingly frivolous as “art school.”

He’s just broken up with his girlfriend since elementary school, and Katie (Addison Timlin), isn’t taking it well.

Cousin Angelo (Andrew Schultz) reminds him that “the chicks that went away to college, the ones we NEVER get to see? They’re back…and horny for the holidays!” That’s how Tony meets Beth (winsome Madison Iseman of the “Goosebumps” movies), a pretty blonde coed who went straight from prep school to the Ivy League.

It being 1983, Beth is resisting her parents’ push toward making more concrete plans with rich preppie Prentice (Allen Williamson), who’d rather be skiing this holiday.

Beth and Prentice, or Beth and Tony? If it’s meant to be, it’s meant to be, right? Que sera sera and all that.

There’s a mouth-watering comic montage of fish cooking as Tony explains the day’s cuisine to Beth.

But a comedy like this lives or dies on its supporting characters and the supporting cast you get to play them, and “Feast of the Seven Fishes” has a terrific one. Sure, they’re playing “types” — the lazy great uncle, the lazy little brother, the grousing patriarch (Paul Ben-Victor of TV’s “Goliath,” shining in a rare comic turn), the gambling, hustling “businessman” brother, given a “Paisano!” twinkle by Joe Pantoliano.

The grumpy great-grandmother (Lynn Cohen) doesn’t approve of the pretty blonde non-Catholic. Beth, one and all agree — when they switch to Italian when talking about her in front of her — is a “Mangia-cake,” a cake-eater. Rich. And the Oliverios? “Not OUR kind of people” Beth’s mother reminds her.

Naturally, she’s dragged into the holiday feast, old men in their t-shirts peeling shrimp, stuffing calamari and frying bacaloa.

Naturally, everybody they know drops by, including Juke (Josh Helman), a bookish, bespectacled philosopher/psychoanalyst who just happens to be a mechanic. “Feast of the Seven Fishes” has a little bit of every family holiday comedy about it, a touch of “Big Night” thanks to the food, and in this one character — Juke — a hint of “Diner.”

Most of the players have their moment or two, but none rings more true than Katie’s, a young woman devastated by her break-up, acting-out to try and win him back — adrift.

“I didn’t just lose Tony. I lost the whole family!”

I can’t stress enough how undemanding, easy-going, predictable and familiar this comedy is. Nor can I stress enough how well its tried-and-true ingredients blend, how much it feels grounded in a place and the people there.

Call “Feast of the Seven Fishes” what it is, Christmas comedy comfort food. And bring your appetite.

MPAA Rating: Unrated, with a little fisticuffs, a little pot, a little profanity

Cast: Skyler Gisondo, Madison Iseman, Josh Helman, Paul Ben-Victor, Lynn Cohen, Addison Timlin, Jessica Darrow and Joe Pantoliano

Credits: Written and directed by Robert Tinnell. A Shout! Factory release.

Running time: 1:37

It takes forever to get going.

“Doctor Sleep” has to give us all this backstory, remind us who Danny Torrance, the kid with “The Shining,” was. It has to recast the kid from that movie, and more famously, his “Here’s JOHNNY!” dad — Jack Nicholson then, Henry Thomas now.

Alex Essoe replaces Shelley Duvall as Mom, Wendy Torrance.

And Carl Lumbly has to fill the shoes of the formidable Scatman Crothers as Danny’s friend, the handyman/cook with “The Shining” himself, Dick Halloran.

They had to recreate the Overlook Hotel (digitally), and put Danny back on a big wheeled trike, tooling down its scary halls, filled with iconic haunted twins and the Walking Dead cadaver in the tub.

But once all that stuff is out of the way, once that ominous Wendy Carlos/Rachel Elkind “Shining” theme has returned to the soundtrack, once the adult Danny (Ewan McGregor) has let us see the miserable, drifting and substance-abusing life he’s lived in the intervening 40 years, Mike Flanagan’s adaptation of Stephen King’s sequel-novel gets on its feet.

And once it (finally) gets going, it has us going, too.

Flanagan, the director of “The Haunting of Hill House” and that Netflix evergreen “Gerald’s Game” is no Stanley Kubrick. His film lacks the stateliness of Kubrick’s tone poem in horror. Nobody’s going to be obsessing over the mise en scene, every minute detail, and turning up in a documentary about such obsessives and their fixation on the Overlook Hotel’s “Room 237.”
But with a good cast, a great villainess and some absolutely stunning and horrific effects, he delivers a perfectly frightening, if ridiculously cluttered, simple confrontation between good and evil.

The set-piece moments — “Shining” practitioners tilting the building they’re in until they slide down the walls and into a precarious situation in another location, characters screaming and gurgling and shriveling and dying and turning to dust right before our eyes — aren’t the real selling point. What sticks with you are the story’s heartbreaking, pitiless and excruciating crimes against children.

That’s what’s giving young Abra (Kyliegh Curran) nightmares. She and her parents have known about her “gift” for years, but in her tweens, she’s shining too much, seeing too much. Children like her, who can read minds, communicate without speaking and see future events, are being hunted and slaughtered.

We’ve already met Rose the Hat (“Mission: Impossible” villain Rebecca Ferguson, silkily scary). She and her “family” (think “Manson” family, with RVs) travel the continent, hunting gifted kids, murdering them and stealing their “steam” — a vaprous representation of the soul exiting the body on death.

Abra’s distress has pierced the ESP void and found 40something Danny. He’s found sobriety and purpose, thanks to AA friends (Cliff Curtis, Bruce Greenwood) in this New Hampshire village where he’s settled.

“Do dying people bother you?”

Noooo, he insists. Everybody’s dying. “The world is one BIG hospice!”

That’s how he’s become “Doctor Sleep,” an after-hours custodian at the local hospice who follows the house cat who “senses” who will be the next to go, comforting the dying as only a man who can see “the other side” can.

Abra reaches out to Danny just as she’s detected by Rose the Hat. Can he protect her? Is she strong enough in “The Shining” to defend herself?

Flanagan’s film rarely bogs down after the long, establishing opening acts, but labors when his script tries to cram in a Hogwarts School Year’s worth of names for types of “Shining,” always brought up in debates between Rose and her chief lieutenant, Crow Daddy (Zahn McClarnon).

Their best moment as characters driving the plot is their “recruitment” of a Jedi Mind Trick teen (Emily Alyn Lind) who has been luring sexual predators into her trap, where she uses psychosomatic suggestion to disable and punish them.

And sure, while some of her glory is just the empathetic badass role she was cast in, young Miss Curran’s screen debut as Abra is a dazzler.

McGregor has a few moments of his own and is most impressive in the early scenes, Danny as down and out drifter, brawling in bars, picking up fellow addicts and irresponsibly stealing from them and abandoning them. That might be the reason old Dick (Lumbly) is still visiting him, years and years after Danny’s dad killed him with an axe at the Overlook.

There’s a lot going on here, none of it terribly deep. But “Doctor Sleep” still makes a worthy successor to “The Shining,” that rarest of sequels driven by genuine curiosity and fascination with characters and their continuing story and not by corporate bean counters and their bottom line cynicism.

MPAA Rating: R for disturbing and violent content, some bloody images, language, nudity and drug use.

Cast: Ewan McGregor, Rebecca Ferguson, Kyliegh Curran, Cliff Curtis, Zahn McClarnon, Henry Thomas and Bruce Greenwood

Credits: Written and directed by Mike Flanagan, based on the Stephen King novel. A Warner Brothers release.

Running time: 2:31

The most shocking thing about “Midway” is how much this Roland “Independence Day/Stargate” Emmerch epic about one of history’s greatest naval battles is how much it gets right.

After seeing Emmerich’s botched history of the “Stonewall” gay rights riot and his “Anonymous” rewriting of who wrote Shakespeare’s plays, that’s a surprise.

Yes, the Japanese plotted the engagement after Col. Jimmy Doolittle’s (Aaron Eckhart) daring land-bombers-launched from aircraft carriers raid on Tokyo.

Yes, American cryptographers had broken enough of Japan’s “Purple” code to figure out the attack was coming, and yes, they planted a clever ruse to determine where the attack was directed.

Yes, the Navy’s greatest fighting (carrier) admiral, Bull Halsey (Dennis Quaid), missed the battle due to a severe outbreak of shingles, which humiliated him no end.

Yes, legendary Western movie maker John Ford (Geoffrey Blake) was on the remote atoll, Midway Island, filming as the Japanese attacked.

Yes, the sole survivor, Ensign George Gay (Brandon Sklenar) of a first-wave attack on the Japanese fleet floated on a life jacket, hiding under a seat cushion, watching the Battle from the middle of the fight.

Yes, one pilot dropped the bombs that sank two Japanese carriers that day in June of 1942. Nobody had to invent a character for Ben Affleck to play who was everywhere at once in “Pearl Harbor” (even in The Battle of Britain).

Yes, American torpedoes were mostly duds that first year of the war, something worth remembering in Military Industrial Complex-era America.

And yes, downed American airmen captured by the defeated Japanese during the battle were summarily executed at sea, something worth bringing up on our annual Wring Our Hands Over Hiroshima Day.

Emmerich brings his BIG EXPLOSIONS style to a subject that fits it, and gets impressive digital re-creations of air-to-air and planes-bombing-ships combat. The ships look right, even if they have the stock-still “Titanic” fakery that robs them of their scale, the sense of the enormous size and weight that was moving through the water.

All that digital animation, with actors acting (flying bombers, etc.) in front of green screens gives the combat scenes an unreal pallor, not wholly unlike “Sky Captain and the World of Tomorrow.”

Established actors from Woody Harrelson, who lends a teensy twinkle to Admiral Nimitz, Patrick Wilson, earnest as Pacific intelligence chief Edwin Layton, Luke Evans as bomber pilot Wade McClusky, Ed Skrein as bomber pilot Dick Best, Mandy Moore as Best’s wife, Eckhart as Doolittle and Quaid as Halsey, make solid impressions.

But lesser knowns by the score flit across the screen with barely a thought, no matter how pivotal their character might be, and the obligatory pop star turned actor (Nick Jonas) slings a little swabbie swagger.

The Achilles Heel of this “Midway,” unlike the more melodramatic 1976 film starring Charlton Heston, is one of focus and scope, a sweeping film that sweeps up too much to digest, with lots of time for corny dialogue in the bargain.

Halsey: “I got this damn ITCH!”

Screenwriter Wes Tooke of TV’s “Colony” tumbles into the classic show-runner-turned-screenwriter trap, packing too much plot, entirely too much of the context, into a story that really should begin with Doolittle’s Raid and end with the emotional sinking of the lone American carrier to go down that day, after a heroic struggle to save her.

Perhaps showing the U.S.S. Lexington sinking in The Battle of the Coral Sea convinced Emmerich not to attempt it. That’s some of the least convincing digital imaging in the movie.

Tooke starts the picture in 1937, to give us an insipid white-gloved introduction to Admiral Yamamoto (Etsushi Toyokawa) and Layton (Wilson) at a British/American/Japanese naval dinner in Tokyo. His script takes us through the aftermath of Doolittle’s Raid, another sign of Hollywood’s efforts to reach the Chinese market and appease the Chinese government.

We don’t need to see “Pearl Harbor” over again. As the phrase of the day went, we “REMEMBER Pearl Harbor.” The gloom of that attack (less digitally convincing here than in “Pearl Harbor”) is best captured in a single line by a survivor. “See you at the next funeral.”

We know we’re going to hear Yamamoto’s flattering and prescient post-Pearl Harbor prophecy, “We have awakened a sleeping giant!”

Emmerich is plainly more at home with oversized explosions and crowding the screen with screeching planes and anti-aircraft bursts, damn the perspective. His staging and direction of every assembly, be it in a bar, an office, on a flight deck or in a pilots’ briefing, is static. The extras stand rigid waiting for the stars to finish their lines. These scenes don’t work, even as tableaux.

They left out the “forgotten” half of the battle, the Japanese invasion of Attu and Kiska in the Aleutian Islands. But something had to go.

Overreaching and somewhat bloated? Sure.

But chalk it up to “diminished expectations” or the pleasant surprise of dashing back to the office to check this or that fact that I was SURE they’d gotten wrong, only to see it confirmed, this “Midway” isn’t the cut-rate “U.S.S. Indianapolis: Men of Courage” digital visuals, hammy acting and corny dialogue debacle it might have been.

“Not awful” is Emmerich’s victory, here.

MPAA Rating: PG-13 for sequences of war violence and related images, language and smoking

Cast: Ed Skrein, Luke Evans, Mandy Moore, Patrick Wilson, Dennis Quaid, Woody Harrelson, Etsushi Toyokawa, Tadanobu Asano, Aaron Eckhart

Credits: Directed by Roland Emmerich, script by Wes Tooke. A Lionsgate release.

Running time: 2:18

Danny doesn’t live here…anymore.. Mrs. Torrance.

Hoo boy.