Movie Nation

The sheer savagery of the fights is the selling point of “Avengement,” kickboxer turned actor Scott Adkins’ latest thriller with stuntman turned director Jesse V. Johnson.

It’s a step up from their “Debt Collector” punch-em-up, more polished.

But if you come for the fights you have to stay for the fights. It’s just that there’s an awful lot of cockney trash talk in the endless ENDless flashbacks in this static, almost stage-bound convict-out-for-revenge tale.

Adkins is Cain Burgess, an MMA fighter who failed to throw a fight, way back when. His brother Lincoln (Craig Fairbrass), a London loan shark, was among those most burned by that blunder. The chit that brother Linc called in was a little crime he expected “baby bruvva” to do. And that’s how Cain got nicked, as they say.

Belmarsh Prison, “The Meatgrinder,” is where the fighter hardened into a kill-or-be-killed survivor. And when he escapes, who’s he looking for? Big bruvva, and big bruvva’s whole gang.

You can see why Johnson (“The Hitman Diaries: Charlie Valentine” was the first film of his I noticed) would want to mess around with story structure to make this straightforward punch your way to “Avengement” more interesting. But parking most of the action in a pub/mob-club where Cain holds assorted villains hostage while he laboriously tells them how he got all these scars on his face and body is a blunder.

“Avengement” is all action beats — a delayed account of how Cain escaped, every police beating, every prison riot started as a cover to kill him on the catwalks, in the cafeteria, in the yard — and thick-accented Cockney exposition between bad guys, threats, insults, profane dismissals.

And as much as many of us enjoy the slang — “You and your silly ‘panto’ (pantomime, a British holiday storytelling tradition), a bloke having his first pint in years engaged “in some wishful drinking,” as he tells the story of how “the prodigal bruvva returns.”

The fights are furious and occasionally logical, although there’s an awful lot of “You have YOUR turn with him before I take a swing” nonsense you see in brawling movies.

And some of the humor, much of it coming from the poseur among the mobsters (Thomas Turgoose of the skinhead drama “This is England”), brings a smirk, especially when Cain’s storytelling runs on and on and, well, they’re in a pub and yes they had several pints before he pulled a sawed-off shotgun on them.

“To be fair, NONE of us had planned on being held hostage today.”

Adkins is better here than he’s been in other leading man roles, although casting his American “Debt Collector” co-star Louis Mandylor (as a cop) just reminds us the Brit has fists of fury, hardened good looks and not a lot of screen charisma to go with them.

He’s acted and earned his way into Jason Statham C-movie territory, and “Avengement” invites a comparison with the “Hobbs & Shaw” star that still does Adkins no service. He’s still dull every time he stops swinging his fists.

Still, if what you’re looking for it fists of fury, he can provide them. And if you’re looking for signs that a guy who is playing heavies in small roles in big budget pictures is growing as a performer, that he and Johnson have gotten better since “Debt Collector,” just not all that much, “Avengement” is going to be your kind of movie.

MPAA Rating: unrated, graphic, bloody violence, profanity

Cast: Scott Adkins, Craig Fairbrass, Thomas Turgoose, Nick Moran, Kierston Wareing and Louis Mandylor

Credits: Directed by Jesse V. Johnson, script by Jesse V. Johnson, Stu Small. A Samuel L. Goldwyn release.

Running time: 1:27

The only thing new under the sun is the history we’ve forgotten.

Only the names of the tyrants and their treasonous stooges change.

“Mr. Jones” is a 1930s journalistic thriller from Agnieszka Holland (“Olivier, Olivier,” “Europa Europa”) that stars James Norton, Vanessa Kirby, Peter Sarsgaard and Kenneth Cranham and starts rolling out this fall in the former Eastern Bloc, in the West later. Because Poland (Oct. 25 opening) is more tuned in to what happened then and what’s going on now than the rest of us.

Let’s just say that two of the guys behind Orlando’s most famous film shot in Maryland are behind the camera in this “black hole” anthology, in theaters and on demand Oct. 25.

It’s in the tradition of “V/H/S” and other different stories/different directors horror packages.

Creepy enough for you?

Think of the simpler than simple terrors of “The Mist,” “Christine” (demonic car), “Cujo” (demonic dog), “Pet Sematary,” Firestarter.” Stephen King never had to get too fancy or complicated to find his horror hooks, and set those hooks in us.

The novella “In the Tall Grass” takes us back to the general “Children of the Corn” idea, that there’s menace in a vast grassy field that turns into a supernatural maze (“The Shining”) the moment you step into it.

Yes, his son Joe Hill co-wrote it, but there’s ground the master has covered before here. Thank goodness the film that comes from it is tight enough to let us skim by the over-familiar and find some chills.

Laysla De Oliveira plays the very-pregnant Becky in “Grass,” driving cross-country with brother Cal (Avery Whitted) to start over in San Diego, when a blast of morning sickness makes them stop in America’s flatlands.

There’s a weathered, abandoned church across the road, with cars in the parking lot. But in the field next to where Cal pulled over, there’s a child’s cry.

“HEEEeeeeeeeelllllp!”

The grass? It is tall. So when Becky answers back, the child’s “I’m LOST in here…I’ve been stuck in here for DAYS!” makes just enough sense.

Becky overhears a woman trying to shush the child, but no matter. It’s “Cal to the rescue,” as he plunges in. And disappears.

Becky has just enough time to establish that favorite trope of modern horror — darn it, “No SIGNAL?” — when she follows.

And damned if she doesn’t lose track of Cal just as Cal has lost track of the child.

Calling to each other while standing still makes no difference. They sound as if they’re wandering further apart.

Panic, darkness, and then a grubby kid (Will Buie Jr.) comes upon Cal. That’s the same moment that the kid’s dad (Patrick Wilson) stumbles into Becky.

The father is a realtor. Trustworthy?

The kid? He’s got answers, explained in Stephen King creepy child-speak. “The tall grass knows everything,” he says. There’s this big “rock.” “That’s how we got in…that’s how it works” he says, not really explaining himself.

And even less reassuring — “The field don’t move dead things around.”

How long has this child been here? How long have WE been here? The look on Becky’s face asks the most important question of all.

“WTF?”

That killer 20 minute opening segues to the arrival of Travis (Harris Gilbertson). He’s looking for Cal and Becky. He’s her baby daddy, and he’s on their trail.

And when he sees their car, covered in dust parked in that same abandoned church parking lot, he too will be drawn into the field.

I like the way “Splice” and TV’s “Hannibal” director Vincenzo Natali dangles logic and hope in front of through Travis. He mulls it over, and decides to try and climb the church steeple to look over the field, first.

He goes in with his backpack. He marks a trail, tying off the grass.

As someone who muttered all the way through “The Blair Witch Project,” Hike to WATER, FOLLOW the WATER out like good little Scouts,” I relish those “just what I would do” touches.

Of course it’s to no avail. But heck, wouldn’t be much of a horror movie if mere nature lore and hiking common sense could save you.

The film loses much of its lean, mean narrative drive when we get into group dynamics — who can you trust, who has been drinking the tall grass KoolAid — and the whole supernatural mumbo-jumbo “explaining” what they’re dealing with, and how they can escape it, takes over “In the Tall Grass.”

Wilson is the stand-out in the cast, but the kid is terrific and De Oleira makes an OK case for this being a break-out movie for her.

It’s not great, just a tad more interesting than the muddled “It” sequel and more engrossing (and brief) than TV’s “Mr. Mercedes.”

Let’s hope King passed along to his son not just a career, but the best advice he himself ever followed. KISS — keep it simple, Stephen.

MPAA Rating: TV-MA, violence, profanity

Cast: Laysla De Oliveira, Avery Whitted, Patrick Wilson, Will Buie Jr.Will, Harrison Gilbertson, Rachel Wilson.

Credits: Written and directed by Vincenzo Natali, based on the Stephen King/Joe Hill novella. A Netflix release.

Running time: 1:41

Her big decade was the ’60s, when she made movies and starred in the groundbreaking African-American TV series “Julia.”

I caught up with Diahann Carroll in the ’90s, when she toured with a concert cabaret act.

Regal but modest, sure of her place in cultural history and perfectly happy with it.

https://t.co/HLKhbHVHCT https://t.co/PjTrxTeDIW https://twitter.com/DEADLINE/status/1180158277683834880?s=17

The master speaks. In this case, to The Guardian, as borrowed by The Wrap. A me. As The Guardian is a notorious online content thief, fair is fair.

“Theme park rides” and roller coasters. Not “cinema.”

I tend to agree, although a few folks have taken a shot at delivering something new within the genre. “Joker” doesn’t have guys in tights or endless digital fights. So there’s that.

It doesn’t take more than five minutes of the Mexican comedy “Solteras” (Ready to Mingle)” to make one wonder “Which millenium is this set in?”

It’s about “desperate” single women, mostly in the 30-40 age range, who lose faith in Tinder and Match.com, in long-term beaus who never “put a ring on it,” and attend a “How to Find and Close the Deal with a Husband” workshop.

However that plays South of the Rio Grande, north of the border, it’s a seriously outdated social expectation and a romantic comedy trope that was worn out and abandoned at about the time Monica finally got her ring on “Friends.”

To get anything out of “Mingle,” you have to ignore the current “women don’t need men” thinking, resign yourself to some pretty stale rom-com tropes and repeat, in Spanish (with English subtitles) “pelicula chica.” It’s an old fashioned chick picture, so let’s roll with it and see where it takes us.

Ana (Cassandra Ciangherotti) is dumped in the middle of a wedding, chosing the worst possible moment to wonder why “I’m the last single (soltera) of all my friends” to her beau of ten years, Gabriel (played by Pablo Cruz).

Months of drinking and crying later, she hears the news that her “ugly” cousin has just gotten engaged, and uses threats to figure out Tamara’s (Lucía Uribe Bracho) secret.

“I took a workshop!”

Ana decides to check it out, is encouraged by the “Hola, guapa!” (Hello, gorgeous!) greeting from the receptionist, but a bit put off by the knowitall “Love Coach,” Lucila (Gabriela de la Garza). And she can’t see herself as “desperate” as the four women she sees there — a frumpy drunken doormat, a divorcee racing against time, a wallflower and sexy but perhaps delusional about her beauty bombshell who can’t get all the way to the altar.

It’s only when Ana takes one last, hopeless run at Gabriel that she realizes she’s as desperate as the rest. She’s all-in on lessons that begin with “Maybe YOU’RE the ones who don’t take yourselves seriously” and progress to a makeover (“You are looking for a husband, not a job…Men only notice looks…It’s in their DNA!”), to leaving “your comfort zone…No more pilates. Find a class with more men in it.”

Dating small-talk rehearsals, learning what to conceal and what to flat-out lie about.

All very retro. Throw in the “bad dates” montage, a staple of such movies since forever, not the least bit funny in this film. Add a LOT of culture clashing lines about waiting for a man to cover one’s bills and “let you live it up,” lives put on hold until this threshold is crossed (one woman has been paying for her wedding dress, in installments, for years) and you’ve got a film that may resonate with someone demographically or culturally more “old fashioned.”

To everybody NOT around when “Gentlemen Prefer Blondes” made its theatrical run, this is so stale and dated it is grating.

Cinagherotti has her Kristen Wiig’ish charms, but the “types” that surround her — including the greying architect (Juan Pablo Medina) who starts to look like “the one” if Ana can only set the hook — are dull, more a collection of cliches than actual characters.

Too slow, too few funny lines to go with a couple of promising comic situations, “Ready to Mingle” turns out to have been the wrong title to translate this tie-the-knot-of-die comedy to. They left out the “Not.”

MPAA Rating: TV-MA, near nudity, adult situations, alcohol abuse

Cast:  Cassandra Ciangherotti, Gabriela de la Garza, Irán Castillo, Juan Pablo Medina, Flor Eduarda Gurrola and Pablo Cruz

Credits: Directed by Luis Javier Henaine, script by Luis Javier Henaine and Alejandra Olvera Avila. A Netflix release.

Running time: 1:37

Didn’t much care for “Surprise Me!,” a wan little romantic comedy about an event planner with commitment issues, trust issues, dead daddy issues and food issues.

It has an ending that I didn’t guess until about 25 minutes before it arrived, so I’ll give them that.

But watching the air go out of this balloon one is struck by how bland, if pretty, the cast is — mostly — and with that being the case, how does one work up empathy, that magical shortcut that puts us in the shoes of the characters going through the story on screen?

Fiona Gubelmann is Genie, our leading lady, an utterly generic pretty blonde who works for a surprise party planning company, “Surprise Enterprise.”

It’s a small Chicago concern — so perhaps she’s a co-owner, with Steven (LaShawn Banks, funny), the gay boss as almost-best-friend.

They do things like fake an apartment open house so that two grandparents can be surprised for their anniversary when they think they’re condo shopping, or fake an arrest so that BFF Danny (Jonathan Bennett) never sees his surprise birthday party coming.

The trouble with life as she knows it comes from meeting someone. Jeff (Sean Faris) is a handsome, grinning cosmetic surgeon, the type who keeps running into her, and making overfamiliar judgments about how she’s dressed — he pulls a pricetag off her blouse — and shops (at the supermarket).’

Such movies live and die on “meet cute.” This is “meet annoying.” But at least that suggests an emotional response, something this picture never achieves.

Jeff is a “never let an argument get started” type, living on giving and getting “the benefit of the doubt.” Genie “cares enough to argue.”

It’ll never work out.

Genie lost her dad, and tactlessly brings that up to her remarried mother and stepdad, has commitment issues and a weakness for baked sweets — cake, cupcakes, donuts — that suggest an eating disorder.

Which is why she starts seeing a therapist. Veteran character comedienne Nicole Sullivan (“Scrubs”) has just a few scenes and her sparkle and animation glaringly give-away what this blase’ picture lacks — life.

“All day, all night, catch the feeling before you bite!” this “Nobel Pizza Prize” laureate counsels.

Sullivan’s few scenes demonstrate that energy, pacing and casting are working against this chore of a comedy. The two guys allegedly “competing” for Genie’s attention (Danny is in the “friend” zone, even if Genie’s mother wishes otherwise) are, to be as tactful as a review can manage, dully interchangeable.

Courtship montages through the summery sights of Chicago fall flat. Only in the friendly confines of the office of therapist Ellen, with Sullivan acting with her arms, her head, her face, her eyes and her voice, does “Surprise Me!” ever come close to coming to life.

Sullivan sparkles. Nobody else does, and that smothers the movie, surprise or no surprise.

MPAA Rating: unrated, adult situations

Cast:  Fiona Gubelmann, LaShawn Banks, Nicole Sullivan, Jonathan Bennett, Sean Faris

Credits: Written and directed by Nancy Goodman. An Indie Rights release.

Running time: 1:42

The post-apocalyptic novel, by Lily Brooks-Dalton, will star Clooney, who is directing, and Felicity Jones and Kyle Chandler and now Tiffany Boone. https://t.co/G632mQL9wK https://t.co/i9x1xBP1AV

An early Dec. Release co-starring Kathy Bates, Sam Rockwell and Jon Hamm.

An Eastwood picture about a man convicted, with FBI help, by the media?

Forgive me my skepticism about the old man’s motives. And timing.