Movie Nation

Still “quiet,” still creepy. Emily Blunt? Still fierce.

One great thing about the rise of Netflix streaming is its contribution to the general public’s knowledge of film history. For instance, while you probably remember the Jake Gyllenhaal/Sam Mendes stresses-of-combat classic “Jarhead” from 2005, who knew there have been three sequels?

Sure, they’re not directed by or starring anybody with a big name, and they’re of steadily diminishing quality, but they’re out there.

“Jarhead: Law of Return” is the new one, a film that invokes Israel’s “Law of Return,”the legal justification for granting Israeli citizenship to any Jew anywhere in the world. That’s how Major Ronan Jackson (Devon Sawa of “Final Destination” and TV’s “Nikita”) ended up there, a U.S. trained F-16 pilot flying for the Israeli Air Force, married to an Israeli.

Jackson’s mother was Jewish, so that’s how he landed “oleh” (immigrant) citizenship status.

But as anybody knows, “Jarhead” is U.S. jargon for a Marine. How’re we getting the Marines into Israel to help rescue Jackson after he’s shot down over the Golan Heights? Jackson’s daddy (Robert Patrick) is a U.S. Senator. Only a joint Marine Corps/Shaldag (Israeli commandos) can save Jackson from the clutches of the Iranian-backed Golan Freedom Brigade, and their anonymous, murderous leader, The Ghost (George Zlatarev).

“If he lets you see his eyes, you’re DEAD!”

Amaury Nolasco(TV’s “Deception) plays “gunny” Sgt. Dave Flores, leader of a grizzled team of tough-talking, swaggering hulks of testosterone and tattoos. Meeting their Israeli counterparts (Amos Tamam plays their leader) and the Mossad agent (Yael Eitan) makes for a mildly interesting pissing contest.

The Israelis are all mysterious, anonymous warriors — “Our names, like God’s, are not to be spoken.”

The Jarheads are all, “Yeah, you’re Brenner, you’re Brodetsky…”

They quickly find themselves in the thick of it, tracking the missing pilot, fighting and dying on a mission that “does not exist” in a desperate race against the clock.

The firefights are routine, with the odd eye-rolling boner of a moment. The pilot fends off terrorists armed with truck-mounted machine guns and AK-47s with just his sidearm.

Maybe that’s because he’s hiding out in the only field of bulletproof sunflowers in all of the Middle East (filmed in Israel and Bulgaria). Time and again, Palestinian fighters hold their guns up high to shoot OVER the flowers when Jackson is hiding IN among them. 

The ordinance ranges from “Sure” to laughable. Wait’ll you see what it takes to bring Jackson down. The wacky modified dune buggies of all low-rent commando movies turn up as super secret assault vehicles. A sniper uses the automatic weapon with the shortest barrel on earth to become Arabic Sniper.

Then there’s the debate in HQ, where the Marine four-star general (Ben Cross of “Chariots of Fire”) would be a lot more impressive to the Israelis if he wasn’t plainly wearing his stars on a jacket with sergeant’s stripes on the sleeves.

Actor-turned writer-director Don Michael Paul specializes in low-budget sequels WAY down the line from the original “Death Race,” “Sniper,” “Bulletproof,” “Scorpion King” or “Kindergarten Cop,” so don’t expect him to sweat the details. He scripted the epic fiasco “Harley Davidson & the Marlboro Man,” so the hard-boiled dialogue is…hardcore.

“This is Benghazi all OVER again!”

Yes, the whole affair plays like Israeli propaganda, gory and trigger-happy but cut-rate, inept and unsatisfying. But Universal has to make up that cash they lost on “Cats” somewhere.

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

Cast: Devon Sawa, Amaury Nolasco, Yael Eitan, Amos Tamam, George Zlatarev, Robert Patrick and Ben Cross

Written and directed by Don Michael Paul. A Universal release.

Running time: 1:42

It was a banner year for documentaries and an off year for animation. And Almodovar.

Sure, give Banderas a Best Actor nomination, but “Pain & Glory?” Meh.

It was a year without Woody Allen, our first and not our last.

When we remember 2019 at the movies, we will remember a comic book movie that broke through, was actually about something important, and was one of the best-acted pictures of the year.

Martin Scorsese had the best year. No, I don’t think“The Irishman” is all that. But the man made a great, playful music doc (“Rolling Thunder Revue: A Bob Dylan Story”). And the cinema’s greatest filmmaker/scholar presided over one of the great “rescue edits” in screen history, pulling a fine movie out of the debacle of “The Current War.”

Pity they didn’t bring him in for “The Rise of Skywalker,” or that middling Avengers movie lesser lights wet their pants over in the early summer.

It was a year of hidden gems, even if “Uncut Gems” wasn’t one. It’s a good movie, not hidden, but I’m not buying the Sandler hype — not for a second. Two such overlooked jewels were about Emily Dickinson (“A Quiet Passion,” “Wild Nights with Emily”).

“American Woman”should have reminded everybody how good an actress Sienna Miller is, and how rough life in the American working class still is. Nobody saw it, or “I See You” or “The Chambermaid,” and not that many saw “The Art of Self Defense” or “Mickey and the Bear,” either.

The Best Netflix Movie wasn’t “Marriage Story,” although the scale of it — a character piece, all about performance, kitchen sink drama and acting — suits the streaming service better than the epics they keep signing blank checks for (“Roma” last year, “The Irishman” this year.). I’d say the same for “The Two Popes,” very much a filmed stage play — a two-hander, with two great actors carrying the picture onto screens big and small.

The BEST Netflix movie, and most Oscar-worthy ex-“Saturday Night Live” performance, was “Dolemite is My Name,” starring Eddie Murphy.

“Atlantics” is almost as good, a beautiful, impressionistic drama of love, human migration and modern Senegal.” Netflix should spend more money showing us the world, They certainly get more bang for their movie-making buck in Africa, Central and South America and the little-covered corners of Asia.

There were so many outstanding candidates for Best Documentary that I’m just going to pull them out for their own list.

“Where’s My Roy Cohn?” and “Honeyland”were the best documentaries, one an indictment-worthy bio-pic/political history, the other about a solitary beekeeper in the highlands of Macedonia. Fascinating.

“Apollo 11” is worthy of an Oscar nomination, an impressive recounting of “One small step” and the people who took it. A throwback to “American pride,” and what we’re still proud of.

“Rodents of Unusual Size”is the documentary you track down on streaming to have a chuckle learning about nutria and the bayous, bays and riverbanks these varmints have taken over.

“The Queen” was the most worthy “American history we know nothing about” doc, about the pre-history of drag queens, long before “La Cage” and RuPaul mainstreamed them into the culture.

“Rolling Thunder Revue” and “Linda Ronstadt: The Sound of My Voice” were the best music docs. “Echoes in the Canyon” was better than that David Crosby one that got wide play. I forget the title.

“Be Natural”is the best documentary about movie-making in many a year, a film that rewrites film history in telling us the story of Alice Guy-Blache, the first female film director, a Frenchwoman who learned her craft in France during the last days of the Victorian Era, and made a mark in America as well. And then was forgotten.

And you can toss a coin to decide which of the two excellent documentaries with “Midnight” in the title was best –– “Midnight Traveler,”about refugees fleeing Afghanistan, or “Midnight Family,” about the Wild West of ambulance drivers in Mexico City.

The best comic book picture is listed below, but “Captain Marvel” was fun enough, marginally more fun than the latest “Spider-Man.”

But let’s get to the main event, shall we? The best pictures I saw in 2019 are, in my way of thinking, the movies I will come back to and watch again down the road.

I have never watched “The Shape of Water” a second time, not bothered streaming “Roma” again, not burned through “Green Book” or for that matter any comic book movie of the past 20 years in a repeat viewing. “Rogue One” is the lone “Star Wars” picture that passes this test. “Dunkirk” I must have seen half a dozen times, five times more than I’ve seen “A Star is Born.”

I lean towards period pieces, historical films and “movies about something.”

I will watch “Best of Enemies” again — with relatives. And “Dark Waters.” I’m looking forward to seeing everything on the list below a second time.

What movies are worth rewatching, which ones have the best chance of “holding up,” as we say?

The best pictures of 2019 are…

Continue reading →

Netflix continues its holiday season culling of Christian fundamentalist subscribers by adding a second holiday-themed religious special from the Brazilian TV and Youtube comedy troop Porta dos Fundos” to its offerings.

Whatever else they’ve managed in their brief career as satirists, these Portuguese-speaking pranksters have certainly shown a gift for stirring folks up.

“The First Temptation of Christ,”released just a week or two back,drew instant outrage for its depiction of the 30th birthday party of Jesus, whose time in the desert has helped him find himself. He’s found himself, and a boyfriend. He’s gay in that raucous farce, which has an infectious noisy energy that translates, even if you have to read the one-liners to get too many of the jokes.

“The Last Hangover,” their riff on “The Last Supper” (see the photo above) isn’t nearly as funny and not quite as blasphemous as “First Temptation of Christ.” It came out a year before “First Temptation,” so think of it as a dry run in the “Let’s see what we can get away with and how funny we can make this sad event on the Liturgical Calendar.”

It’s about the morning after that “big party” Jesus invited all the disciples to. Everybody’s hungover. Nobody knows where the Son of God is. Through flashbacks, as the staggering apostles come to their senses, they try and figure that out.

“Are you splitting the bill?” a waiter (in Portuguese, remember, with English subtitles) wants to know as the evening begins.

“It’s all on Him!” Simon, or maybe Peter says.

Jesus (Fábio Porchat) has trouble holding the floor, gets into arguments and ends all of them the same way.

“Do you know who my Father is?”

He’s always joking around, changing water into wine mid-gulp. Makes quite the drinking game.

He’s trying to tell the lads — some of whom have remembered this is a pot luck (I won’t say which apostle brings the cocaine), some of whom think inviting Mary Magdalene (Karina Ramil) and her “girls” for entertainment was a good idea — that he’s “leaving” them.

So it’s a farewell party? Pass the humus!

“NO,” he shouts, standing up as he does. “I’m gonna DIE!”

He’s choking! Bartholomew! Give him the Heimlich! Just in time, too.

“He’s back! It’s a MIRACLE!”

They grab him and annoy the heck out of him with their preferred celebration of a miracle.

“Stop KISSING! Always with the kissing!”

The whole 44 minutes of this TV “Nativity” special, titled “”Drink, Don’t Eat” is like this. They pose for a group photo–OK, it’s a portrait.

“How long is this going to take?”

“I’m still on the first apostle,” the painter complains.

The guests compete with magic tricks, knowing full well this a specialty of the Son of God. Somebody is always yelling for “JAMES…No, the OTHER James!”

The reason any of this works, in either of their religious specials, is the common currency of the content — knowing stories from the New Testament, being familiar with who Peter, Judas and the Gang are and what role they’re supposed to play in the story.

I’d still like to see this ensemble take a shot at Ramadan, but “Searching for Comedy in the Muslim World” has generally proven fruitless.

A couple of times, “Hangover’s” evening of betrayal over drinks turns giddy, but there isn’t much of the laugh-out-loud variety. The “miracle” here is that there was enough promise in this “special” to earn Porta dos Fundos a second shot at a Nativity show, one with a lot more laughs and originality than “Last Hangover.”

MPAA Rating: unrated, drugs, profanity, impending violence

Cast: Fábio Porchat, Gregório Duvivier, Karina Ramil, Antonio Tabet, Pedro Benevides, Paulo Vieira, Fábio de Luca

Credits: Rodrigo Van Der Put. A Porta dos Fundos/Netflix release.

Running time: :44

The iconic look of sci fi cinema was redefined in the late ’70s and early ’80s by Syd Mead, a visual stylist who cast a long shadow over the genre.

An artist and futurist who worked for Ford, his conceptual art for films gave him a dash of immortality.

“Tron,” “2010,” “Mission to Mars, “Short Circuit” even.

And then there was the Ridley Scott masterpiece conceptualized below.

Here’s a link to Variety’s obit of Mead, sometimes billed (“Star Trek: The Motion Picture”) as “Meade.”

I was one of the few critics to bother checking out Kevin Hart’s theatrical comedy concert film “Laugh at My Pain” when it opened back in 2011.

He was already a veteran bit player, comic support on TV (Judd Apatow’s “Undeclared”), and movies (“Fool’s Gold,” “40 Year Old Virgin,” “Soul Plane”), so I knew who he was — a reliable laugh in “little man” form. But this stand-up special/theatrical release was blowing up and kind of out of nowhere, so I dropped in.

He jump-started his career with that hilarious doc, and I made it a point to review all his other concert docs that followed — watching his Hollywood profile grow with feature comedies in between tours, seeing the “Yeah, I’m spending money on fire effects for a comedy concert — I’ve sold out!” arc of his fame.

He’s spread himself Steve Harvey thin in the ensuing decade — doing TV, a Sirius/XM and streaming comedy chat show with his crew, and “Ride Along” and “Think Like a Man” big screen hits, buddy comedies galore (“Get Hard,””The Wedding Ringer,””Central Intelligence”).

Then he hit his peak, and hit a brick wall at the same time. It was 2018, and here he was, a superstar about to host the Oscars, when it all came down on him — homophobic stand-up bits, homophobic tweets.The Oscar gig disappears, and that announced plan to remake the urban comedy classic “Uptown Saturday Night?” A movie he was using his clout to create? Stillborn, or in turnaround. Not happening. Yet.

His recent marquee comedies? “Night School?” Underperformed. “The Upside” buddy comedy with Brian Cranston did well. A remake of “The Great Outdoors” is in the works, but he’s more an ensemble guy, now. “Jumanji” is rebuilding his brand. And he has a LOT of TV series he’s sticking his name on.

If the “angry little man” wants to re-launch himself proper, it’s no shock that he’d take a shot at doing it via a “my side of the story” documentary series for Netflix. It’s not the sort of thing I’d burn a lot of time on, but noticing all the hits an old blog entry on him announcing “Uptown Saturday Night” as his next project, I was curious, like the people visiting that link.

What’s the status of that project? And what’s Hart doing to tidy up his image, after his very public “family man” image meltdown, his refusal to apologize about the old tweets and one-liners?

“Kevin Hart: Don’t F**k This Up” offers no apologies, despite his publicist urging “humility,” and no real update on “Uptown.” The series catches Hart at that pre-Oscar/mid-“Irresponsible” tour peak — 2018.

We see him meet and try to talk somebody PRETTY famous into co-starring in “Uptown Saturday Night” with him.

“He’s a f—–g thespian!” Hart jokes, as he’s given the “I have to go away and think about it” brush off.

We see and hear him recording his voice track for “The Secret Life of Pets 2,” watch him multi-task to the point of distraction, maybe neglecting his family because of how driven he is to do it all, manage it all and get filthy rich while the iron is hot.

We hear him talk about his college-educated single mom, the driving inspiration in his life and career, and the fences he’s mended with his recovering-addict father. His mother died, and his dad’s behavior after that glibly made it into his stand-up. But there’s earnest emotion in his fervent desire to please the parent no longer around.

“Look at your boy! See what he did!”

We watch the wife (Eniko) Hart’s assured us is “not a homewrecker” come to tears over the “very public humiliation” of him cheating on her the way he once cheated with her while still married to his first wife. Hart spins that as best he can.

And we see the bad car wreck that he had to recover from to get the full slate of films and TV productions he has on his plate back up and in the works.

The effect of it all is a lot like his decreasingly funny stand-up films. It’s all about spin, polish and flashing wealth — the AMG Mercedes, the selfies with fans gassing up his Ferrari. He’s pushing the idea of how “hungry” he still is, but like his “version” of this and Eniko’s spotlight moments of truth, it all feels focus-grouped and safe.

He’s never been an unlikable presence, but when he justifies his manic money-making juggling as “I’m doing this for you guys,” I just don’t believe him. It’s an ego thing. It’s as sincere as everything else in “Don’t F**k This Up,” as sincere and heartfelt as his non-apology/apologiesduring the Oscars dust-up.

His publicist, Haley Hileman, was never able to get him to “take a humility pill.” His sudden fall didn’t cost him much, not like the car-wreck that he spends much of this series recovering from. But it’s still a good reason why the more we see of him, in person and out of “character,” the less likable he seems.

And the victimhood card he whipped out then, the “struggle” he plays up in all this affluence and success, isn’t a good look. It just isn’t.

Comics are stereotypically needy, damaged souls — and the big ones can be awfully prickly, so he’s not alone in this. Every entertainment journalist has “good Seinfeld” and “bad Seinfeld” interview stories.

But if he’s not doing a real “mea culpa” here, if he’s as insincere as he often comes off, then what is the point? This is six episodes of Hart insincerely trying to convince us of how sincere and humbled he is.

MPAA Rating: unrated, profanity, drug abuse discussed, profanity

Cast: Kevin Hart, Eniko Hart

Credits: A Netflix series (six episodes and counting?)

Running time: @31 minutes each.

The reason to mention the sometime actor and director of such violent, lurid and iconic indie films as “King of New York” and “Bad Lieutenant” in the headline of this review is to zero in on the most promising possibility of “The App.”

Abel Ferrara plays the American director of an Italian production of “The Life of Jesus.” The filming of that movie-within-a-movie doesn’t go well. But the mere presence of Ferrara on the set influences the neon and LED-glow look of this deathly dull “app that messes up your life” thriller.

We see a Rome and Milan of tacky/modernist hotel suites, of ancient statues freshly capped with neon halos, of LED crosses and faces lit with the soft glow, or strobing pulses, of a smart phone.

Whatever else co-writer/director Elisa Fuksas (“Nina”) is aiming for here, visually she’s paying homage to Ferrara. Hell, if she didn’t have other credits, I’d suggest her name is a Ferrara construct. Say the surname out loud to hear where I’m coming from.

“The App” is about “Italy’s most famous heir,” a rich pretty boy (Vincenzo Crea) named Niccolo whom we meet in bed in Los Angeles. He’s having post-coital pillow talk with Eva (Jessica Cressy), his grad-student girlfriend.

Niccolo hasn’t mentioned the fortune he’s an heir to. He wants to make it as an actor on his own, sort of like Kate and Rooney Mara. And he’s just scored his big break — playing Jesus for Abel Ferrara (never identified by name) back in the Old Country.

But Eva has a request. Sign up for this popular dating app “for people already in relationships, but curious” as to who else is out there. It’s for her Phd thesis, she says. He’ll be “Lorenzo,” she’ll be “Sara.” Who knows, maybe they’ll find out they’re “perfect” for each other, she coos (in Italian with English subtitles, or dubbed into English).

This is the last thing he he needs, but sure. He’s about to play Jesus, “and a lot of actors have gone a little mad” in that undertaking. His family business is about to undertake a huge merger and his “place within the company” has to be sorted (he’s estranged from his parents). Nothing like a little role-playing on a sex hook-up app, at the insistence of his girlfriend, to get in the right frame of mind.

Niccolo finds himself interrupted, and intrigued by “Us,” the app. Some video message him, teasing and tempting. Another gets her hooks in him with just her voice.

And there’s the head of housekeeping at the swanky Rome hotel where he stays. Ofelia (Greta Scarano) is a tad too attentive, too fretful and sneaky, a trifle more Catholic than seems safe — considering the role he’s about to play and the amorality she thinks he lives by.

Thanks to the film he’s making, and the app, Niccolo finds himself “tested,” in ways almost totally unlike Jesus (a serpent co-stars in one scene), lying to Eva when she comes to visit and pining for this “Maria” woman of uncertain identity who keeps setting up phantom meetings, enticing him with her sexy voice, talking him out of deleting the app.

The poor guy is sure to crack up.

As colorful and pricey as the production values look, the cast in front of those settings is never less than drab. Little bits of sexual titillation don’t alter the fact that our lead is a curly/pretty hunk…of dead weight. The supporting cast fares no better.

The plot teases promising twists that don’t quite develop. A Fellini-esque moment or two — Niccolo being tied to a cross for a green screen tests — doesn’t animate “The App” enough to warrant your time.

Still, give it up for the settings, the tackiest bedrooms this side of Vegas, or those depicted in “Uncut Gems.” Maybe Ms. Fuksas should have signed Ferrara on as a script doctor. He’s made plenty of unwatchable films, but at least he gives the viewer something awful to latch onto. Fuksas doesn’t even do that.

MPAA Rating: TV-MA, sexual situations, self-injury, profanity

Cast: Vincenzo Crea, Jessica Cressy, Greta Scarano and Abel Ferrara

Credits: Directed by Elisa Fuksas, script by Elisa Fuksas, Lucio Pellegrini. A Netflix release.

Running time: 1:19

This isn’t the Georgia of the Falcons, “Real Housewives” or Tyler Perry.

It’s the one Stalin came from.

So you can see the “Billy Elliott” challenges of a life in tights in this Feb. release.

Stephen Lang, Fred Williamson, David Patrick Kelly, William Sadler and George Wendt are among the aged vets trapped in a bar under siege in this gory, over the top action piece. “VFW,” played straight or for tongue in cheek laughs, comes out Feb. 20.

A sonata isn’t just a drab Hyundai sedan or a sleep-aid meant to treat insomnia.

It’s a work for a solo instrumentalist, typically, in classical music, composed for violin or piano, although there are flute, organ and clarinet works famous within the repertoire of those instruments as well.

The aptness of “Sonata” as a name for a sleep aid depends on your appreciation of classical music.

“The Sonata” is a stylish, Gothic and high-toned horror tale set in the world of classical music. It is remarkable for being one of the final films of “Blade Runner” icon Rutger Hauer. Not managing much that’s frightening, it’s also a tad sleep-inducing.

Hauer plays Richard Marlowe, a composer introduced in a bravura first person point-of-view opening. We see a man walking the halls of his gloomy French chateau holding a candle in front of him to light the way. He stops, fetches a gas can, walks to a terrace, douses himself and…well, there’s a candle.

Freya Tingley of TV’s “Once Upon a Time” is Rose, a temperamental young concert violinist who takes the news of her father’s death frostily. She hadn’t seen him since she was a toddler.

Her French agent, Charles (Simon Abkarian of “Rendition”), is taken aback by her “I don’t have time for this right now” response. He didn’t realize who her father was — a composer “not famous, more notorious,” and something of a recluse in his last years.

Both of them have their interest piqued when Rose inherits his home in France, and the copyrights to his music. The old man even left Rose an envelope. That’s what leads her to “The Sonata,” Marlowe’s last score.

It’s a creepy piece of music, dissonant at first, with a tricky tempo. And in it are these odd symbols, not traditional musical notation.

No matter. Charles sees dollar signs, the daughter performing and recording a celebrated composer’s last work. Rose isn’t so sure. And as Charles gains guidance from an aloof musicologist (James Faulkner) that points to the occult, Rose starts thumbing through a book collection that includes assorted works of Satanic lore (and oddly, Ambrose Bierce’s satirical “The Devil’s Dictionary,” no doubt purchased because of its catchy title).

Weird dreams reach her, old cassettes of some of the old man’s more horrific hobbies turn up. Premiering this sonata?

“I don’t think this is a good idea.”

Hauer has little chance to make much of an impression, mostly appearing in a vintage TV interview Marlowe gave.

“Music…it’s not entertainment. It floats around inside me…I just follow the voice I hear!”

God?

“Something like that.”

The score, by Alexis Maingaud, is horror strings on steroids and quite lovely. Director Andrew Desdmond and his production designer and cinematographer conjure up a properly spooky look and setting — overcast skies, dimly-lit chambers, a foggy forest.

But the script delivers very little punch or pace to let that creepy vibe pay off. The marvelous, chilling score might as well be a funeral dirge, as slow as this conjuring is at getting to its payoff and point.

It’s a pity Hauer couldn’t have bowed out on a high note with, say, his patrician menace in “The Sisters Brothers.” At least “The Sonata” won’t be his curtain call. He had other film performances in the can when he died in July. As uneven or unworthy as many of the movies he’s performed in have been in recent years, let’s hope at least one of them is better than this.

MPAA Rating: unrated, horror imagery, profanity

Credits Freya Tingley, Simon Abkarian, Rutger Hauer, James Faulkner

Credits: Directed by Andrew Desmond, script by Andrew Desmond, Arthur Morin. A Screen Media release.

Running time: 1:28