Movie Nation

Here’s an unsophisticated, ribald and trigger-happy “Knives Out” for those who like their whodunits with a tad more spice, bloodshed and profanity.

“Kill Ben Lyk” is a daft and dizzy Brit farce about a lot of people with the same oddly-spelled name who are knocked-off by some unknown assailant. That happens both before the cops are wise to the scheme, and after, despite the coppers rounding up the last Ben Lyks in London and (allegedly) protecting them in a safe house until they can figure out who is doing the killing, and why.

It’s the sort of comedy where the first murder happens in delicto flagrante, a Ben Lyk in a knight’s armor costume, ravishing an eager palace wench, shot at without effect until finally a hit is scored.

It’s also the sort of comedy where the pistol’s “silencer” is forgotten, at least in the opening scene. The shots are at full volume, because in the UK, they’re not as gun nutty or gun savvy as we are on this side of the pond.

Our protagonist is a Ben Lyk (Eugene Simon) with a vlog, which he compulsively feeds with his delusional video selfies and updates about how popular, charismatic and attractive to the ladies he must be.

These vlog entries inevitably end with Ben getting punched.

“It’s a niche,” he admits to his skeptical stoner pal Roberto (Dimitri Leonidas). “Might hurt a bit. But you’ve got to admit, it’s working!”

Maybe. Then he starts reading of other Ben Lyks in Greater London getting offed, and Our Ben starts to freak out. “Please don’t kill me,” he pleads in one vlog entry. Pay no attention to the mate in the corner of the frame. “Don’t worry about him. He’s stoned.”

After conferring with another Ben Lyk via Skype as the bloke is blown away, the cops come to take Our Ben into protective custody.

“Less chatting, more packing” the detective (Gretchen Egolf) and her crew demand.

Naturally, Ben finds himself in a safe house with seven other Ben Lyks, including a rugby-playing vicar (Charlie Raws), a banker, a generic punk and…a woman. Maybe. There’s some discussion of her (Simone Ashley of “Detective Pikachu”) Adam’s apple and accurate gender ID.

The ladies’ man Ben (Ashley Thomas) is instantly suspected. “Why are you all looking at me? Is it because I’m BLACK?”

The female Ben keeps coming on to the hapless vlogger Ben, only to shoot him down (not literally).

“I haven’t felt this way since I saw ‘Mulan!'”

And then there’s the REAL mastermind, the sort of villain who orders “When I say ‘Kill ALL the Ben Lyks,’ I mean kill ALL!”

The mystery isn’t all that mysterious, but the brisk pacing and banter atone for any real sins this shoot-em-in-the-temple comedy stumbles into.

A detective distracted by constant calls from her little boy at home, all those in her protection left on their own, accusing and shooting or shooting at each other, willy nilly, the real killer giving orders behind the scenes, and an alarming body count add up to a pretty funny triggerman farce.

Pretty funny, like our leading man, who rarely got to cut up as Lancel Lannister on “Game of Thrones” or playing the young Judah Ben-Hur in the recent remake.

MPAA Rating: unrated, violence, sex

Cast: Eugene Simon, Simone Ashley, Ashley Thomas, Dimitri Leonidas, Charlie Rawes and Gretchen Egolf.

Credits. Directed by Erwan Marinopoulos, script by Jean-Christophe Establet, Oliver Maltman, and Erwan Marinopolous

An Artists Rights release.

Running time: 1:20

Do you know the horror film “Blue Harvest?” Ever heard of it? No?

That’s because it doesn’t exist. It was the cover-name for a short duration film shoot in the desert Southwest way back in the early ’80s. It came with ID badges, production tchotchkes, the works — an elaborate ruse. Because God forbid the locals figure out a “Star Wars” sequel was doing location filming in their midst.

Anthony Daniels has been there, from the beginning, a lone actor wrapped in claustrophobic, myopic, suffocating metal/plastic and gold tape “suit,” a prissy fussbudget “English butler” lost in space, enveloped in “The Star Wars.”

He suffered for his art — injuries, daily cuts, nicks and scratches, about one serious panic attack (you try being locked into something you can’t escape from on your own, inhibiting your breathing, shoved onto sets where you have no sight lines and even a set of stairs offer great peril) every other film.

He endured this, and a thousand other injuries and insults, grievous to petty, many of which he recounts in “I Am C3PO,” a light and generally charming memoir that also — let’s be blunt, Tony — settles a few scores.

They tried to pretend there was nobody “inside the suit,” at first. Keep the illusion that Fox had come up with great android tech for this 1977 sci-fi serial (C-movie) alive.

Lucas tried to re-cast the voice actor performing C3PO, seemed put out by everything and all the work-arounds encasing an actor in a walking sarcophagus entailed. Refused to run lines when the actor playing the part needed to be reacting to someone or something (R2D2) that wasn’t there, or wasn’t responsive.

George also tried to recast Frank Oz’s voice as Yoda, without telling Frank, and dubbed Ray Park as Darth Maul without ever telling him (Daniels broke the news to Park lest he be humiliated at the premiere). Lucas was so impatient with “actors” that he developed “We’ll add him in post” production digital ethos during the much-maligned prequels.

George doesn’t relate that well to people. “On the spectrum?” Maybe.

Daniels confines himself in “C3PO” to his “Star Wars” work, so there’s little of what one could call his personal life here. But being hauled out to awards shows, awards banquets and the like, meant a thousand slights — and not just for him — from the start. He, his fellow masked actors and Oscar winning effects colleagues faced that, in stories he tells, early on.

He had a falling out with Kenny Baker, the little person who sometimes inhabited the R2 trash can. Baker wanted to do paid public appearance tours as a duo, and Daniels found it beneath him. Harrison Ford’s relationship with him came close to Han Solo’s brusque treatment of C3PO (Just in character?).

Mark Hamill? An onset chum for decades, both of them charmed and endlessly amused by Carrie Fisher.

Director Richard Marquand (“Return of the Jedi”) was the rudest and most dismissive filmmaker he dealt with in the series, Irving Kirshner (“Empire Strikes Back”) the most supportive, constructive and fun.

He repeats as assertion he made the last time I spoke with him, when he was touring with a “Star Wars” orchestral experience, “Star Wars: In Concert.” He presented the music of John Williams as clips from the films played in the background, and it was “the best job I ever had.” If you saw it, it was thrilling and fun.

Daniels was there at the birth of the “Stars Wars: Celebration” fan conventions, a planner and organizer and the MC for the first one, a near debacle in Denver which gave birth to perhaps the second biggest fan con of all.

There’s a telling J.J. Abrams forward to the book in which one can see he was probably too close to the films, as a young fan, to wholly do them justice, stretch them out and push back against corporate/marketing-driven decisions about the last trilogy.

But mostly this is just Daniels, explaining how it was done, boo-boos covered up (or not), the harrowing nature of working on sets where OSHA (Occupational Safety and Health Administration) supervision did not apply, and doing it all in that clipped, prissy and utterly delightful voice of a digital expert in “human-cyborg relations.”

His opinions of the films themselves are either blunt or oblique. He knew which ones were off the rails by the constant script rewrites, wrong-headedness, over-reliance on CGI, etc. Knew it before the camera rolled.

We’re reminded, without him having to say so himself, that Daniels truly was the glue that held “Star Wars” together in this breezy, fun read.

Honorary Oscar? Someday. Perhaps.

“I Am C3PO: The Inside Story.” DK Books/Penguin Random House. 271 pages. $24.99

This was probably reason enough to take on “Cats.”

Jennifer Hudson made this Aretha Franklin biopic for MGM, but overseas it will be distributed by Universal. Universal is distributing “Cats.”

The “Respect” trailer is running in front of “Cats.” This is “quid pro quo” defined, for those confused by a little Latin.

This is a role Hudson was born to play, for what was “Dream Girls” but a soul era/Aretha arc tale roman a clef.

That’s French, not Latin.

“Respect,” due out on Aug. 14 (currently filming) has potential. The director, Liesly Tommy, is best known for “Jessica Jones” and “Dolly Parton’s Heartstrings” (Ok and “Meh.”). Oscar winner Forest Whitaker also stars.

(UPDATE: Roger Moore’s review of “Respect,” opening Aug 13 — two years after this trailer was first posted — is here).

One of three trailers that ran before “Cats,” that looked worse than “Cats.” A January release…or escape

As expected, another “Star Wars” is “the #1 film in the galaxy”--$176M domestic, $198M international, $374M globally.

“Force Awakens” opened at ($247M), 30% higher.

“The Last Jedi” did ($220M), over 20% better.

Consider premium pricing for tickets this time round and the falloff is even steeper. It’ll still make a mint, but franchise fatigue is obviously setting in.

As of Friday afternoon, “The Rise of Skywalker” was on track to clear $190, maybe close in on $200 million. Nope. HUGE falloff Sat. and Sunday.

I have said, over the course of three reviews, that this series is checkbox and checkbook filmmaking, diverse but without enough care paid to charactersand the actors playing them.

Casting was an issue in the entire trilogy, actors failing to grow into their roles. Hamill is a beloved figure in fandom, but asking him to be the new Obi Wan was a Jedi Too Far. Boyega, Driver and Ridley — all less interesting than they needed to be.

Adam Driver’s best moment, which underscores how unsuitable he was in the part, came in the third film, “The Rise of Skywalker,” a little dollop of what this modern, urban American character actor does best — humor. Kylo makes a leap, lands hard and Driver says “Ow.” He’s out of place, a tormented and sensitive villain who inspired laughter with some of his tortured grimaces, and that’s on J.J. Abrams.

Derivative action sequences, recycled story beats, limp dialogue.

A little of the Boyega/Isaac banter paid of here, but “The Rise of Skywalker” is the weakest of the lot.

This is a huge box office take. The fact that it is well below the earlier films in the trilogy suggests the audience is kind of over it.

Three “Star Wars” movies, each a“glib facsimile”of the original trilogy.

I was arguing with a younger reviewer re box office expectations for “Cats.” Dated, a “very old and almost forgotten brand,” I said. Oh no, says he. His generation will show up to hear Tay Tay Swift, and see her in skin tight cat fur. Nope. $6.5 million. Reviews didn’t help. Savaged by most.

“Bombshell” cleared $5 million, “Jumanji” managed $26 on its second weekend, a pretty steep drop off week to week — 56%.

Let others quibble about the fact that the meetings, debates and jokes exchanged in “The Two Popes” never actually happened. It’s a movie based on a play, a sort of papal “wish fulfillment fantasy” of the “If it didn’t happen like this, it should have,” variety, like “A Walk in the Woods,” “Elvis & Nixon” or “The West Wing.”

Fernando Meirelles (“City of God,” “The Constant Gardener”) is one of the greatest directors to come out of South America. Anthony Hopkins and Jonathan Pryce are glorious actors, and uncanny look-alikes for Pope Benedict and Pope Francis. Let’s see what they come up with.

Meirelles tests us right away with a couple of clumsily unfortunate choices. He dubs Pryce’s Spanish dialogue scenes, replacing his Spanish with a native speaker of the language who sounds little like him. An opening voice-over monologue of the pre-papal career of Jorge Mario Bergoglio, the Argentine who became Pope Francis, is pointlessly if not wholly inexplicably also in Spanish.

Throwing all those subtitles, all that obvious fakery at us, right from the start, is a good way to make a lot of people tune out your papal “buddy comedy.”

But then the film finds its tone, the humble “man of the people” Pope (Pryce) sits in his Vatican bedroom, trying to get an English speaking Italian travel agent to book a flight home for him. She gets his name, remarks “Like the Pope?” She gets his address — “Vatican City.” “Nice TRY” she says, hanging up.

If only she’d waited to hear what credit card number he had at the ready.

“The Two Popes” is about the contrasting styles and testy relationship between Pope John Paul II’s close confidante and chosen successor, the conservative Pope Benedict XVI, and a rival Benedict dismissed when he ascended to the papacy, but had to turn to when the Catholic Church’s global priest child-molesting scandal blew up on his watch.

The idea is to contrast “God’s Rottweiler,” the Hitler Youth alumnus John Ratzinger (Benedict) with “The People’s Pope,” the simple champion of the poor and first pope from the Southern Hemisphere, Bergoglio (Francis).

It’s a humorless German vs. the folksy, joke-telling Argentine, a rigid adherent to pomp and circumstance forced to deal with a man ostentatiously un-ostentatious.

And it works. If you don’t think the Oscar-winning legend Hopkins can curt and dismissive, with imperious if not Nazi strong-man tendencies, you’ve not seen him in his evil prime. And his fellow Welshman Pryce has twinkled in many a supporting role over his decades in the cinema, just the right quality for Francis.

Meirelles treats us to that papal pomp, the Vatican City Papal Conclave of Cardinals where Archbishop Ratzinger politics and preens like the heir apparent he is, even though he fails to win on the first ballot. Other names have been put forward. Southern Hemisphere bishops are supporting Bergoglio.

Bergoglio paraphrases Plato, that the best qualification for “any leader is not WANTING to be leader.” Ratzinger, the future Benedict, CRAVES the papacy.

Benedict eventually wins the day, but this Argentine he looked down his nose at is very much on his mind when, years later, the scandal explodes, the Church’s decades of cover-up are exposed and “reform” is what the desperately ill institution desperately needs.

Benedict resents criticism, dogmatically insists on the raiments of office, adherence to ritual and circling the wagons against the assaults from “outside” the Church. Bergoglio recognized all along that “Our churches are beautiful, but empty,” and notes the Church is “not of this world” and out of touch.

One way the film opens up from these sometimes tetchy stage-bound arguments, mostly at the Pope’s country villa, is to take us back to Bergoglio’s Argentine past. Flashbacks, the earliest ones in black and white, capture his younger years, his plans for marriage and a business career, his love of tangoing with his intended (Cristina Banegas).

Juan Minujín plays the future Francis in these scenes, the best of which is the night he stepped into his local church, is urged into confession by the priest on duty and hears “the sign” that he has been waiting for, calling him to the priesthood. This scene, a dying priest convincing a young man that the fate that brought them together on this night was ordained by God, is profoundly moving.

Other flashbacks crash into Argentina’s troubled history, the murderous dictatorship that a guilt-ridden Bergoglio knows he didn’t challenge as openly as he might have.

But the heart of “The Two Popes” is these two popes bickering over dogma, traditions, the real evils in the world (“Banks,” says Bergoglio/Francis. “They devour everything.”) and priestly celibacy.

“San Pietro (Saint Peter, the Church’s founder) was MARRIED!” Bergoglio reminds the boss, ticking off other arcane traditions adopted, not ordained by the Bible, that fly in the face of modern life.

“I don’t agree with anything you say!” Benedict barks back.

The script tries entirely too hard to be cute, at times — papal rivals can be soccer rivals, too. But the leading men spar and tease and bond and bicker to great effect. Even the sour Benedict knows an ironic joke when he recites it.

“God always corrects one pope by sending another.”

It’s not “By the (Good) Book,” and it’s not real history. The whole scandal that brought Benedict down is inexcusably downplayed, the triumphalist closing credits ignore how the public’s infatuation with Francis has faded as his reforms haven’t reformed quickly and the scandal will not die.

These reasons, and some of the clumsy affections of the production, take this out of “awards season” contention, in my view.

But “The Two Popes” is still a revealing, intimate and interesting peek behind the fresco-bedecked walls of an institution trapped in a past of its own invention, confronting a future in which it still relies on a succession of very old men to meet.

Cast: Anthony Hopkins, Jonathan Pryce, Juan Minujín

Credits: Directed by Fernando Meirelles, script by Anthony McCarten, based on his play. A Netflix release.

Running time: 2:05

Sorry to park this housekeeping business in midst of all your regularly scheduled movie programming.

But searching the web, I can find no discussions of this massive, unexplained fall-off on the major blog host WordPress’s advertising CPM rates.

Mysteriously, WordPress closed off comments on its own “Wordads” questions/complaints blog. A common gripe with this company is a general unresponsiveness to hard questions and complaints, although I did get quite a bit of help on a technical matter regarding traffic metrics a couple of months back. I don’t have to tell you how denying publishers access to the company for common questions and legitimate gripes looks.

“Talk to the hand!”

And if nobody else is pointing this out, griping about some company policy aimed at “More for us, who simply provide the host, less for you, who do ALL the work,” well let’s put this out there and see who else has thoughts on it. Let Google Search reveal that “I am not alone at seeing this pocket-picking on the part of a host service.”

Other WordPressers, and we are legion, may be experiencing the same dismay I am — massive increase in high-value North American pageviews and traffic, and a 60-70% plummet in remuneration rates, year to year.

Anybody else seeing this and interested in speaking out?

And seriously what…the…FUDGE WordPress?

Are the ads being discounted, despite the quality of eyeballs one produces? Prices go up, even at Walmart and Uber, which happily cut the throats of their workforce to try and gain market share.

What is your explanation for this plummet?

Because what you’re doing is dis-incentivizing hard work and improvements in performance and YOUR OWN AD REACH, and to what end?

A related matter, WordPress used to disperse ad-pay to publishers within 30 days of the end of the month — 20, typically. Now it’s 50 days+. Why? Does WordPress need working people to float it 30 day loans, like some shady banks I’ve dealt with?

This is suspiciously like Google’s high-handed behavior with GoogleAds publishers, which got Google good and sued.

There are alternatives — moving the site to a more responsive perhaps less greedy provider, upgrading the site to allow outside vendors to provide ads and remove WordPress from at least some “temptation” to cheat. I am reluctant to do either of those, but the corner I am being backed into by this cut-rate screwing over is more confining by the day.

Looking for answers, pissed off enough to do something about it. Just saying.

The late Peter Sellers was one of the greatest mimics and finest comic actors in screen history. His career was filled with films which weren’t worthy of his prodigious talents, but he got two shots at winning an acting Oscar — for “Doctor Strangelove” and for “Being There,” which came out just before his death. He went to his grave certain that director Hal Ashby stole his Oscar from him (Dustin Hoffman won for “Kramer vs. Kramer,” meh) by including outtakes that “break the spell,” as Sellers told him in a pleading note.

Sellers was right.

Jim Carrey is the Peter Sellers of his day, also a gifted mimic, a comic of unique talent capable of performances of wacky anarchy and alarming sensitivity. He has never been nominated for an Oscar, but should have been for “Man on the Moon,” “The Truman Show,” and “Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind.” I’d have thought “I Love You, Philip Morris” was worth at least consideration. But no.

Robin Williams was another singular comic talent who endured years of dismissal before finally breaking through to be considered –– briefly (“Good Will Hunting”) Oscar worthy.

Eddie Murphy hasn’t made many films that would warrant awards consideration, too often content to take the paycheck, support his enormous family, and occasionally “phone-it-in” in many a project. The first inkling we had that he might want some sort of recognition was “Mr. Church” a few years back. The movie wasn’t much, even as “awards bait.” “Dolemite is My Name” is a dazzling turn, “Oscar bait” but also Oscar-worthy. His past of crappy films, his ’80s homophobia may still count against him, and it’s a crowded field making him a long shot. But I would not be put out if he pulled in a surprise nomination, just this once.

So tell me again how Adam Sandler “deserves” a nomination for the a role he took on with that in mind. Is he better in “Uncut Gems” than he was in “Punch Drunk Love” or “Spanglish” or “Reign Over Me” or “Funny People,” other awards-bait turns? His directors this time out did what his directors in all those earlier “Let’s try something serious (ish) with this guy” did. They all engineered a role to fit his limited range.

Look at his face in that desperate — or seemingly so — moment in “Uncut Gems.” Packed into a car with a hard-hearted bookie (Eric Bogosian), two ruthless, testy thugs holding him down, no idea how bad it will be for him before the night is over. And that’s all he’s got. Voice rising, face flat, eyes dark pools of dull.

Buster Keaton was “The Great Stone Face.” Sandler is the “Great Dull Face,” the “I can’t really give you any facial expression that matches the hysteria, rage or delight in my voice” face.

Look at all the Razzies he’s “earned” over the decades. And again, TELL me how this guy deserves one of the five honored spots in a Best Actor field for this upcoming Academy Awards.

He isn’t driving spikes into railroad ties these days. But “John Henry” is still toting that hammer.

And he’s about to go all Terry Crews on Ludacris and the bad guys of The Hood.

“John Henry” is headed our way in mid January.

The ears wiggle, the tails twitch and twirl and the actors costumed and digitally furred thusly as cat-sized.

And the Internet has been pounding the look of “Cats” since the first trailer dropped last summer.

Reviews — on the younger-skewing, large sample size (many very inexperienced “critics” who tend to go with the pack) Rotten Tomatoes,especially, have been brutal, of a piling on nature. They haven’t been a whole lot better at the more select critic sampling of Metacritic, but there you go.

As somebody old enough to remember the divisive reaction to this audience-favorite when it hit the West End and then Broadway in the early ’80s — a favorite comic’s punchline, and even Robin Williams riffed/ripped on it on his first stand-up LP, ridiculed as “gay” etc — I wasn’t expecting much.

But where it works, it works. The invention and poetry and choreography and performances surpassed the low expectations of it all. It is on track to earn a middling $9-11 million at the box office. It should do OK over Christmas. And with reviews this bad, in general, some people just HAVE to see the fiasco. Those expecting it to be as awful as all that may be disappointed. It isn’t.

Taylor Swift fans, hearing her out of her depth, musically, might have a head-snapping moment.

The last of the J.J. Abrams-conceived “Star Wars” trilogy will win the weekend, earning the weakest reviews of this recycled, derivative series, reviews poor enough to put it in the Jar Jar Binks era of “Star Wars” outings. It’s critic-proof and may yet hit $195 million on its opening weekend. Ticket prices are premium for this production, all the IMAX/RPX etc. theaters, and even modest screening rooms have priced opening weekend tickets higher in some places.

“Bombshell” opened wide, and the Fox News sexual harassment expose is doing what all dramas have done this fall, save for the one about Mister Rogers. It’s under-performing, maybe $7 million from 1400 or so screens.

“Jumanji: The Next Level” has fallen off over 50%, maybe steeper, with a $27 million or so weekend. Still decent money that will keep that in theaters well into the New Year.