Movie Nation

Remember calling your favorite radio station and making a dedication to “the one I love?”

No? Alas, you kids don’t know what you missed out on.

“Tune in for Love,” aka “Joyful Music Album” (the translation of its Korean title) is about a star-crossed romance tied together by a shared favorite DJ and his romantic pop Seoul radio show.

Actually, it’s not that neat and tidy, which is a pity. It rambles around that connecting thread and doesn’t make enough of it. And by the way, the Internet Movie Database plot summary for this title is almost entirely wrong.

It’s a tale of missed connections, misunderstandings, troubled history and bad influences, of “I waited for you” and Coldplay’s “Fix You,” the angst of one’s 20s, “when you feel like a loser, all you see is other losers” and “Get in touch with me when something good happens.”

It’s a romance that tries to pair up a young woman, almost instantly smitten by a troubled young man with a secret, and catches up with them as they connect and reconnect, sometimes via KBS “Cool” FM 89.1, home to the Yoo Yeol Show.

That’s what the winsome Mi-soo (Go-eun Kim) is listening to in 1994 when “he” shuffles into her bakery. He wants something with “soybeans in it.” The baker, Eun-ja (Gook-hee Kim) sizes him up as “just out of prison,” and gives him a nickname — “Tofu.”

His real name is Hyeon-yu (Hyun-woo, for those following along on IMDb). Hae-In Jung plays him with a mumbling, eyes-cast down demeanor. Yeah, it turns out he just got out of juvie. The one time Mi-soo asks what he did, “I don’t want to talk about it” (in Korean with English subtitles) is all she gets.

He’s 19. So is she, it turns out. There’s an attraction, driven by what she, Eun-ja and schoolgirls who squeal their way into the bakery agree, is his looks.

“He’s so HANDsome!”

But Hyeon-yu’s brooding is a sign of trouble. He takes a job delivering and helping out around the bakery, WITHOUT anybody knowing why he was in JAIL, mind you, seems shy but interested in Mi-soo, even helps her put up the Christmas tree.

But a delivery boy on a bike stopping by is trouble. That would be Tae-seong (Choi Joon-Young), a punk and old running mate of Hyeon-yu. Whatever Hyeon-yu’s hope of “living a decent life” might be, Tae-seong is there to drag him back to the past, summoning the old gang to the bakery, starting trouble.

Hyeon-yu disappears, the bakery closes, Mi-soo goes to college and it’s 1997. Damned if these two don’t cross paths again.

And again in 2000.

One more time in 2005. That, of course, is the year Coldplay’s “Fix You” came out, and it packed just as much romantic longing and meaning onto Cool 89.1 FM as it did on any radio in the West.

Will Mi-soo “fix” Hyeon-yu? Will he fix their relationship by revealing his “big secret?”

Will they ever get past the hand-holding and sensitive, tentative nature of their love connection, accept their “fate” to be together, and get romantic?

I like the way writer-director Ji-woo Jung (“Modern Boy” was his) pieces together his plot.

One time, Hyeon-yu is headed for his mandatory military service. Mi-soo sets him up with an email account, only to realize after he’s gone that she forgot to give him the password to get in. She puts the word out on their favorite radio station.

But this two-hour-plus romance just dawdles along, allowing plenty of time for missed connections and break-ups, but also omitting key moments of connection.

Not the big ones, mind you — first kiss “etc.”

Still, the obstacles to love are all winners and include losing contact (pre-Internet), moving, closing a business, changing jobs, falling into trouble over and over again.

And the payoff, set to a certain song in a certain year after 11 years have passed, is worth it.

MPAA Rating: unrated, violence, profanity, romantic situations

Cast: Go-eun Kim, Hae-In Jung, Hae-Joon Park, Gook-hee Kim, Choi Joon-Young

Credits: Written and directed by Ji-woo Jung. A Neflix release.

Running time: 2:02

Those $30 million opening predictions for “The Shining” sequel “Doctor Sleep” vanished Friday AM. Thursday night tipped Warner Brothers and Stephen King’s accountants that all was not well at The Overlook.

The damned movie only earned $14 million and change.

As it didn’t cost as much as “Midway,” it is more likely to come close to breaking even at the North American box office. Roland Emmerich and the effects companies burned through $100 million to recreate World War’s decisive naval battle. It earned over $17.5 million to win the weekend. Not enough.

John Cena and his kiddie comedy “Playing with Fire” kicked Paul Feig’s George Michael music-based maudlin movie “Last Christmas” in the teeth, taking third place. Over $12 and then some for the putrid “Playing.”

“Game of Thrones” fans didn’t show to see Emilia Clarke laugh and flirt, “Crazy Rich Asians” devotees didn’t come for Henry Golding and Michelle Yeoh. They could smell a spoiler in the title tune “Last Christmas” and weren’t having it. $11-12.

“Dark Fate” is proving to be the last big screen “Terminator.” Fifth place and plunging.

https://t.co/L2Y7Cwqduq https://t.co/QRlgGnt0mH https://twitter.com/Variety/status/1193578006918451204?s=20

It’s a film that falls under the animation house’s Sparkshorts program, not necessarily to be attached to any upcoming feature. Just content designed to provide training ground for animators, solidify the brand and may you think. And cry.

Sure, it’s drinks and strip clubs, beaches and hot Thai food when brothers Mehdi and Hicham see each other for the first time in 15 years.

You’ll love Thailand, younger brother Hicham crows. And not just for the scenery, the red light district, the easy living and the vices.

“We’re French here,” he tells Mehdi. “NOT Arabs.”

But you know it can’t last. Not when you realize where Mehdi (Sami Bouajila, who first gained notice in the Arabic-French WWII film “Days of Glory”) has been for the past 15 years.

That opening scene, of the bank heist that devolved into a shootout? That’s where he was captured. Hicham (Tewfix Jallad of “Fast Convoy”) got away. So did the other four members of their gang.

They’ve been living large, free as birds, running their own businesses in “paradise” off the money from the bank job. And Mehdi doesn’t want to hear their “You’ll LOVE it here,” in French with English subtitles. No.

“Where’s my share?”

That’s the dramatic problem that “Paradise Beach,“ a French potboiler of a crime thriller that plays that familiar “Sexy Beast/Point Blank” card, the member of the gang of thieves here to collect what he thinks is owed to him.

Of course, there’s no simple answer, as Jimmy Stewart told the old “building and loan” depositors during the run on the bank in “It’s a Wonderful Life.” The money’s tied up in this bar, that restaurant, my yacht, his beachside bungalow.

Damned Thai law won’t let foreigners (“falang”) own businesses. Put everything his his wife’s name, or that conniving partner’s name.

And Mehdi, man, that tsumani? It wiped us out?

But Mehdi won’t accept that answer. And when it comes down to these businesses that they’re running, nightclubs filled with stripper/hookers, the old gang is getting handed its head by the new gang — Afro-French expats who have moved their human trafficking business from Morocco to Thailand.

Marrying into a cop family didn’t help. Keeping girlfriends and spouses in the dark about their line of work wasn’t smart.

Mehdi? He’s fresh out of the joint and not shy about throwing his weight around.

The ex-con after-his-share tale becomes another gangster movie trope — the turf war.

And director and co-writer Xavier Durringer isn’t content with that direction, either. The story coasts to a halt, for all intents and purposes, as Mehdi’s old flame Julia (Mélanie Doutey) shows up, the gang breaks down into factions and the other gang isn’t about to back down.

Women are pawns in this story, kidnapped and traded, increasingly furious at what they never realized and how their husbands’ business is now threatening their lives.

Bouajillo makes a grizzled, compelling anchor for all that’s spinning around Mehdi. It’s a pity the film loses track of that. The supporting cast of actors playing “types” make strong impressions, but never strong enough to transcend the cardboard cutouts they’re playing — the loyal comrade, the bully, the punk with something to hide, the brother who takes blood ties the most seriously.

The third act is a nonsensical collapsing house of cards with corrupt cops, blood feuds and mayhem

that points to panicked meeting in somebody’s hotel room where one screenwriter said to the other screenwriter (in French, with English subtitles), “We finish filming tomorrow. How the hell do we END this thing?”

Rating: TV-MA

Cast: Sami Bouajila, Tewfik Jallab, Mélanie Doutey, Hubert Koundé, Hugo Becker, Kool Shen, Seth Gueko

Credits: Directed by Xavier Durringer, script by  Xavier Durringer, Jean Miez. A Netflix release.

Running time: 1:34

Thoreau famously decried the fact that most “men lead lives of quiet desperation.”

But the author of Walden never spent time in a modern hotel. You want to talk about “quiet desperation?” Invite a woman who cleans hotel rooms into the conversation.

“The Chambermaid,” Mexico’s choice to compete for a Best Foreign Language Oscar, is an intimate character study. Just follow Evelia through her routine, track her interactions with wealthy guests, fellow staff and her boss.

Don’t have her talk about her thin hopes for the future, her despair at her lot. Just show it.

Eve (Gabriela Cartol) might be the perfect camarista. Hair in a bun under a hairnet, a plain Jane housekeeper of 24, she takes the daily impositions and dismissals of her work with poker-faced equanimity.

Guests look right through her, even when they’ve utterly wrecked their room and she has stumbled across their half-blitzed body under a pile of bedclothes on the floor.

Director Lila Avilés, also the film’s co-writer, puts us on Eve’s wavelength straight away, a “Buenos dias, camarista” knock on the door, sizing up the disaster area of the room she’s here to clean, plowing into it even as she has trouble deciding where to start.

No time to think this through. Just tidy up, pick up, dust, wipe or scrub everything your hands can reach as you dash from bedroom to bathroom.

There’s a toothbrush she uses to scrub phone receivers, a dust rag she wields like a bullwhip, flicking it at lampshades, a trick she’s picked up to perfectly flatten the linens she’s put on the freshly-made bed.

An item a guest has left behind demands a radio call, reporting it in. To “lost and found” it will go. And hey, Eli (head of housekeeping), about that beautiful “red dress” she found earlier? Anybody claimed it yet?

Eve has a floor, 21. Her dream is a promotion — to the more swank (suites, not rooms), less work and better tips of the 42nd floor.

Eve has a little boy at home, whom she calls in to check on when she can get a few spare seconds on a staff phone.

And she has a suitor, a window-washer who tries to get her attention through the windows of rooms she cleans, drawing a heart on a soapy window. Eve closes the drapes, not giving him the time of day.

Her boy’s father? We can only wonder.

The mad rush through the day is interrupted, almost constantly it seems, by the custodian of the locker room — who wants to sell her something. A Jewish guest needs her to operate the elevator for him on the sabbath. A colleague needs her to help clean a room or two so she can be on time, or sends her into a guest’s room where a spoiled, bored rich mom talks her ear off, tipping her to watch her newborn baby while mom can take a quick shower.

The lady’s prattling reveals the gulf between their worlds. She’s on about flying to Buenos Aires with her husband, the boredom of staying in high-end hotel beds all day with an infant.

“That’s no life!” she complains (in Spanish, with English subtitles).

Walk a kilometer in Evelia’s shoes, sister.

Eve’s stoicism is tested by a GED class she joins for employees. How will this stick-to-herself introvert fit in?

A fellow camarista, Minitoy (Teresa Sánchez) is a little too friendly, she and we think, a bit too eager to befriend her. Of course she wants something, we figure.

The incidents that break this routine are few, yet fraught in their own way. Each emphasizes the world and the life that has shrink-wrapped Eve, made her smaller, lowered her horizons to that next patch of floor to be vacuumed, that next toilet to scrub.

Will she ever rebel, or has she found a way to cope that makes this life a trifle less desperate?

As with most subtitled movies, “The Chambermaid” won’t be to every taste. The little moments of melodrama don’t wholly animate a fairly static character study.

I still found it engrossing, and in a country where most hotels have chambermaids that look just like Evelia, occasionally moving and often troubling.

MPAA Rating: unrated, nudity, sexual situations

Cast: Gabriela Cartol, Agustina Quinci, Teresa Sánchez

Credits: Directed by Lila Avilés, script by  Lila Avilés, Juan Márquez.  A Kino Lorber release.

Running time: 1:42

Your small child, grandchild or favorite niece may be adorable.

But she will never be on the Italan cheek-pinching cute level of Jennifer Brokshi, playing tiny Agata in the sometimes charming Italian fantasy, “The Man Without Gravity.”

Agata is about 6 when she becomes the first villager outside the family to set eyes on Oscar (Pietro Pescara), a little boy hidden from the world by his mother (Michela Cescon) on orders from his devoutly religious grandmother (Elena Cotta), who regards Oscar’s father-unknown birth as “a sign from the Lord to punish us!”

Oscar can fly. Well, he can float — like a balloon, weightless. The only way he’s able to slip out and see the village and stumble into mouthy-worldly Agata is with the weights his mom gave him for his gravity-restoring vest. Oscar and Agata bond, instantly, in the way little kids do. She’s innocuously insulting about all the things he doesn’t seem to know.

“Stupido! EVERYbody’s got a Daddy,” she rails (in Italian with English subtitles), explaining how Jesus won’t know him in heaven without a daddy, or some such.

And then he drops the weights, she turns around and her little friend is floating up against an awning, the only thing keeping him from low Earth orbit.

“Mamma mia! STUPENDO! What ELSE can you do?”

And even though she’s disappointed that he can’t turn himself invisible or knock down buildings, “half a Superman” she pouts, they become inseparable.

“Man Without Gravity” is a romantic parable about celebrity, destiny, about being an “Extraordinary Man” but having to keep that a secret, and about what that does to the ego and the heart.

It’s never more charming in those early scenes, a little boy obsessed with Batman and his tiny girlfriend who thinks he’s “half a Superman.” Setting up the reality we’re dealing with her is the amusing part of Marco Banfonti’s film. How such a baby is born, literally tethered by the umbilical cord, how a working poor mother and grandmother adapt and take babyproofing their dumpy apartment for a child who float (nailing padded quilts to the ceiling), those dominate the first act.

Agata? She’s Oscar’s first real experience of the world, and he is smitten. We know it cannot last.

The middle acts take Oscar (now played by Elio Germano) into a frustrated, circumscribed adulthood, derisively nicknamed “The Backpack” because of the pink pack (filled with weights) that Agata once gave him to keep his feet on the ground. He’s treated as “special,” but not in a good way. And he’s smart enough to let that depress him, until he breaks free to become famous via a Eurovision “Extraordinary Man” reality TV contest. Of course, once he “flies” on live TV, he’s nabbed by a manager who turns him into a TV show horse. This third of the film squanders all the magic of the first third, thanks to the grim business of adulthood when you’re trapped in the life you don’t want.

We know Italian TV will twist and contort Oscar’s life story and “gift” into something even more sensational. And we can pretty much expect him to rebel against that.

But some of the wistful romance and whimsy is recovered for the finale, where the “discovery” of childhood returns. “Gravity” only floats free when the fantasy is at its most childish.

It doesn’t quite come off, and the “message” of this parable is either murky or too mundane to pay off. But there’s just enough here to make “The Man Without Gravity” worth your trouble, if only to see and hear how adorable Italian kids, just learning to insult, to love and to talk with their hands, can be.

MPAA Rating: TV-14

Cast: Elio Germano, Michela Cescon, Elena Cotta, Silvia D’Amico, Vincent Scarito, Pietro Pescara, Jennifer Brokshi

Credits: Directed by Marco Bonfanti, script by Marco Bonfanti and Giulio Carrieri. A Netfllix release.

Running tiime: 1:43

A fresh angle, a modern take. Let’s hope it doesn’t have as much voice over narration as the trailer.

A franchise (sort of) horror movie opening under $20 million? How could this be?

Decent reviews for “The Shining” sequel did not give it much of a turnout Thursday night, or anything like an epic Friday. Deadline.com may be erring on the lean side, but $17-18 million is what they’re now projecting “Docto Sleep” to earn on its opening weekend.

That’s not even “Amityville” money. It was expected to hit $30.

“Midway” is overperforming its predicted take. But hey, Veteran’s Day Weeken, right? As things stand Saturday AM, it is on track to clear $19 million. Roland Emmerch brings the big bangs to the big screen, and as I said in my review, the film isn’t awful and it is damned accurate, historically. Good on Lionsgate for getting this $100 million effects spectacular onto screens.

“Last Christmas” is doing mid teens, right in line with expectations. Poor reviews didn’t kill it. Word of mouth might.

John Cena and his “Playing with Fire” are heading into the $teens. Terrible movie, bit kids need something other than cartoons to go to. Projectile poop jokes sell tickets.

“Terminator” is facing a “Dark Fate” indeed. It is falling to fifth this weekend. Fallen, never to get up.

https://deadline.com/2019/11/doctor-sleep-midway-last-christmas-opening-weekend-box-office-1202780077/

“Scandalous” is a documentary that tracks the history of American tabloid journalism’s most infamous scandal sheet, from its origins to its Elvis death photo/Gary Hart with Donna Rice on his lap heydays, to the ways it help put a tabloid figure  — Donald Trump — in the White House.

Mark Landsman’s film charts the steady progress, with short bursts forward, of the “tabloidization” of journalism which Lantana, Florida’s National Enquirer heralded, and often willed into being.

Using archival footage from an ancient “60 Minutes” story, a “Nightline” profile and the like, fresh interviews with many of its most famous employees and sage pronouncements from mainstream journalism critics to provide context, it’s a thorough telling of “The Untold Story of the National Enquirer,” and an often entertaining and chilling one.

“Scandalous” is a journalism expose that lives up, or down, to its hype.

As Mike Wallace pointed out way back when, it was mob money that allowed Generoso Pope Jr., son of a “made man,” to buy the failing New York Enquirer in the 1950s, and by focusing on crimes and gory accident photos, turn it into a national publication.

He and his staff tinkered with the formula that would make it sell — stories of celebrities, pets, psychics, of Jackie O. and UFOs. And by the late 1960s it was the most widely read weekly in America.

Former reporter Judith Regan recalls Pope’s mental picture of “the ideal reader,” whom Pope called “Missy Smith” and who lived in Kansas City.

She couldn’t get enough of Elvis, of Jackie Onassis, of Farrah Fawcett and Liz in a “newspaper” that was their escape from the real world of Vietnam, Watergate, inflation and the 1970s Arab Oil Embargo.

Seeing Wallace interviewing elderly white women who had picked The Enquirer up at the checkout counter at their supermarket — Pope’s stroke of marketing genius — and hearing them cluck, “They couldn’t print it if it wasn’t true,” you understand how Nigerian princes and TV preachers get rich, and how Donald Trump is president.

Landsman (he did “Thunder Soul”) gets retired staffers to tell the tales of unlimited expense accounts, “checkbook journalism,” where they paid sources to rat out their famous employers or relatives for stories. The lengths The Enquirer went to in order to obtain that famous shot of Elvis in his coffin is a hilarious, and a trifle appalling.

Pope kept his publication somewhat apolitical (he was described as a “conservative Democrat”). But it was under his stewardship that blackmailing celebrities became a common practice, that killing stories on Bob Hope’s lifelong womanizing and Bill Cosby’s sexual appetites led to puff piece “exclusives” that built the magazine’s “legitimacy.”

The die was cast under Pope. And after his death, other publisher/owners took that practice and created the “catch and kill” technique — buying “exclusive rights” to somewhat with Arnold Schwarzenegger’s secrets at her command, or Donald Trump’s, so that their stories couldn’t be told elsewhere.

The result? One lecherous groper became governor of California, another groper/assaulter and womanizer became president of the United States, both with the help of “a short man wanting to be tall,” then publisher and GOP booster David Pecker.

The veterans of the publication, for all the derision they took over the years — many of them ruthless, ethically-challenged Brits, veterans of Fleet Street tabloids in the UK — for all of their own shortcuts, invasions of privacy (wiretaps, stalking, mail-theft), profess shock at seeing this tactic.

Burying a good story? That’s blasphemy to an authentic hack. But once you’ve covered for Bob Hope and Bill Cosby, once you’ve started down the slippery slope of corruption, the only real wonder is why it took them so long to seize the reins of power.

As Watergate legend Carl Bernstein notes, we’re in “a bad time for the truth.” And once you’ve seen Jackie Kennedy Onassis push a supposedly long-dead John F. Kennedy around in a wheelchair on some Greek Island, in an Enquirer photo I recall seeing in an issue I perused at a neighbor’s house in the ’70s, once you’ve seen aliens checking the landing gear of their saucer, once you’ve heard famed journalist Ken Auletta decry the ethos that “facts were not important,” how we got here is no longer the question.

There’ve always been rubes, and there’ve always been fooled by the right hustler with the right approach and the chutzpah to tell a whopper, and sell it to them, right there at the supermarket cash register.

MPAA Rating: unrated

Cast: Judith Regan, Steve Coz, Barbara Sternig, Carl Bernstein, Maggie Haberman, Ken Auletta

Credits: Directed by Mark Landsman. A Magnolia/CNN Films release.

Running time: 1:37

If you travel to dive or snorkel around coral reefs, you probably hear the same refrain I do when I hit the water in Key West, St. Croix or Curacao.

“You should’ve seen it 20 years ago!”

Actually, the guide or dive boat operator missed out, too. They and we should have seen the world’s reefs 50 years ago. In that time, Peter Coyote narrates in “Saving Atlantis,” “more than 50% of them have vanished.”

“Saving Atlantis is a documentary that takes us around the world for a State of the Coral report, and a survey of some of the efforts being made to study and save the “vanishing” bleaching reefs.

We’re shown the Great Barrier Reef off Australia, reefs in the Red Sea, in French Polynesia, reefs off Oregon and a huge one in the mouth of Cartegena Bay, Colombia.

Fishermen talk about how important they are to their livelihood and the world’s fish stocks. Scientists talk about their role in fostering healthy life in the sea, and in protecting shorelines from destructive shore erosion during storms.

The water’s getting too hot, too acidic, for reefs. But some corals can withstand it, and if enough is done to combat pollution and climate change, others say, the reefs will come back.

That’s the hopeful part of “Saving Atlantis,” the scientists around the world mapping the coral gene pool to help determine which corals are the hardiest in this warming climate, capturing samples of corals that might go extinct before we do enough to save them.

“We should continue to act until it’s too late,” one marine biologist declares. “You should never give up on reefs.”

This Oregon State University coral reef documentary doesn’t have the impressive visuals of the BBC’s “Nature” series, or that of the gorgeous films shot in large format video for IMAX movies shown in science museums and the like.

But it’s a fairly thorough survey of all that’s going wrong, and many of the efforts underway worldwide to save, seed and repopulate eco systems that are vital to our diet and the safety of our shores as the seas rise and the storms surge.

Oregon State — it’s not just about football.

MPAA Rating: unrated

Cast: Narrated by Peter Coyote.

Credits: Directed by David Baker and Justin R. Smith, script by David Baker. A Gravitas Ventures release.

Running time: 1:30