It’s Saint Patrick’s Day — Watch “The Quiet Man,” listen to “diddley aye music,” and plot your Pilgrimage to Eire

That’s the drill every March 17, isn’t it?

Listen to a spot of this.

Watch an Irish film or two. “The Late Rite,” I’d suggest. Or Roddy Doyle’s “The Snapper,” “The Van” or “The Commitments,” maybe Gabriel Byrne’s “Into the West,” or perhaps “Circle of Friends” or the more obscure early efforts of Liam Neeson.

Relish the grand Irish actor, Ciaran Hinds, who so aptly defined this music and the Irish cinema he and Colm Meaney and Cillian Murphy and Saorise Ronan prop up every chance they get.

And plan your own trip to the cinematic Ireland, the homey, music-filled pubs, the lush green countryside, the seaside cliffs and the quaint villages where movies like “The Quiet Man” were filmed.

I’ve visited a few locations used by “Braveheart,” “The Quiet Man” and lesser and greater films around Dublin, Trim, Galway, Cong, Athenry etc. Lovely place to take in during the fall or spring, although I can’t imagine it ever looking grim, even in the dank and chilly winter.

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Classic Film Review: Jimmy Stewart, Strother Martin and Kurt Russell, 1930s Ex-Cons on a “Fools’ Parade” (1971)

It’s easy to dismiss the picaresque action comedy “Fool’s Parade” as an “old man movie,” because that was kind of the idea back when it was made.

James Stewart was 63 in 1971, when it came out, with a bunch of 50ish co-stars and a 50something director whose best years were behind him. That was “old” in 1971, before “60 is the new 40” got any traction.

And Stewart, his fellow Oscar winners George Kennedy and Anne Baxter (“All About Eve”), William Windom and Strother Martin had been fixtures on the screen for decades upon decades when they filmed this 1930s period piece.

This tale of a convict trying to cash his big, fat, prison labor money check when he gets out in the middle of the Great Depression is emblematic of the Hollywood of 1971. The studios leaned on older stars and their older filmgoer fans because they didn’t know what to put on screen that would pull in new generations. The Youth Movement that ushered in both the glorious, artisistic high water mark films and also the business-redefining blockbusters of the ’70s were a couple of years from taking over.

So studios leaned on old reliables like John Wayne, Stewart and others of that generation, even if their fans no longer went to the movies. Newman, Redford, Streisand and Poitier and Garner and McQueen could only manage a film a year. And Elvis was finished.

What’s surprising, dipping into this lightly-regarded, timeworn and formulaic Depression Era “Western” in a different setting is how funny it still plays. Sure, it creaks and wheezes and groans like a Ford Model A on a backwater dirt road. But reliable players who remembered the sentiments, mores and attitudes of that bygone era and who knew where the laughs were deliver, time and again.

The sight of Martin, Kennedy and Windom sweating, grimacing and grinning, and Stewart scrambling, ducking and rowing, sputtering and fuming for the last time in a star vehicle can be a nostalgic delight.

Stewart plays aged Mattie Appleyard, one of three convicts released from the state penitentiary in Glory, W.Va. the same day in 1935. Lee (Martin) was a bank robber, and Johnny (Kurt Russell) a local kid convicted of sexual assault. Appleyard did the most time — 40 years — for killing a couple of men.

It is his paycheck from his years of barely-paid prison labor that they’re all relying on to open a general store somewhere. The $25,428.32 Mattie has coming to him will set them all up.

But everything about the sinister guard, Capt. Council (Kennedy) tells them they won’t live to collect that cash. He may croon “Shall We Gather at the River,” like the Sunday school teacher that he is as he escorts them to town. But the threats about the train they’d damned well better board and the return to Glory they’d best not even think about give us, and the soon-to-be-ex-convicts, the willies.

Council’s “See you before tomorrow’s sunrise” is a straight-up threat.

Because “all that money leaving town” vexes the broke locals. The smirking fat cat banker (David Huddleston) is the only one who doesn’t seem concerned. He knows what’s coming. He arranged it.

The threats seem to come from every corner on that short train ride, as Lee is given to over-sharing their business and finances and one tipsy passenger (Windom) seems entirely too interested. But threats or not, “fear of God” Council be damned, they have to get back to Glory.

The narrative staggers into and out of town as cagey Mattie strains to find a way to cash that check that won’t get them robbed, killed or locked back up. A handy hooker (Baxter) may intervene. When the guys after you have guns, sometimes only dynamite will get their attention.

And wouldn’t you know it, the kid’s best friend “inside” — the prison’s bloodhound — is forever tripping them up as they try to just be regular, returned-to-society citizens attempting to cash a check that will secure their futures in the middle of a Depression.

Running gags include the sad-eyed but persistent hound, Mattie’s “all seeing” prophetic glass eye and the general sweatiness of old men on the run or in the chase.

Hunting them to rob and kill the three is OK, so long as they’re not church goers.

“You’uns is aetheists?”

Director McLaglen, no stranger to “old guys” action pics (“Hellfighters,” “Th Undefeated,” “The Wild Geese”) uses Moundsville, West Virginia locations to good effect in this shaggy (hound) dog comedy. His lone special effect? The cast.

Russell more or less holds his own, midway between his Disney years and the adult career that really took off after a late ’70s TV movie turn playing Elvis. Baxter vamps it up and seems to enjoy herself in the process — caked with makeup, weighed down with extra large eyelashes.

Character actor typecasting ensures Windom and Martin get their predictable moments and chuckles.

Kennedy squints and sweats and shows off stained, metal-braced teeth as Council dirties one pair of spotless white sneakers after another in his pursuit, a man of twisted theology and a ready, philosophical excuse when things don’t go according to play.

“Who can foresee the unforseen?”

But Stewart sets the tone, by turns playful and mischievous, twinkly and ornery as this righteous and just plain muleheaded sage. He gets to utter the script’s pithiest line, an aphorism for the anti-fat-cat/”Religion is the opiate of the masses” 1930s that resonated in ’71 and rings even truer today.

“God uses the good ones,” Mattie intones. “The bad ones use God.

Rating: PG, violence, mild profanity

Cast: James Stewart, George Kennedy, Anne Baxter, Kurt Russell, David Huddleston, William Windom and Strother Martin.

Credits: Directed by Andrew V. McLaglen, scripted by James Lee Barrett, based on a novel by Davis Grubb. A Columbia Pictures release on Tubi, other streamers.

Running time: 1:38

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Netflixable? Millie Bobby meets The Russo Brothers — “The Electric State”

If it takes the bottomless checkbook of Netflix to finally make the fangirls and fanboys recognize what merde merchants the filmmaking Russo brothers are, so be it.

Famed for making the expensive trains run on time in effects heavy Marvel “event” movies, and for turning the last Avengers, Captain America included, into lucrative but joyless dreck, it was only when Netflix got into the indulge-the-Russos business (“The Gray Man”) that the teeming movie-loving masses finally caught on. Whatever their producing “content” skills, these two have the worst taste.

Netflix confirms our suspicions with their latest, the bloated bore “The Electric State.” The streamer gave the Russos access to Netflix’s first bonafide “star,” Millie Bobby Brown of “Stranger Things.” And if you thought the dog “Damsel” was a warning sign about the starlet’s future, sister, have I got a bridge in Brooklyn to sell you.

“The Electric State” is based on a graphic novel by Swedish comic book artist, designer (And writer?) Simon Stålenhag (“Tales from the Loop”). As a film, it’s a cutesie retro-futuristic/alt history sci-fi action comedy that utterly misreads the moment.

With a world roiled by legitimate AI, robot and computer fears driven by amoral tech bros and their inhumane incel minions, here’s a picture that pitches robot “rights” as its thesis.

Hey, when they’re designed as varying shades of Wall-E adorable, with even Mr. Peanut (paid product placement/endorsement, “brought to you by”) on board, and voiced by a drawling Woody Harrelson, the comic pixie Jenny Slate and singing, hamming Scot Brian Cox, who wouldn’t want to let them run our world and our lives?

In an alternate version of the ‘recent past, society has embraced — thanks to Walt Disney in the ’50s — robots as a vital part of the labor force and of life on Earth. But by the Clinton Administration ’90s, robots have grown sentient enough to see their exploitation. They don’t just go on strike. They revolt, a revolt that erupts into war.

When humanity finally gets the upper hand, robotic spokesmodel Mr. Peanut (Woody Harrelson) negotiates a robotic exile to “The Exclusion Zone,” the American southwest, where no humans may intrude and robots run their own affairs. “Freedom from servitude” at last!

That’s the world siblings Michelle (Brown) and her super smart younger brother Christopher (Woody Norman) are growing up in. Until, that is, the “accident.” Michelle survives. Her sibling doesn’t.

But a robot version of their favorite canceled kiddie TV show Cosmo shows up. And for all the catchphrases this retro “Robots” style robot sputters in the voice of Alan Tudyck — “The Earth is in danger!” “The solar system’s gone haywire!” — Michelle picks up on who’s actually controlling this robot.

Her brother isn’t “dead” at all! He’s being held by Big Science somewhere, he doesn’t know where, and his only hope of escape is sending this kitschy corner of their past to his sister, who must track him down.

With a little help from that robot and from smuggler Keats (Chris Pratt) and his robotic sidekick Herman (Anthony Mackie) and the “misunderstood” robots out there in the Exclusion Zone, maybe they’ll foil the evil scientist (Stanley Tucci) and his military, VR robot inhabiting muscle (Giancarlo Esposito, like Mackie, fresh off of “Captain America: Brave New World”).

Aimed at kids who’ll giggle at the adorably retro robots and snicker at the profanity, “Electric State” creates cringes you didn’t know you’d cringe about.

Robot/human sing-alongs to “I Fought the Law and the Law Won,” Brian Cox’s baseball-promoting robot bellowing “Take Me Out to the Ballgame,” stupid “Don’t Stop Believing” and “I Will Survive” needle-drops on the soundtrack, groaning abandoned mall jokes (where the food court’s “no expiration date” foodstock is clumsily mocked), it’s all here.

So are Cox, Slate and Mackie, among many others, all voicing the collectibly cute robots with some of the most insipid voice casting/acting since Slim Pickens was brought in for Disney’s “The Black Hole” 40 plus years ago.

At least Mackie is spared, with his voice autotuned/helium pitched into unrecognizability.

“Clapper” — the gadget that let you clap-on-/clap-off the lights in your home — is the “highlight” of not-distant-past references meant to play as jokes.

Pratt gives his all, more or less. Tucci and Esposito hire out their professionalism one more time. Ke Hey Quan, playing a cutesie scientist and a cutesier “P.C.” workstation, is the most embarassed Oscar winner here. Holly Hunter collects a check as a TV interviewer.

And the Russos? They pile it up high and deep, five shovelfulls at a time.

There’s barely a laugh or an entertaining moment in all of this. And as they’re the ones in charge of bringing “The Avengers” back with films in 2026-27, abandon hope, all ye faboys/girls who enter here.

Rating: PG-13, violence, profanity

Cast: Millie Bobby Brown, Chris Pratt, Giancarlo Esposito, Jason Alexander, Ke Huy Quan and Stanley Tucci, the voices of Woody Harrelson, Jenny Slate, Alan Tudyck, Brian Cox, many others

Credits: Directed by Anthony Russo and Joe Russo, scripted by Christopher Marcus and Stephen McFeely, based on a novel by Simon Stålenhag. A Netflix release.

Running time: 2:08

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Movie Review: Noisy Zombies spoil the Peace and Quiet of “Silent Zone”

There was a time when zombies were slow and the movies about them were quick.

The walking dead would lurch into sight and characters would have to go out of their way to trip or somehow be trapped by the stumbling undead.

And George A. Romero or his “Night of the Living Dead” filmmaking offspring would introduce a zombie outbreak, a shocked public’s reaction and an intrepid survivor or two who would fail or prevail in a whiplash-quick movie of 90-96 minutes.

In “Silent Zone,” the feature filmmaking debut of director Peter Deak, the zombies show up at a sprint, which has been all the rage in zombie movies since before “28 Days Later.” But the tried and trite story about surviving the post-zombie-apocalypse wasteland (Victor Orban’s Hungary) passes by at a snail’s crawl.

It’s a crushing bore and a C-movie, start to finish. From the parade of Hungarian-accented newscasters and the like who talk through the tale’s opening “news” montage through every slow-footed sequence of fight choreography fumbling its way towards a big explosion/bigger letdown ending, “Silent Zone” reminds us how exhausted this genre — beaten to death by TV’s “Walking Dead” — truly is.

It’s enough to make you fear for how “28 Years Later” turned out.

Career bit-player Matt Devere is Cassius, our hero, an armed-to-the-teeth warrior who rescues a little girl whose mother and little brother have just been bitten as the outbreak begins.

He rescues her by shooting them.

Cassius raises Abigail (Luca Papp) to shoot and fight and slice like he does. So ten years later, it’s no surprise that she’s as tactical geared-up as he is as they horseback ride through empty Soviet style housing blocks and a depopulated countryside.

Same assault rifle, same pistol. Same samurai sword, too. Because sometimes “we don’t have a bullet to spare.”

Abigail isn’t quite the crack shot Cassius is, and her mistake fails to save a member of a crew trying to get pregnant Megan (Nikolett Barabas) and David (Declan Hannigan) through Zombieland to “The Colony” and safety.

Naturally, Abigail talks Cassius into undertaking that quest.

They will trek slowly-so-slowly, fend off zombies and meet a somewhat mad scientist (Alexis Latham) along the way. As Abigail’s father used to be a pilot, she’ll be in the cockpit when they commandeer a ten-years-parked and broken down propeller plane to speed up their trek.

The dialogue is off-the-shelf dull of the “If we stop, we DIE” variety. Cassius, named either for the guy who plotted to kill Caesar or the boxer who liked to rhyme, has moments of reflection in between all the half-speed brawls and “double tap” shootouts.

“I sometimes feel I don’t have the space for all the faces in my brain.”

There’s no subtext to any of this, no commentary on culture, society or politics, government, anti-vax cranks or human failings. And thanks to Viktor Csák and Krisztián Illés, who scripted this, there’s not much of a “text” either.

Rating: R, bloody, graphic violence, profanity

Cast: Matt Devere, Luca Papp, Nikolett Barabas, Declan Hannigan and Alexis Latham.

Credits: Directed by Peter Deak, scripted by Viktor Csák and Krisztián Illés. A Saban Films release.

Running time: 1:59

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Movie Review: Cast and Crew kid themselves into thinking “Raging Midlife” is funny

You crowd source your funding to get your idea for a comedy about wrestling, obsessive fans and the midlife crisis none of us want to face filmed.

You talk Paula Adbul, Eddie Griffin and “Star Trek” alumnus Walter Koenig in it to add “names” to its appeal.

You premiere the finished film at fanboy central — the SXSW film, music and media festival in the Free State of Austin.

And it turns out the way “Raging Midlife” turned out and you’re never seen or heard from again.

This deathly unfunny farce is about a tank top t-shirt tossed to two pals at a pro wreslting event back in ’88, one that was snatched from them at their moment of triumph.

Here is it “40 years” later (one admits) or “thirty years” another lies. And Alex (Nic Costa) and Mark (Matt Zak) are still determined to have that Rage O Mania tank top that Ragin’ Abraham Lincoln (Motch O Mann) hurled their way as he transitioned from role model of the ring to villain of the circuit.

It’s what Mary Todd (Get it?), Ragin’ Abraham’s wife (Paula Adbul) wanted, right?

This ill-conceived, poorly-organized and shambolic comedy has the odd amusing character and performance. Emily Sweet brings a foaming-at-the-mouth fury to Mindy, the older sister who sabotaged brother Alex’s big moment, way back when, someone who’s hellbent on repeating that now. And Motch O Mann, a wrestler Randy Savage impersonator, also hits the right tone. Co-star Zak flails and sputters to get the energy up to generate a laugh.

“Time, you little slut!…I want my 40 years back!”

But collectively they’re no compensation for putting charisma-starved co-stars and co-writers Costa and Rob Taylor (he also directed) on the screen in roles that needed serious workshopping before this ever went before a camera.

Wrestling, the wrestling underworld and the sorts of folks obsessed with it was a promising setting. The premise feels familiar enough to have worked, in some form.

Not this one, though. Kids, I want my 93 minutes back.

Rating: unrated, (comic) bloody violence, profanity

Cast: Nic Costa, Matt Zak, Bryna Smith, Rob Taylor, Eddie Griffin, Emily Sweet, Walter Koenig, Motch O Mann and Paula Abdul.

Credits: Directed by Rob Taylor, scripted by Nic Costa and Rob Taylor. A Level 33 release.

Running time: 1:33

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Movie Preview: Steve Buscemi’s a serial killer offering “Psycho Therapy” to a writer and his wife

Britt Lower and John Magaro star in this comic thriller about a writer offered the chance to be “advised” by a “retired” serial killer for his next book.

Buscemi’s that retiree, and when cornered, he can pass for a marriage counselor, if need be.

This one slips out April 18.

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Movie Preview: Well, isn’t this ADORABLE — Jamie Lee and Lindsay L have a “Freakier Friday”

August 8, a blast from your past set to the music of Chappell Roan.

Bravo to Oscar winner Curtis for keeping her sense of humor and taking on this. Let’s see if Lohan lives up to her big screen comeback, served on a platter.

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Series Review: Brian Tyree Henry’s a “Dope Thief” who robs from the wrong Drug Lord

Everybody’s new favorite character actor Brian Tyree Henry earns a rough and raw but often tongue-in-cheek star vehicle with “Dope Thief,” an Apple TV series about dope thieves who steal from the wrong crime boss.

It’s violent, with the threat of more violence piling up with most every suspenseful minute. Bystander violence, “collateral damage” in the city (Philadelphia), even Amish violence.

Because the MO of these two longtime pal/dope thieves is that they storm into crack houses and dealer operations as DEA agents.

They’re putting on a “show,” flashing badges and barking in their best “COMMAND” voices, waving guns around like they’ve been doing it all their lives. But they haven’t.

“Dope Thief” is about what happens when you screw up, your bluff is called and doom is one burner phone call away or that next biker who pulls up in front of your house. It’s a dark, bloody thriller with action comedy “put up or get shut-up time” touches. And Henry is a hoot in it.

We meet Ray and Manny (Henry and co-star Wagner Maura) in a classic stake out — an older Chevy van parked down the street from a street dealer’s porch. But something is off about these guys with DEA caps and jackets, bullet proof vests and binoculars.

They joke around a lot, even for “careless” cops/agents. They mock the “children” they’re watching, and mock them more when they storm in on them, walkie talkies on their belts, shotgun/Glock in hand.

“Think of this as like a fire drill like they teach you in school,” Ray bellows in his most commanding voice. Cooperate, he warns as he zip ties assorted teen dealers and users. A quick rummage for cash and contraband, and “backup” is summoned from outside as they head for the door.

But there is no “back up.” This is their gig, robbing from “nobodies,” predators preying on predators.

“We just take our cut from the chaos,” Ray Robin-Hood-rationalizes. “Everybody has to pay the karma tax,” Manny reasons.

Their rationales are nothing they share with family. Ray lives with the old streetwise hardcase (Kate Mulgrew) who raised him, telling her he makes his living “painting houses” in Philly. Who knows what lies Manny tells?

But flashbacks give us glimpses of Ray’s guilty past, and there are other hints that he and Manny — whom he met in prison — have addiction issues.

And for all Ray’s prep, “recon,” “direction” and notes — The ‘show’ has got to be impeccable!” — their impulse control issues get the best of them. Another ex-con joins them and talks them into an out of town attack on a meth lab.

Blood is spilled and bodies must be burned. A big score? Sure. But within moments of starting their getaway, they know the jig is up. They will have to be a lot smarter and a lot sharper with firearms if they’re going to survive the “command voice, real deal” serious gang leader they hear by walkie talkie or phone as he and his biker minions close in on them.

The scripts in this Peter Craig created (he wrote most of the episodes) series, based on a Dennis Tafoya novel, play up the humor in this overfamiliar “We got the wrong dude’s money” scenario.

Ray bickers with the intransigent woman (Mulgrew is a laugh a minute) who raised him, exchanges bitter banter with his old man (Ving Rhames, outstanding), who’s still in prison, gets caught weeping at his impending fate by his dad’s lawyer (Nesta Cooper), who figures self-absorbed-Ray’s upset about his father’s plight.

The series, like Ray, relies on what feel like Acts of God to escape many a scrape.

The shootouts are realistically clumsy and bloody. A foot chase through narrow city streets has a moving truck payoff that’s grim and just plain hilarious.

Henry lurches from pathetic to cunning to comically inept with the greatest of ease as Ray. He comes off as studious, doing his homework and “recon” on planned jobs. Then he seems careless. Repeatedly.

But a red letter moment is when he gets mixed up with a fellow con/gang leader and they bicker about philosophers from Hobbes to Nietzsche to Sun Tzu and one impulsively hurls the other into a firefight.

“Narcos” veteran Maura plays Manny as the more stable and sensible of the two, until he isn’t. Not at all.

Mulgrew relishes another chewy “Orange is the New Black” character from the dark side.

Idris DeBrand plays not-that-innocent Ray in flashbacks to his youth — drug abuse, a girlfriend, and something happened.

Dustin Nguyen is the unsentimental and wealthy Vietnamese immigrant they rely on to “move” their ill-gotten gains.

And Marin Ireland portrays a shooting victim of that raid-gone-wrong who is furious with the interlopers, and silenced by her neck wound as she plots her own revenge and works her own agenda.

“Whoever they were,” she types-to-text to the cops in the hospital, “they started a war.

Ridley Scott crisply directed the premiere episode, and every installment of this compact (by streaming standards) thriller features flashbacks that flesh in a couple of the characters’ back stories, and pretty much every episode ends with a climax that doubles as a cliffhanger.

It’ll keep you going as Henry makes it easy to put yourself in his shoes — “gifted” with an unexpected haul of cash that may get him, his loved ones and maybe a lot of biker/drug lord henchmen killed, even if he tries to give it back.

Rating: TV-MA, violence, drug abuse, profanity

Cast: Brian Tyree Henry, Wagner Maura, Nesta Cooper, Marin Ireland,
Dustin Nguyen, Kate Mulgrew and Ving Rhames.

Credits: Created by Peter Craig, based on a novel by Dennis Tafoya.
An Apple TV+ release.

Running time: 8 episodes @:44-55 minutes each.

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BOX OFFICE: Nepo Baby “Novocaine” feels the pain, “Mickey 17” falls off but ties “Black Bag”

Weekends like this one explain exactly why Hollywood got so obsessed with franchises, pre-sold content “brands” and the like.

They’re expecting a movie based on the popular but puerile video game “Minecraft” starring Jack Black to open over $60 million in a few weeks.

This weekend, “Novocaine” may have the earmarks of a “graphic novel” and feature the moment when the love interest burbles “You’re a SUPERhero” in all its trailers. But it isn’t. There’s no built-in constituency for Paramount’s “this might hurt a bit” injury-addled action comedy.

And Jack Quaid may be Meg Ryan and Dennis Quaid’s kid, but he can’t “open” a picture, not one where Jack Nicholson’s kid (Ray Nicholson) is the villain and Amber Midthunder of “Prey” is the only other “name” attraction on the marquee.

It opens with a hint of charm and settles into heartless and commits the fatal filmic sin of turning boring about midway through its overlong 110 minutes. It earned a few raves among the greener, more easily entertained critic crowd. But mixed reviews overall.

Deadline.com is saying that a $1.75 million Thursday night (I saw it with maybe three other people at a late afternoon suburban showing) and a Friday turnout that almost clear $4 million helped it to an $8.7 million opening weekend.

Advertised and hyped to death for months, it’s not the picture that ends theatrical moviegoing’s malaise. When the horror crowd is largely staying home, when the lone comic book picture opens big and falls off big, you have to wonder if the moviegoing habit itself is broken.

“Mickey 17” opened weak — $19 million last weekend — which considering its $125 million or so sci-fi book-adaptation budget, is bad news for the WB’s bottom line. Not a comic book or otherwise truly proven “intellectual property,” it’s not worth the studio’s risk. A dazzling-looking, modestly entertaining “Watch RPatts die and die again” satiric comedy, it managed another $7.5 or so million this weekend.

It’s better than “Novocaine,” but you can’t guilt filmgoers into seeing something ambitious and smart.

The one new movie opening in single digits that could expect that modest a turnout is “Black Bag,” a John le Carre-esque spy thriller from Steven Soderbergh and screenwriter David Koepp. It opened on over 2000 screens, and is getting raptorous reviews (best film of the new year so far, by far) and it tied “Mickey 17” with a $7.5 million opening (it jumped off to a Thursday/Friday of $2.75). .

It skews more “adult,” and with Cate Blanchett, Michael Fassbender, Naomie Harris and Pierce Brosnan as the leads, it may draw well enough once that more mature audience finds it. But no, you don’t HAVE to see it on “the Big Screen.”

Speaking of “brands,” the Looney Tunes brand hasn’t had a lot of magic attached to it in decades, not since Chuck Jones died, in any event, not since TV brought back several new and often inferior incarnations of the characters in assorted series.

So a new Looney Tunes all-star animated comedy that sounds like a headline from today’s news — “The Day the Earth Blew Up” — isn’t convincing families to show up. Yet. It did $3.2 million and cracked the top five in an AWFUL weekend, overall.

Animated films don’t do their business until Sat. and Sunday, and Deadline and Box Office Guru and others historically underestimate that “family film” audience. Still, Ketchup Entertainnment is hardly Warner Brothers, or Disney or Dreamworks, so visibility on this one is weak and $3.2 is about all Bugs & Daffy’s photocopies could expect.

A low-budget faith-based film titled “The Last Supper” ($2.85 million) was smuggled into cinemas and will crack the top ten.

And A24’s “Opus,” which presents John Malkovich as a reclusive, aged pop star who tests the limits of “cultish” devotion in releasing new music to a select few will only manage $1.5. Reviews have been…underwhelming.

“Captain America: Brave New World” — which will end its run short of the $200 million mark — stayed in the top five for one more week. And “Paddington in Peru” ($2.775 folded into $40 million and counting) drops out of that top five, but seems to have the legs to get to $50 million in North America.

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Movie Preview: The “official” “F1” trailer gives Javier Bardem the first and last word, lets Brad Pitt lose his shirt

June 27.

Feel the hype? I’m gettin’ there.

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