Movie Nation

Love this.

https://www.thewrap.com/jason-momoa-says-he-cant-shoot-aquaman-2-because-he-got-run-over-by-a-bulldozer/

Good performances and a healthy dose of earnest righteousness go a long way in atoning for the choppy structure and shortchanged characters that mar the telling of the inspiring true story of a life interrupted by a crime that never happened.

“Brian Banks” is about an All American high school football player racing towards a potentially glorious and lucrative future, but who lost years of his life to a laughably unjust accusation, trial and arm-twisted “plea deal” that was no “deal” at all.

That story is interesting enough, in a “Dateline: NBC” sense. But what this Tom Shadyac film is really about is discovering inner peace and resolve in prison, finding a mentor who helps you “get over” and forgiving those whose grievous sins against Banks have the audience muttering for blood, but not the hero.

Emerging star Aldis Hodge of “Straight Outta Compton,” “Hidden Figures” and TV’s “City on a Hill” plays Banks in high school, when the alleged rape at the center of this story occurred, then in prison, and ten years later when he’s trying to clear his name so that he can fully restart his life.

But we get to know him just as it’s all unraveling — again. Just after getting out, he’s playing college football at a smaller school than U.S.C., which recruited him, pre-prison. A change in the law takes even that away from him. Registered sex offenders lose more and more rights, over time, as every “get tough” measure under the sun makes its way through states and localities.

He needs the help of the California Innocence Project, whose founder, Justin Brooks (Mr. Tears, Greg Kinnear) just doesn’t see this case — Banks is out on parole, and he took an awful plea deal rather than go to trial, thus limiting his options — as a winner.

Brooks, his team and his law school students in San Diego must find something “extraordinary” — new evidence, new testimony — that will persuade the prosecutor’s office and judge who railroaded the 16 year-old Banks into prison to take it all back.

Good luck with that.

The movie here is what happened to Banks in prison, something the screenwriter and director seem to have missed. Prison is where the big, strong kid is tested and embittered, only to be redeemed by a prison teacher who counsels “All you can control in your life is how you respond to it” and “The path to happiness begins and ends in the mind” and “Given the right perspective, prison can set you free.”

The filmmakers seem to think that casting Morgan Freeman in the part and giving him those lines (and virtually no others) to intone was enough. It isn’t. This is a redemption tale, a broken hero’s internal journey to the light. The hero and his mentor need more screen time together.

Ex-con Banks dating an art major/personal trainer (Melanie Liburd) who is thrown by his startling personal history, is of little consequence. His never-losing faith-mother (Sherri Shepherd) is a given.

At least the many life-interruptions engineered by the hardass probation officer (Dorian Missick is amazing and hateful in the part) give this story the sort of twist — how “paying your debt to society” is never done when “a broken system” keeps renewing that debt — that the movie’s formulaic story craves.

Even those who aren’t football fans know where this story is headed, at least in the courtroom. What’s interesting is that interior life-change that Hodges gets across, but that could use a lot more setting up via scenes with Freeman’s character.

And for a movie that decries a “broken system,” “Brian Banks” lets a plea-bargain-busting judge, bums-rush DA and inept defense lawyer off too easily.

The villain played up here is a veritable stereotype, a caricature of a young African American woman, cleverly and hatefully made flesh and blood by Xosha Roquemore.

All of which makes “Brian Banks” much more of a mixed bag of a movie than you’d hope. A “broken system” isn’t going to be driven to change by pulled punches like this one.

MPAA Rating: PG-13 for thematic content and related images, and for language

Cast: Aldis Hodge, Greg Kinnear, Morgan Freeman, Sherri Shepherd, Xosha Roquemore

Directed by Tom Shadyac, script by Doug Atchison. A Bleecker St. release.

Running time: 1:39

You will tear up a little at the animated short film “Hair Love” that Matthew A. Cherry, Everett Downing Jr. and Bruce W. Smith whipped up, via Kickstarter, and Sony attached as the opener to “The Angry Birds Movie 2.”

It’s a mostly silent tale of a hapless African American father doing battle with his little girl’s violently mussed hair, with instruction assistance from an online video.

He’s got to manage this because Mom’s not there. And as much as you’d think a man who has to attend to the care and feeding of his own dreadlocks would have to know about taming an unruly Afro, he’s out of his depth.

It is adorable, poignant and about something — African America’s love-hate relationship with hair. It is everything that the generic, laugh-starved sausage factory production that Sony Pictures Animation slapped on AFTER it is not.

“Angry Birds 2” has hints of empowerment, of “work together” and “don’t steal credit from smart women” to fend off a female supervillain.

All that in a comedy with barely a chuckle in it. The script is so thin that the best lines lean HARD on speech impediments to work.

“Oh Kwap!” “Awe you fweakin’ kiddin’ me?”

It starts out weak and is coughing up blood by the third act.

“Birds” is a Chatty Cathy of a cartoon comedy, relying on three screenwriters to provide lines that virtually never deliver, a plot that is generic “add a new villain to the sequel” piffle and a voice cast that can’t compensate for those shortcomings.

Jason Sudeikis returns as the non-heroic “hero” bird with the “angry” eyebrows, again forced to deal with a threat to Bird Island from abroad.

The Pig Islanders, plump and green and mischievous, in or out of thongs and tankinis, call for a truce when they recognize a new common threat, a third island, is hurling volcanic snowballs onto their respective paradise islands.

Quick, call in “Squeal Team Six!”

Red and the head pig Leonard (Bill Hader) must “assemble the team,” including a porcine gadget guru (Sterling K. Brown), and the smart ladybird (Rachel Bloom) who wrote off Red (or vice versa) in a bird colony round of speed-dating just the day before.

The early promise of the movie is in their testy exchanges, her rattling off a list of his shortcomings and “issues,” professional jerk Sudeikis — as Red — responding in kind.

“Talks to herself…Doesn’t answer her own questions. Left-handed, probably a witch.”

But those sparks disappear as the picture slacks off into a couple of other settings — hatchlings trying to rescue the eggs they have endangered (“Oh Kwap” comes here.) and the villain’s lair, where we discover how little humor Leslie Jones can wring out of a villain with no funny lines, and how Tiffany Haddish maybe needs a better agent (playing the villain’s daughter).

Scores of pop tunes, courtesy of everyone from Sarah McLachlan and Paula Cole to Lionel, Bowie, Buffett and, wait for it — Europe — are slapped on as comic kickers to many scenes. They do not help.

I won’t say it’s excruciating, but viewers of every age will be keenly aware of the passage of time and this colossal waste of it.

MPAA Rating: PG for rude humor and action

Voice Cast: Jason Sudeikis, Leslie Jones, Tiffany Haddish, Awkwafina, Josh Gad, Bill Hader, Peter Dinklage, Danny McBride and Eugenio Derbez

Credits: Directed by Thurop Van Orman and John Rice, script by Peter Ackerman Eyal Podell, Jonathon E. Stewart. A Sony Pictures Animation release.

Running time: 1:36

You never hear horror stories about random fan encounters gone wrong involving John Travolta. Never.

The face he shows the public doesn’t have room for bad days or bad moods, even though everybody has them. And that’s by design.

“I make it a point of getting myself in the right frame of mind, prepared, whenever I know I’m going out somewhere I might be seen,” he says. He gets himself into a good mood, and makes sure he stays that way. At least as far as the public is concerned.

You joke that maybe he’s just learned what Vincent Vega, his famous “Pulp Fiction” character, was taught by Jules (Samuel L. Jackson) in the film — “Get your ‘game face’ on,” and Travolta laughs and points “Bingo.” But he’s known this pretty much from the start.

He remembers, he says, what it was like to meet his idols when he first came to Hollywood. James Cagney, Paul Newman, Paul McCartney, “all just as kind and generous as could be.” That’s the “game face” he wanted to present.

So even if the roles aren’t as juicy at 65, the hits fewer and farther in between, his general fan likability is still off the charts. The rare bad press he got back at his peak was generally over his love of perks while on location, great roles he turned down when he didn’t get them. Even Scientology, which hasn’t been the kindest label for the likes of Tom Cruise, is shrugged off when it comes to Travolta.

Travolta is talking about this whole fan relationship to the famous thing a lot. His new movie, co-written and directed by Limp Bizkit rocker Fred Durst, has him playing the ultimate “fanboy” — obsessive, annoying and “on the spectrum.”

For a guy whose famous villainous line in “Face/Off,” “Ain’t it Cool?” became the name of the first major fanboy website, “Ain’t It Cool News,” it’s a daring turn — and not just because of the hairstyle and choice of wardrobe. Taking fanboydom over the top can have consequences.

“Oh, those guys, they’ll know it’s just exaggerated, just a movie,” he says, laughing. “But Fred actually knew a guy like this, named ‘Moose.’ So there’s a that bit of reality we’re starting from, even if this guy is way over the top, but harmless until he’s humiliated and threatened and treated badly.”

Every entertainment journalist has her or his favorite story of catching a celebrity on a bad day, a Pierce Brosnan hissy fit here, a Spike Lee or Julia Roberts silent-treatment and glare there.

“The Fanatic” has Moose, a childishly obsessed LA fan and film buff, rebuffed when he catches his favorite action hero on a bad day. As Moose has just bought a costume vest Hunter Dunbar (Devon Sawa) wore in a vampire picture some years back, and NEEDs it autographed in the very worst way, he persists — finding his way to Dunbar’s home, and getting the tongue-lashing he deserves for “stalking” him this way.

That’s when things turn violent, with an accident here and a few twists there. “The Fanatic” opens Aug. 30.

Travolta could sympathize Moose from the other side of that interaction, because he once interrupted a star’s dinner before he himself was famous, and got put off. He liked the idea of showing the childlike appreciation the most “fanatical” fans get swept up in, liked dramatizing how important how they’re treated — even at their most intrusive. And he liked the idea of working with Durst, a filmmaker bringing his rock world sensibility to the picture.

“We’d been talking about doing something together for 15 years, and this looked ‘out there.’ Kind of risky. And I like working on these smaller projects. We did stuff on this shoot (in Birmingham, doubling for Hollywood and environs) you could never get away with on a big studio picture. Just to get it done.”

That’s where Travolta’s career is, mostly, these days. A lower tier stock car racing drama here (“Trading Paint,” with Shania Twain), a notorious underworld tale in New York (“Gotti”) or Miami (“Speed Kills”) there.

With the paradigm shifting in distribution, and streaming platforms taking some of the wind out of theatrical studios’ sails, Travolta can get these movies made and in front of audiences more easily than ever. He figures others may follow this path as their careers change direction past leading lady/leading man peaks.

“You’ve got to establish yourself in Hollywood or New York, first,” he says. “But once you’ve done that, you’ve got to have somebody (representation) who can show producers, ‘My guy can bring this much attention and (paying customers), so he’s good for a picture with this much budget.’ That way, you don’t have to live in Hollywood, deal with everything that goes on out there that wears you out.”

He’s lived in Florida, off and on, since the late ’80s, full-time since the early 2000s. “I just love it here. Always have.” There’s been room for him to indulge in his other passion — flying, most famously his own personal jets (a 707 among them, at one point). And he’s continued to make movies past his peak earning years — “Basic” and “The Poison Rose” — “My daughter got to act with me in that one!”– and “Speed Kills” all filmed in Florida.

I’ve interviewed him maybe half a dozen times over the years, watched him shoot a couple of those films, seen him interact with fans. He is all charm in public and in interviews. Even smiles through the question he habitually dodges.

The paydays aren’t as big, but “the freedom, the characters you get to play” make up for it, he says.

“I get an idea, ‘Always wanted to play a race car driver. I tell a writer, ‘Why don’t you write me something that’s a little bit ‘A Man and a Woman,’ with ‘Grand Prix’ in it. You know, those ’60s movies.”

Add Shania Twain, Michael Madsen, Toby Sebastian, Barry Corbin and Kevin Dunn, and “Trading Paint” is up and running.

“If you love diving into characters like I do, you want to keep doing it,” Travolta says. “I’ve always considered myself a character actor, even when I was a leading man. This feels like” a natural progression.

You just have to keep in mind what superfan Moose tells Hunter Dunbar in “The Fanatic — “Without people like me, you’re nothing.”

Travolta lights up a smile making that point.

“Never ever ever forget that!”

“Hobbs & Shaw” are losing their steam, but still have another $24 million in them, a steep 60% drop from opening weekend.

That is enough to win this desultory box office race for Aug. 9-11.

“Dora” is underwhelming in terms of ticket sales, as I predicted. $16 and change.

But as I mentioned Friday, “Scary Stories” lured in Thursday night audiences and is heading towards a $20 million+ opening.

“The Kitchen” is barely clearing $5 million. Bad acting is just another sign of bad directing for their Andrea Bertof bomb. Buh bye. Career worst for Haddish and McCarthy movies.

“Racing in the Rain is hitting it’s underwhelming projected $8 million opening.

And “Brian Banks” is a wide release debacle, not even clearing $2, not cracking the top ten.

“The Farewell” added theaters…again…bit only hit $2 and is fading.

“Once Upon a Time…in Hollywood” may find $11 million more in sales this weekend.

“Lion King” is holding audience better than anybody, adding another $19 and change for third place.

https://deadline.com/2019/08/dora-and-the-lost-city-of-gold-hobbs-shaw-the-kitchen-box-office-weekend-1202665153/

We know it’s wrong, just as he does.

But when teenage Adam lies to cute, cool New York lesbian Gillian, who thinks he’s trans, it’s funny. Because he then does his homework, mastering the jargon, the medical and psychological steps he’s supposed to be going through, working it to fit in with her crowd — at bars, parties, a “Women Only” S&M club — and to meet her expectations.

And when the horny teen visiting New York becomes a lovesick lad and dons a strap-on, because that’s what she expects? “Funny” flirts with “hilarious.”

Ariel Schrag, who made her bones writing for TV’s “The L Word,” was right making “Adam” a 2006 period piece. I’m not sure how much license we’d grant, even given her bonafides, in creating a situation that’s sure to be offensive to the gay community and having her “hero” (Nicholas Alexander of TV’s “Good Girls”) the-opposite-of-“woke” in the present day.

We need to laugh at Adam, and with him. Because, let’s face it, a “Women Only” S & M club with gay-and-trans women donning loaner leather and strap-ons for a simulated biker-bar oral sex contest is FUNNY.

But that’s only funny until Adam, and we, see the BIG error of our ways.

Adam and the movie about him turn on a dime, showing us the stakes in all the politics, all the marching, all the superficialities the straight or cis-gender attach to “gay” as a “lifestyle.”

People’s lives are at risk. Their right to live those lives as they see fit and their expectations for the future are at the heart of every head-scratching thing this fish-out-of-water kid observes in his full immersion in New York Gay — from “L Word” watching parties to “Trans Camp.”

These are activists living lives with consequences.

Schrag, director Rhys Ernst (of TV’s “Transparent”) and a delightful cast make “Adam” one of the great delights of the cinematic summer.

And you thought “Booksmart” was smart.

Adam is a suburban teen having no luck socializing with the opposite sex, but hellbent on not spending summer at “the lake house” with his parents, with Mom (Ana Gasteyer) realizing he’s “down in the dumpies.”

He’ll summer in New York, staying with big sister/coed Casey (Margaret Qualley). Maybe he’ll meet the new boyfriend she’s told the folks about, Mark.

Only there is no Mark. And Adam knows it. Casey, given a kid-in-a-candy-store flightiness by Qualley, the break-out star of “Once Upon a Time…in Hollywood,” is a young, beautiful lesbian loose in a city just loaded with young women just like her.

The kid brother is about to get an education, and how.

Casey is so over the moon about her new freedom that she’s taken up with a very feminine transgender person with the same name, “Boy Casey” (Maxton Miles Baeza). She broke up with cute truth-teller June (Chloë Levine, stealing scenes) to do that, something roommate Ethan (Leo Sheng) and even Adam can see was a bad move.

But there’s so much MORE to see that Adam can’t waste time on that. Go to the Washington Square march, hand out “Queers Against Gay Marriage” (don’t ask) fliers, borrow an ID to get into “the club.”

“It’s a dyke club,” June illuminates. “It’s full of dykes.”

If you think you’re having trouble with the “fluid” understanding of sexuality that’s become the norm today, imagine a virginal, sexually-insecure teen getting his mind around all this in 2006. Adam sticks his foot in it, defensive about wanting a “GIRLfriend” and not a boy one, tactlessly failing to grasp Casey’s thing for a guy who is “not a real guy, with a penis” and all.

Ethan, with whom he has an oddly intimate chemistry, becomes Adam’s guide and confessor.

Then Adam meets Gillian (Bobbi Salvör Menuez of “Landline”), an otherworldly redhead, at a party.

They click. But when she says “I’ve never dated a trans guy before,” he doesn’t correct her. And that’s where the movie goes, lie after lie, guilt and regret covered by “homework” and great efforts to fake his way through a relationship that races toward intimacy built on a bed of lies.

“I’m not actually ‘trans,'” and “I’m still in high school” are hard things to work into conversation after, you know, a certain point.

Schrag’s script, based on her book, is seasoned with some delicious one-liners, from the drunken bar-pickup who declares to Adam, “This is the year my poetry REALLY takes off” to the ever-enthusiastic Casey’s suggestion for what Adam take to the gay rights march.

“You should make a sign that says ‘I won’t get married until my sister can!'”

College coed Gillian is worried about majoring in Women’s Studies. “Hi, I’m gay and I’m majored in being gay!'”

And Adam, his eyes darting with apprehension at being found out, peppers his speech with the “hetero-normative” jargon that is part and parcel of the whole political/sexual/gender-identification lifestyle of it all.

Maybe it wouldn’t be this easy to “pass,” with every woman at the gay bar wanting to know “When did you, you know, transition?” But it’s hilarious to think an insecure guy would toss his last shred of masculinity just to gain the approval of the coed who prefers other coeds.

“Adam” makes you realize we’re a long way from “Chasing Amy.” Or maybe not.

Menuez gives Gillian a sort of knowing naivete and ahead-of-her-time enthusiasm, a youthful willingness to abandon what she thought she knew about who she’d be attracted to. Sheng and Levine bring great vulnerability to characters still figuring themselves out, sexually.

And Qualley sparkles as a willowy, pretty young thing aware of her allure to the gay women she meets, and unsure of what to do with that power other than to sample every candy in the shop.

“Pillow princess” might be the slang description that fits her Casey. Because heaven knows there are “gold star lesbians” all around her. It is 2006, after all.

See, Adam? You’re not the only one who does “homework.”

“Adam” is the sort of rom-com, coming-of-age tale that makes you want to.

MPAA Rating: unrated, with sexual situations, nudity, profanity

Cast: Nicholas Alexander, Bobbi Salvör Menuez, Margaret Qualley, Chloe Levine and Jari Jones

Credits: Directed by Rhys Ernst, script by Ariel Schrag, based on her book. A Wolfe release.

Running time: 1:35

They’ve been together forever.

You can tell from the lifetime of art, furniture, glass, silverware and china that fills their roomy but gloomy old house in the bourgeois corner of town.

It’s in their conversation, the gentle bickering with the sharp edge. Each knows how to cut the other.

And you see it in the way they look after each other, knowing when to take the wheel when the other’s had too much to drink, prodding one another to get out more, attend a birthday party.

But can “The Heiresses,” Chela (Ana Brun) and Chiquita “Chiqui” (Margarita Irun) withstand the tests of bankruptcy, separation, their quickly shrinking world together, the temptations of the world beyond their insular, homey bubble?

Paraguay’s selection to compete for Best Foreign Language Film at the most recent Academy Awards is a Dickensian or at least Austenesque portrait of atrophy and decline.

That’s not limited to the women themselves, who are not getting any younger, but still have their health (Latin American smoking habits be damned). It’s their lives together, their house, their “place” in this world of writer-director Marcelo Martinessi’s creation, all in decline.

Because as we meet them, a lady is humming through their dining room, counting silverware, sizing up the “estate.”

Nobody’s dying. But things are being sold off, “my father’s paintings,” furniture, glassware. Bit by bit.

That doesn’t sit well with Chela, who resents the fact that more of her things are going than Chiqui’s. Not so, says the accused, in Spanish with English subtitles.

“LIAR,” Chela spits, storming out, probably with good reason. Chiqui is the driving force of this relationship, and her finances are the big problem.

Carmela (Alicia Guerra) is trying to help, arranging sales and the like. But at Carmela’s birthday party, Chela realizes she’s probably told their whole circle of acquaintances about their plight. Perhaps she’s being paranoid, but Chela is sensitive to the shame of it all.

Because Chiqui is about to leave her. Something about her finances have her headed to jail. Debtor’s prison? Credit fraud or some such?

With Chiqui in jail and visits limited to Wednesdays, the morose and submissive Chela has to find something to do in between visits and fresh sales of their joint property.

The unlit, troublingly quiet house (Did they sell the TV? Are power bills an issue?) is sure to make her crack, until she stumbles into a new pass time.

An older neighbor needs a lift in Chela’s father’s ancient Mercedes, and insists on paying for it. Next thing we know, Chela is an elder/Uber, serving her fellow little old ladies in their well-heeled corner of Asunción.

That’s where she meets the younger woman with no car (Ana Ivanova) who uses her service, passes the word on that service, drags her out to group lunches and regales her with intimate stories of her libidinous past.

Heavens!

Brun suggests a woman whose life has been so privileged, refined and conflict-free that she’s loathe to raise the volume, now. It’s a performance perfectly in pitch with the milieu.

The gay subtext here isn’t particularly sexual. What “The Heiresses” is caught up in the dynamic of the relationships, the possibility of blossoming and growth after decades of stagnation, the furtive thought of an affair.

None of which is really out in the open. As I say, “subtext.”

If there’s a serious flaw to Martinessi’s late-life love story it is the muted tones, the silences, the quiet flatness of conversations. There’s a little drama here, but you have to be looking for it.

The production design matches the somnambulant tone — subdued blues, underlit rooms, natural lighting in the car as Chela drives chatty neighbors and acquaintances hither and yon.

He keeps his camera on the ladies, letting us see the settings, from the emptying-out house to the just-as-quiet cafes and bars and parties. Even the karaoke is tastfully low in volume. And we never see the car from the outside, “establishing” shots always settle on faces and the rooms they’re about to enter, the drive they’re about to take.

Martinessi has made a modestly engrossing, too-too-tasteful film about older “ladies who lunch” and cope with their own form of quiet desperation. If only it had more spark, conflict, color and heat.

MPAA Rating: unrated, adult subject matter

Cast: Ana Brun, Margarita Irun, Ana Ivanova

Credits: Written and directed by Marcelo Martinessi. An 1844 Entertainment release.

Running time: 1:38

Ask anybody who tracks interest in movies via their own reviews, web traffic for a film’s trailer, etc. They’ll tell you there is zero interest in most anything opening between now and “Ad Astra” in Sept.

Paramount seemed scared of how their “Dora the Explorer” film might land at the late summer box office, suppressing reviews etc.

It’s not bad, very small kid friendly.

But will it clear $20 million? Box Office Mojo has tracking sources that say this.

With “Lion King” and a likely to fall WAY off “Hobbs & Shaw” both headed to $20-22 million weekends, that puts “Dora” in the game.

I don’t see that happening. Under $20. It has no natural audience.

I caught the lame and slow “Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark” Thursday night with a theater about 1/4 full.

Will it manage $16? Based on the kiddie horror book and Guillermo del Toro’s name on the script and producer credits?

“The Art of Racing in the Rain” was never going to clear $10 million. Soft, squishy picture, weak leads.

Nor was “The Kitchen,” empowered lady mobsters, botched script, direction and flat performances.

Both of those will do $8 million or so and have to happy with that.

“Brian Banks” is not expected to crack the top ten.

I wonder if adding theaters with “The Farewell” is going to boost this sleeper hit’s take to $3 million.

And figure “Once Upon a Time…in Hollywood” to drop to $10 or lower. Mojo has it holding much better than it did its second weekend, over $11. Maybe, with “Hobbs” fading.

https://www.boxofficemojo.com/news/?id=4535&p=.htm

Slow to get going and lame once it gets there.

I’m tempted to leave “Scary Stories to tell in the Dark” at that, because that’s about all it amounts to.

There are effects, sure, in this collection of supernatural stories about…stories.

But the framing device, kids coming across a haunted book that the town’s legendary madwoman/rich woman/witch would tell to children who came to hear her at her haunted mansion, is tepid.

The child actors playing the kids barely register, and without empathy for them, where’s the pathos?

And the tales in Sarah Bellows’ “book of stories,” which write themselves, in blood, on the page as the “terrified” kids watch, waiting to learn of their fate, are a soggy set of recycled scares that won’t frighten anyone.

I get that this supposed to be a kid friendly horror movie. But when the frights are worn out and the few attempts at jokes don’t land, what you’ve got is “Goosebumps Lite.”

Norwegian director André Øvredal is best known for “Trollhunter,” and whatever hand producer and co-writer Guillermo del Toro had in it, they’ve conjured up a movie that does neither of their heady horror reputations any favors.

It’s Halloween, 1968, in Mill Valley, Pennsylvania. Any resemblance to the Derry, Maine of Stephen King’s “IT” is purely coincidental.

Stella, Chuck and Augie (Zoe Margaret Colletti, Gabriel Rush and Austin Zajur) start the night in silly costumes pulling an epic, fecal and dangerous prank on the high school bully.

They engineer their rescue at the drive-in, slipping into the car of wandering migrant worker Ramon (Michael Garza). As a reward, they take him to the town’s haunted house, where the Bellows family ruled their paper mill empire in the last century.

That’s how they come across Sarah’s book in blood. That’s when people start dying.

The hand-written stories have titles. “Harold” is named for a local scarecrow, “The Big Toe” is about a rotting corpse searching for a missing appendage, “The Red Room” is about…you know.

The legend was, if you “ask Sarah to tell you a story, it’ll be the last story you ever hear.”

Idiotically, nobody asks her to do any such thing in the spooky house. But who cares about horror “rules” in a movie like this?

Stella (Colletti) fancies herself a story teller, and she swipes the book. Doom awaits them all.

“You don’t read the book,” Stella figures out, “the book reads you.”

The movie goes to some pains to separate the kids so that can face their fates alone.

Ghoulish scarecrows are always spooky, and it got a few hairs upright on my neck. Nothing else, though.

Gil Bellows and Dean Norris show up in underdeveloped adult bit parts. Nixon’s election plays in the background as watch warmed over horror situations (spiders spewing out of a boil, etc ) served up as if they’re the latest thing.

Whatever its pedigree — a well-known author, two established horror brand names behind the production — the most telling element of “Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark” is the release date.

August is Hollywood’s legendary dumping ground for junk it can’t unload into theaters any other month of the year. “An August film” lowers expectations, even if there are occasional hits and exceptions to that “leftovers from the summer” rule.

“Scary Stories” is no exception, isn’t scary and isn’t worth the nearly two hours it eats up.

Wait for “IT: Chapter 2.” When it comes to horror, Maine is always scarier than Pennsylvania.

MPAA Rating: PG-13 for terror/violence, disturbing images, thematic elements, language including racial epithets, and brief sexual references.

Cast: Zoe Margaret Colletti, Michael Garza, Gabriel Rush, Lorraine Toussaint, Gil Bellows and Dean Norris

Credits: Directed by André Øvredal, script by Dan and Kevin Hageman and Guillermo del Toro, based on the Alvin Schwartz novel. A CBS Films release.

Running time: 1:51

JT has this thriller, “The Fanatic,” that Fred Durst (Yeah, THAT Fred D) directed about an obsessed movie fan who crosses the line…several lines…in pursuit of an autograph from his ill-tempered, bullying idol (Devon Sawa).

A violent parable about celebrity, obsession and how easy it is to recreate Hollywood Blvd. in Birmingham, Alabama.

He’s doing mostly indie, low budget thrillers these days, oftentimes not films everybody gets a chance to see.

He was good in “Trading Paint,” the lower rung racing drama I last reviewed him in.

Better in “Gotti” than the movie.

He hit his Robert Shapiro portrayal in “American Crime Story: OJ” out of the park a couple of years back.

I’ve visited him on sets, as he lives in Florida and has filmed a few pictures here, tracked him down when he got that Golden Globe nom for “Hairspray,” chatted with him about Tarantino and about Nora Ephron’s “Michael.”

Always nice to the press.

Got a question or two for him? Comment below, and thanks for doing the heavy lifting for me.

My only question is “Dude, where in Ocala can I get that SHIRT?”