Movie Nation

“Desolate” describes the setting, an American Southwest even drier and more lawless than it is today.

“Desolate” is what we get when climate change has killed off farming, chased away those with options and left only the desperate, law-unto-themselves clans and criminals in the vast arid vistas.

And “Desolate” is a lean thriller set in that apocalyptic not-that-distant future, a world where, as our narrator/hero Billy (Will Brittain) intones, it didn’t take long “for us to turn on each other. Oh how we did.”

“Around here, people either get erased or forgotten.”

This Hell, of blood feuds, violence, sex trafficking and despair?

“We did this to ourselves,” Billy says, farm country ruined by those who farmed it and the politicians who convinced them there was no such thing as climate change.

The Stones are among the holdouts, and when one of their number is murdered by the neighboring Turners, the patriarch (James Russo) has one order for the surviving Stone Brothers (Brittain, Bill Tangradi, Tyson Ritter and actor/screenwriter Jonathan Rosenthal).

“You ride off tomorrow, and you don’t come back here until every Turner’s dead.”

Since this is an Old West turned New West, hurtling towards that “Road Warrior” Armageddon, the boys roll off on dirt bikes.

You ride as far as the little gas that’s left will take you. Vengeance is as quick as fingers can pull triggers. But the Stones stumble across what Turners were up to, kidnapping women, selling them into sex slavery, stashing the cash in “stash houses” and brothels.

The boys decide that revenge is not enough. Since greenbacks are “the last green thing we’re every gonna see in this field,” they set out to get the cash they need to escape.

But Billy has his girl (Natasha Bassett) to get back to, and the deepest grudge of all against the old man. We’ve seen him punished by their sadistic hardcase of a father, who figures if you spare the branding iron, you spoil the child. He’s not all-in on this quest.

And when he’s shot by the (Asian stereotype) sex slavers, the others leave him to his fate.

The opening quest should be more interesting than it is, and the ensuing huntdown — by the heavily-armed traffickers — is repeatedly interrupted for bits of brother-on-brother betrayal and little tastes of this future Wild West where a shootout with a blitzed “Meth Cooker” who quotes “Carlito’s Way” because “I based my life on that movie” is just another way station on The Hero’s Journey.

Screenwriters. Can’t make a movie without’em, can’t shake sense into’em to save your life.

There are kidnappings and firearm “accidents,” hardscrabble transactions over cars, women, etc. and a hero’s helper (veteran character actor Callan Mulvey) with mysterious motives.

Director and co-writer Frederick Cipoletti has cooked up a gritty B-movie with lots of incidents, action and characters, that spills a lot of blood in the dust of the land where it no longer rains.

For all the hitches and starts in the narrative, I found it reasonably entertaining — with solid motivations for characters, even if those characters, to a one, lack urgency, and well-staged shootouts and chases and such.

Brittain, of “Everybody Wants Some” and the recent “Neanderthal Boy” drama “William,” isn’t given scenes that create a full arc — pacifist brother to crazed avenger hunting for his kidnapped girlfriend — for the character. Mulvey is much better at doing a lot with a little, as far as the written form of his character goes.

“Desolate” is about two plot twists too complicated for its own good. And really, why cling to the Asian Sex Trafficker movie stereotype, when the only people crazy enough to stay behind in a land where nothing grows are those tied to the land?

Still, there’s talent here, and style. Cipoletti, a producer and sometime actor turned director, creates a world and fills it with visceral violence and keeps his characters on the move and fast on the trigger.

He ensures that “Desolate” holds our attention up until a finale that is pretty much its undoing.

MPAA Rating: unrated, graphic violence, drug abuse, sexual situations

Cast: Will Brittain, Callan Mulvey, Tyson Ritter, Natasha Bassett, James Russo, Bill Tangradi

Credits: Frederick Cipoletti, script by Frederick Cipoletti, Jonathan Rosenthal.  An Uncork’d Entertainment release.

Running time: 1:28

Yeah, he did the drugs, yeah he rubbed everybody he ever worked with the wrong way.

Musician, master of close vocal harmony, egomaniac, jerk, lucky by association, Hall of Famer.

If David Cosby can own up to the insufferable a-hole he’s been at times, what is Neil Young’s excuse? I mean, Jonathan Demme did half a dozen Neil docs and never got at the prick everybody says he is.

Espionage, betrayal, mistrust all around in this tale of an Israeli Mossad recruit from the director of “Bethlehem.”

She voiced the singing swimmer in the Disney animated classic “The Little Mermaid,” based on the fairy tale by Hans Christian Anderson. And she’s perfectly cool with casting a young singing sensation and great beauty in the role. Halle Bailey is black? So what? Be like Jodi.

And if Rob Marshall REALLY wants to mess with expectations, he should cast a Jonas Brother as Sebastian. And keep the character’s Jamaican accent.
https://t.co/XMfdMcBLkw https://twitter.com/EW/status/1148472008692379648?s=17

It’s a big budget heist picture that Universal was going to produce, but Netflix dinged its bottom line for it.

Doesn’t seem like a natural fit for Netflix. They do well with intimate pictures, rom coms and more modest budgeted pieces. This has “Spectacle” about it. Too big?

https://deadline.com/2019/07/dwayne-johnson-gal-gadot-ryan-reynolds-red-notice-netflix-rawson-marshall-thurber-1202643002/

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Labor activists and just plain working folks might look with envy overseas, to France, where work weeks are shorter and life can be better when unions battle management.

The truth, as recreated in the new film from Stéphane Brizé (“The Measure of a Man”), is grimmer and grittier, drawn-out. Where foreign news media might summarize the final score of a strike, who won and who lost, the battle itself is harrowing, fraying and exhausting.

That’s what the docudrama “En Guerre” (“At War”) captures. It’s a gripping and glum account of the ebb and flow of a strike in an era when all the power lies with management, and too much of the media sympathy lies with ownership — stockholders.

Vincent Lindon of “The Apparition” and “The Measure of a Man” stars as Laurent Amédéo, a working man and union rep fighting for his and the 1100 other jobs that will be lost when a German-owned auto-parts conglomerate closes their factory in high-unemployment Agen.

The 60ish Lindon has to get across the wearying nature of the struggle, the energy burned in combative union meetings, trying to keep the workers united, and in arduous negotiations with a company that will not be swayed from closing the factory by reason, economics, government pleading or the courts.

Le Perrin Industries is still making a profit, just not enough to prop up the big dividends that they keep handing out. Two years of labor concessions later, they’re pulling the plug.

Laurent and Mélanie Rover and their team go round and round with the plant’s manager (Jacques Borderie), trying to get them to honor their five year commitment, agreed to when concessions were given by labor.

No dice.

But Laurent has absorbed the words of the film’s opening title, (in French, with English subtitles) “Whoever fights, can lose. Whoever does not fight has already lost.”

“At War” follows this struggle for months, through losses of faith, fractures in the “united front” of workers, through scrums with riot police and factory takeovers and workers unloading on a government that always acts in the best interests of business.

Several players in the drama are not actors and use their real names, but that doesn’t lessen the impact of the crocodile tears that Borderie, actually an elected official, cries when he assures Laurent and Mélanie (actually a welder) and their team that “It’s not workers against bosses any more. We’re all in the same boat.”

Other “suits” declare, “”That grief that you feel, we managers feel it too.”

But Laurent and Melanie are testy and firm — “We kept our word,” she says. “You keep yours.”

They gave up millions in added labor and lost bonuses to allow the company to thrive, but that cash was paid out in stock dividends and management pay, or so the workers see it.

Their contract is binding only until the company decides to bail out of it, the French courts rule. And damned if the president doesn’t figure that getting involved “would be counter-productive.”

We never hear “Thoughts and prayers,” or see it in the subtitles. But you can feel it.

Brizé intercuts the bracing debates with TV report point-of-view footage of the workers marching, manning picket lines, taking over headquarters and bickering over strategy as the weeks become months and stout hearts waver.

A pulsing electronic score paces these scenes, and Brizé parks his camera halfway behind pillars or other figures, giving “At War” the feel of footage grabbed on the fly and on the sly, as this battle unfolds.

The union leaders try to correct violent extremes in each others’ behavior, but there’s desperation in every talking-over-each-other shouting match.

The factions that break out deride Laurent for “prancing on the evening news,” but when they start to cave in, he spits his own accusations and warnings back at them.

“You’ve got a shovel to dig your own grave!”

There’s energy and pace in this film, despite the fact that it’s mostly talk, conversations carried out at a shout.

Plodding along — despairing — as it does, “At War” wearies the viewer much as the activists themselves are worn down. But that’s the idea. We can talk the “Stay strong, stay together” talk all we want, but until you’ve been faced with ruin, a gutted future and a desperate present, you just won’t know.

When the inevitable eruption comes, we can only shake our heads and wonder if that kind of direct consequences for callous, mercenary corporate behavior, would have any impact in the U.S.

Maybe, “At War” dares us to consider, the “fight” is all we have left, even if the war itself is lost.

MPAA Rating: unrated, violence, profanity

Cast: Vincent Lindon, Melanie Rover, Jacques Borderie, David Rey, Olivier Lemaire

Credits: Directed by Stéphane Brizé, script by Stéphane Brizé, Olivier Gorce.

A Cinema Libre release.

Running time: 1:54

This French drama, from the director of “The Measure of a Man,” is about a strike — the breakdown in negotiations that lead to it — opens in limited release July 19 and 26.

A movie about working people struggling in an era when all power, political and economic, is in the hands of corporations and their stockholders.

In an alternate, perhaps more just universe, the career of deadpan comic Marc Maron might have been just a tad less quixotic.

A hit sitcom (not this) or long-running chat show hosting gig, a movie here and there, a household name without having to labor through years of failures and a last-ditch podcast taped in his garage.

But that Marc Maron might never have filmed the dopey, double-down deadpan “Sword of Trust,” a no budget farce filmed in Birmingham, Alabama. He might never have swapped testy banter with Michaela Watkins and Jillian Bell, or been upstaged by the hilarious Toby Huss.

He might never have starred on THE indie comedy of the summer.

“Sword” is an oddball deep dive into a Deep South that has gotten over some things, and not gotten over too many others. It’s about legacy, family, the responsibility of true love and the bitter aftertaste “The War of Northern Aggression” has left with a few too many “Duck Dynasty” types.

The characters feel real, the situations not that-far-fetched, and the dialogue has the halting, fresh-picked life of improvisation, a tribute to the script by “mumblecore” mistress Lynn Shelton, who also directed, and Michael Patrick O’Brien of “Saturday Night Live.”

No lie, it is laugh out loud funny.

Maron plays Mel, longtime proprietor of Delta Pawn. He seems honest, which in his profession, is half the battle.

“What, you gonna try and sell this yourself? They’re used,” he tells a customer pawning some fancy boots. “You need the money.”

“You’re not screwing me?” the guy wants to know.

“Not screwing you.”

Well, maybe.

Mel’s weathered, world-weary true colors come through via later visitors to the shop. There’s Deirdre (director/co-writer Shelton), a 40ish waif and “poet” who has “AA” written all over her, and of course needs money. They have history, but that isn’t going to sway Mel.

“Swear to God, I’m good for it.”

“You’re NOT good for it.”

“It’s not what you think.”

“Isn’t it?”

And then there’s Cynthia and Mary, who show up with a Civil War (“War of Northern Aggression”) sword.

It’s all Cynthia’s (Jillian Bell of “Office Christmas Party,” “The Night Before” and TV’s “Supermansion”) granddad left her. That, and a long, demented rambling letter and this odd certificate “authenticating” the sword.

It belonged to General Sherman. Or Sheridan. It was surrendered by said Union general at Chickamauga. Or Chickabogga. Something like that.

Mel’s lowball offer, “story, or no story,” won’t do, as Cynthia and Mary are sure it’s worth more, even if they’re not quite down the rabbit hole of the “true believers,” those “Invictusians” in search of the “truth” about how that war some Southerners will only call “The Late Unpleasantness” turned out.

A little Youtube searching by Mel’s otherwise-useless assistant (Jon Bass) convinces him that maybe he needs to up his offer.

“Is this ‘Antiques Road Show for Racists?'”

That leads to a very reluctant partnership. And that’s when good ol’boy Hog Jaw (Huss) shows up and drawls, cusses and struggles mightily against the redneck stereotype that he most certainly is. “Think I was born yesterday?” he says, hearing their “story,” wading through the BS as they inadvertently verify what he firmly believes is history’s attempt to “erode away the real truth” about The War.

That’s about all that’s quotable from Hog Jaw in a profanity-averse review. But suffice it to say, every F-bomb, menacing shrug and look of “You stupid Yankee” befuddlement, every smeared diphthong, or El Camino motor-revving that emanates from Hog Jaw’s ball-capped self is a hoot.

Mel’s “Let’s take these suckers for all they’ve got” strategy starts to seem more dangerous than any other transaction with bearded, belligerent rednecks he’s ever taken part in.

And the ladies? They’re a couple, and they insist on coming along to every drug-dealer styled “meet” the Invictusians and their Big Boss (Dan Bakkedahl ) ordain.

A hallmark of the “mumblecore” movement in indie cinema is the sparkling, quasi-improvised wit of the characters, mouthy “Comfy Chair” fans of “Humpday” (an earlier Shelton film) who talk and talk and talk, and amuse most every time they open their mouths.

Maron handles the style with ease, but Watkins is a damned virtuoso of bitchy banter, making us believe Mary, Cynthia’s life partner, is “not angry with you. You just sort of rub me the wrong way.”

The plot here is a means to an end, adding a layer of Southern social commentary to a comedy about a culture that’s filled with liars and frauds who prey not just on the gullible, the “willing to believe,” but on each other.

Maron, Watkins, Bell, Bakkedahl and especially Huss make everybody in this world as recognizable as that nutty neighbor or Flat Earth uncle we all know and roll our eyes at. And they let us laugh at them.

MPAA Rating: R for language throughout.

Cast: Marc Maron, Jillian Bell, Michaela Watkins, Jon Bass

Credits: Directed by Lynn Shelton, script by Lynn Shelton and Michael Patrick O’Brien. An IFC release.

Running time: 1:29

He’s often said he’d like to do eight or nine did he’s proud of, and then hang it up. We’ve been assuming hel’ll finish that promise with a “Star Trek” or some such final film that he has bandied about, publicly. Now he’s suggesting, “Maybe this is it.’ That’s how The Hollywood Reporter is taking it, anyway.

I think there are already lawyers involved in the “Star Trek’ talk, so I am calling BS on THR’s spin. What Tarantino really wants, as we saw at Cannes, is to be immunized against criticism.

https://www.hollywoodreporter.com/heat-vision/tarantino-suggests-once-a-time-hollywood-may-be-final-film-1222491