Movie Nation

Michael Winterbottom maintains his rep as Britain’s most peripatetic filmmaker with “The Wedding Guest,” a somewhat conventional kidnapping thriller that leans on some fairly predictable twists to take it from Point A to Point K.

It’s another “road” picture, but this time it isn’t a Steve Coogan/Rob Brydon “Trip.”

It’s not an adaptation, as so many of his films are — re-settings of “Tristram Shandy” or “Brief Encounter” or the works of Thomas Hardy. But as always, the director of “Welcome to Sarejevo,” “The Trip to Spain,” “The Claim” and “A Mighty Heart” finds an arresting setting, and makes the most of it.

The novelty here, as it was with his “Trishna,” is that those twists and turns take his couple-on-the-run through much of wide expanse that is the Subcontinent — India and Pakistan.

Dev Patel (“Best Exotic Marigold Hotel”) stars as a guy who stuffs his luggage with passports and flies to Lahore, Pakistan. The driver he walks up to is holding a sign for “Jay,” so we’ll call him that.

We watch him hit the rent-a-car places, renting first a Toyota, then a Honda.

We see Jay weave his way through the bazaar, little shops that can serve as tiny factories, or hardware stores (“Duct tape?”) or gun shops.

No, he doesn’t want the shiniest pistol in the case. The matte black one will do. Two.

“Jay” doesn’t speak Punjabi, but he’s here for the wedding. He’s friends with the groom. Or was it the bride? He cases the joint, finds out where everybody is sleeping, chats up the night guard.

And in the dark of night, he stages his two cars, dons black mask and gear, sneaks in and kidnaps the bride. Duct tape and pull ties, stuff her into the trunk, change cars to throw any pursuers off the trail.

Winterbottom loses himself in the travelogue detail and the logistics of how such a heist could be pulled off by a lone gunman. Motives? They become clearer the moment Jay tears the duct tape off and cuts the pull ties binding her hands.

“You know who sent me?” Samira (Radhika Apte) nods. He’s there to give her a choice, or so he says. This arranged marriage? In or out?

She’s…OUT. The London-educated Samira is being rescued by the man she loves! OK, it’s a guy PAID by the man she loves.

“How do you know Dipesh?”

“Never met him.”

“How much are you getting PAID?”

But as they wait for Dipesh (Jim Sarbh) to make the rendezvous, there are…complications. There’s more travel. There’s more to this than “love.” Or less.

Or is there?

Winterbottom gets so caught-up in putting his mismatched duo in assorted cars, buses and trains, taking them across the border into India, up and down the Subcontinent, that he barely takes the time to let them develop chemistry.

We’re treated to endless scenes of Jay locking Samira in this or that 2 star or four star hotel room, trekking out to acquire another car, more passports, to make deals and wrangle with Dipesh.

Who is, as we say in the states, “wussing out.” Or hesitating. He offhandedly remarks about how Samira is always “looking for an angle,” and Apte — a relative newcomer to Western cinema (she was in “The Ashram”) — lets us see that in Samira’s eyes.

We think she’d be panic stricken, fearful or at least wary. She never lets that show. She’s mulling over each new wrinkle, seeing which way the chips fall.

There are abrupt shifts –shortcuts — in the plot which are treated cavalierly by the screenplay, callously by the characters.

It’s the nuts and bolts Winterbottom is worried about, getting the characters and the production on the road to the next location. Patel and Apte cannot make their characters anything more than good-looking cut-outs, puppets yanked back and forth by the plot, the travel demands and unseen writer-director.

The characters connect in ways more Western than Eastern (Indian thrillers and romances are still fairly chaste), but the action is pretty lukewarm by conventional thriller standards.

“The Wedding Guest” is no “Bourne” or “Run Lola Run,” or “The Getaway.” It’s just an ambling “antic” dash through the New India, forced to deal with Indian train and bus timetables (many rental car counter scenes) and the region’s sea of humanity, “where anyone (who looks Indian or Pakistani) could get lost.”

And if that’s the case, what’s the hurry?

MPAA Rating:R for language, some violence and brief nudity

Cast: Dev Patel, Radhika Apte, Jim Sarbh

Credits: Written and directed by Michael Winterbottom. An IFC release.

Running time: 1:37

It’s already opened in a few markets, but as we’re getting it in Orlando, Focus Features has set up a screening of it. “The Mustang” looks lovely, if pretty conventional.

Don’t wait for the phone to ring, “make your own work,” actors are told. Stage a play with a part for you in it, write yourself a star vehicle and find the financing to get it filmed.

Veteran character actress Madeleine Wade took that advice, scripting a low-budget horror tale for herself, the similarly oft-cast Augie Duke and others, a picture that required just a handful of sets, limited special effects and a generous budget for fake blood.

It’s pretty bad, as a script and as an acting showcase. But if you’re reading this review, you’ve found “Blood Craft” — maybe on VOD or wherever. And if you’re hellbent on watching it, here’s what “Blood Craft” is about.

Two long-separated sisters (Wade and Duke) reunite when their hateful, heckfire and brimstone preacher pop (Dave Sheridan) dies. The film opens with Minister Hall inveighing against “the un-righteous; fornicators, drunkards, effeminate, homosexuals.”

Sisters Grace (Wade) and Serena (Duke) remembers what he was REALLY like. He beat and molested them both, lied to each about what happened to the other, thus causing their separation for years.

“Where did you go?
“What do you mean? Where did YOU go?”

Their rage (tepidly acted out) drives them to seek a solution their mother (Dominique Swain, who began her career decades ago as Adrian Lyne’s “Lolita”) taught them. German mother Hilde kept a book of spells and taught the siblings how to cast them.

“Nothing is EVER gone for good!”

As dastardly Dad is buried “right out back,” Serena has a thought. “”We can bring him back! We can make him pay!”

They will bring him back from the dead to torture and punish him for who he was and what he did. They never thought of Twitter shaming the dead. Apparently.

“Blood Craft” is a simple-enough exploitation picture, which means it has cheap frights, gratuitous gore and random sex scenes to raise the kink factor.

As we’ve already seen that Grace is a sex worker (“private dancer”), and heard titillating (That’s the intention, anyway.) tales of the incestuous nature of their abuse, we know this isn’t just about revenge, digging up Dead ol’Dad and putting him in a pentangle they draw on the floor.

“We call forth the power of air! We call forth the power of Earth! We call forth the power of water! We call forth the power of fire!”

No, there might be money hidden on the property, and the creepy kid they knew long ago, Tyler has grown up to be the county clerk (Michael Welch) who wants that money.

A couple of sequences stand out in this tedious, icky thriller.

Sheridan makes us understand how the preacher could have talked his flock out of enough money to create a scandal. He works up a fine spittle in the pulpit, smacks his head with his Bible and pleads, “Donate your conscience, save your soul!”

Grace’s troubled childhood put her at the mercy of the sex trade, as an adult — donning bustiers in a booth, dealing with pervy clients on the other side of the window, creeps with their “unreasonable” requests.

“Take your belt and CHOKE yourself!”

The kink here feels shoehorned in (ahem), nakedly pandering to the audience Wade and her director and co-writer James Cullen Bressack figure they want.

Sister on sister action? Preacher Dad “really liked it when I kissed you softly…like this.”

Wade and her cohorts took that “Make your own work” advice to heart and got their film made. Nothing’s more empowering to an actor than that.

But “Blood Craft” isn’t much to proud of, aside from that. Ineptly written, often poorly-acted and directed with little style or sense of how you build suspense, terror or even revulsion, it’s a make-work project the horror cinema could have done without.

MPAA Rating: unrated, violence (bloody torture), sex, profanity

Cast: Madeleine Wade, Augie Duke, Michael Welch, Dominique Swain

Credits:Directed by James Cullen Bressack, script by Madeleine Wade and James Cullen Bressack . A Gravitas Ventures release.

Running time: 1:35

A beloved Australian tale about a boy, his pelican and preserving and respecting nature earns a sympathetic new telling in “Storm Boy,” which could be called a remake, a reboot and a sequel all at once.

Colin Thiele’s novel was most famously filmed in 1976, but has turned up in animated form as well. The new film is structured as a long flashback, a story remembered by the old man who lived it, its lessons worth passing on to a new generation.

It’s not a thrill-a-minute piece of children’s entertainment, but winning performances by young Finn Little, by Oscar winner Geoffrey Rush as the adult “boy,” and by Trevor Jamieson and Morgana Davies, lift it.

As do the birds. It was jarring seeing “Storm Boy” on the morning after sitting through Disney’s live-action (CGI assisted) “Dumbo” remake. As we watch Finn Little and Jai Courtney (playing his father, and playing him well) interact with naked, featherless chicks and adult white pelicans, the difference between what digital critters don’t give you and the surprise and delight real ones do is a pleasant shock to the system.

The actors seem as tickled by these birds as we’re meant to be.

When you’re making a movie about children and animals, “Fly Away Home” is your template, not “Jurassic World.” “Dumbo” director Tim Burton learned that the hard way.

Rush plays a retired tycoon who has been summoned home to help his son see to a transfer of traditional farm (natural) land into hands that will develop it. Son Malcolm (Erik Thomson) has upset his teen daughter (Morgana Davies) with this decision. She’s gone into “I HATE him” mode over the whole cynical “ruin the waterways and destroy their original homelands” debacle.

It’s up to grandpa to smooth troubled waters. A storm and a taste of candy from his childhood put him in mind of a flashback. So let Maddie be late for school and the board meeting can wait. Let’s take a walk on the beach and remember “the beach I grew up on.”

It was called “Ninety Mile Beach” outside of Adelaide. That’s where young Mike (Finn Little) and his father, whom the locals nicknamed “Hideaway Tom” (Courtney) moved.

There was a tragedy that turned Dad into a hermit-like waterman, home-schooling his son, raising him on fish and whatever else he could scrounge up. So Mike grew up “cut off from the world. Then one day, the world came to me.”

It’s the 1950s, and Mike’s life is wading in the shallows and wandering among the placid flocks of white pelicans. But there’s a tug of war over this remote piece of land, a local battle between hunters and those who want to declare the place “a sanctuary…” his father tells Mike. “Who cares about a bunch of birds?”

Not the beer-swilling jerks who wander in and shoot up the place from time to time, that’s for sure. After one such massacre, Mike finds three orphaned chicks. The aboriginal man Fingerbone (Trevor Jamieson of “Rabbit-Proof Fence”) figures they’re goners. And that there’ll be a storm. Soon.

“When a pelican is killed, there’ll always be a storm.” As he and the boy debate caring for the chicks, he delivers a shorthand history lesson about this land.

“No white fellas. For thousands of years, just black fellas.”

After a bit of pre-integration wariness between Dad and Fingerbone, the men pitch in to help save the pelicans.

There’s a warmth to these DIY, making it up as they go scenes — Dad donating a scarf to keep them warm, Mike, whom Fingerbone gives the Aboriginal name “Storm Boy,” improvising a fish guts food processor with an outboard motor.

Yeah, that’s funny.

And there’s a single line that has more heart in it than the entire screenplay of “Dumbo” manages, a little boy’s whispered “please don’t die” to a living thing (three of them) he has in his care.

Australians reviewing this seem to have a little of that “doesn’t measure up to the original film” thing going, and as I have been beating up on “Dumbo” this AM, I feel their pain.

But as someone who hasn’t seen the 1976 “Storm Boy,” I can endorse this movie’s occasional flash of emotion, the clever if slightly sterile way the past and present (Rush’s character revisiting his tweenage self) are blended and the Big Action Payoff, which is both far-fetched and analog tactile.

There are real birds in these scenes, and the movie, slight as it is, is richer for it.

For old men remembering the magic of childhood and filmmakers caught up in the cinema’s digital revolution, that right there is the lesson in “Storm Boy.”

“Sometimes you forget the best thing you ever learned.”

MPAA Rating: PG for some thematic elements, mild peril and brief language

Cast: Finn Little, Jai Courtney, Geoffrey Rush, Morgana Davies, Trevor Jamieson

Credits:Directed by Shawn Seet, script by Justin Monjo, based on the Colin Thiele. A Good Deeds release.

Running time: 1:38

Gloom and doom hang over Tim Burton’s live-action (ish) remake of “Dumbo,” a classic in the Disney cartoon canon.

You knew from the source material and the trailers to this remake that he was going for a sweet, sentimental fable, tinged with sadness.

But hiring the screenwriter of “Arlington Road” and “The Ring” should have been a bigger give-away. Burton has blown up Disney’s ode to magic, misfits finding their gift and a mother’s love into a shiny but bloated, glum affair that feels “BIG EVENT” in scope, and depressingly heartless in execution.

The soaring, Disney-esque non-verbal choir oooing, ahhing and tra-la-la-ing over much of the score is the only nostalgia to it. Every other scene — of mistreated animals, parents separated from their offspring, an ancient industry in its death throes and the physical cost of war, just underscores how the “good ol’days” were nothing of the sort.

I expected Burton to make me cry. I didn’t expect him to utterly bum me out.

“Dumbo” opens in 1919, with a circus about to leave its Sarasota winter quarters for its annual tour by (digital) train. A threadbare showman, Maximilian Medici (Danny DeVito) presides, his vastly-reduced “family” of performers who are forced to handle many off-stage jobs, thanks to years of layoffs and “The Spanish Influenza.”

A father, Holt Farrier (Colin Farrell), formerly a star horse trainer/stunt rider, returns from World War I to his motherless children (Nico Parker, Finley Robbins). He lost an arm in France, the horses were sold after his wife died (the flu). And little Milly has dreams of being the next Marie Curie, or a veterinarian, not “a show-off” in the circus.

Max gives one-armed Holt the job of tending to the elephants, and shows off Mrs. Jumbo, his most prized recent purchase. She’s not performing. She’s pregnant.

And no sooner has she given birth than her baby becomes an attraction, “freak show” ears be darned.

Much of the movie is about Dumbo — as jeering, pelting audiences name him — being separated from his mother and trying to get back to her. Max sells her off.

But the kids figure out the big-eared babe has an odd reaction to feathers. He can fly. And they promise Dumbo that if he performs this feat in public, he’ll earn enough money for the circus to buy mom back.

Michael Keaton plays a New York impresario who wants Dumbo for his new theme park. Eva Green is Collette, his seemingly callous aerialist who shows a softer side when she has to work with the baby elephant.

Alan Arkin has several pointless (one laugh among them) scenes as a banker backing Dreamland, only if its new star attraction, a flying elephant, pays off.

The performances lack anything like the pluck, wit and spark they’d need to stand out and lift this. Some of that can be parked at the feet of having to act with digital animals. DeVito tries too hard for laughs, and even a dumb gimmick (having Michael Buffer, the WWE’s “Let get ready to RUMBLE” announcer, introduce Dumbo’s act) falls utterly flat.

The script’s idea of a running gag is Medici’s “rules,” which consist of only “Rule Number One: Keep the cages LOCKED.” “Rule Number One: Always have a BIG FINISH!”

This version of the story is overrun with villains, people not doing right by the animals, the kids or the basics of kindness. But none of them interesting enough to be worth hissing at.

The big “ooh” and “ahh” flying moments have a hint of magic, and the touching mother-baby stuff almost yanks a tear.

But those scenes are robbed of any payoff by the surrounding scenes, which offer no contrast — Burtonesque gloom becomes a pall that hangs over the entire enterprise.

There are half a dozen songs in the sixty-eight minute original 1941 animated film — and quite a few laughs, some of which came from the racist stereotypes playing the crows, which were never going to remain in a 2019 Disney remake. But when you strip away that, and almost all of the songs, save for the sweet, sad lullaby “Baby Mine,” and don’t replace them with anything the least bit light or funny, what are you left with?

Burton’s “Dumbo” is dark, digital and only weakly humorous. Kids may laugh at the digital Capuchin monkey who gets in Medici’s hair (and in his desk drawers, etc.) and coo at the baby elephant with the oversized ears. But the movie surrounding that is relentlessly sad, a picture that plays up the cruelty in this imaginary but sometimes too-real world.

And what the man who owes his career to Disney does to “Dreamland,” the theme park setting for the film’s final act, should have given the folks who write his checks pause.

Burton’s place within cinema culture is built on his ability to make the sad and morbid palatable, to play up the darkness in fables (“Edward Scissorhands,””The Corpse Bride”) and the gloom in what we used to call “comic” books. His “Batman” movies set the tone for the genre that has taken over the entire industry.

But in spite of that, the whimsy of “Pee Wee’s Big Adventure,” “Edward Scissorhands,””The Corpse Bride” and even his daft “Dark Shadows” and downbeat “Alice in Wonderland” still made this seem like a movie Disney could trust in his hands.

He remade it twice as long, with half the heart.

MPAA Rating: PG for peril/action, some thematic elements, and brief mild language

Cast: Colin Farrell, Danny DeVito, Nico Parker, Michael Keaton, Eva Green, Alan Arkin, Roshan Seth, Joseph Gatt

Credits:Directed by, script by Ehren Kruger , based on the Helen Aberson/Harold Pearl novel. A Walt Disney release.

Running time: 1:52

There’s almost certainly market research backing up Nickelodeon/Universal’s decision to put “Dora the Explorer” in high school, strip the “boots” off “Boots” — her digital monkey pal, and generally “Tomb Raider” the daylights out of this adorable pre-tween character, her singing map and handy talking backpack and annoying fox-villain “Swiper.”

Eva Longoria and Michael Peña are good choices for the parents. Benicio Del Toro is Swiper in this version. Not a fox, which is fine.

Isabel Moner of “Instant Family” is plucky, but 18 — ready for teen magazines, a record deal (if she doesn’t have one already) and unwanted tabloid attention (at least in today’s culture).

This trailer grates in its wrong-headedness. She’s too old, the whole set-up is too grown up. There’s no childish magic, childish innocence or childish childishness to this Aug. 2 release.

The one nod in that direction is casting Eugenio Derbez, who sets a different tone (overly dramatic adult in a child’s “action” adventure) and I think, the right one.

Younger Dora, younger kids around her, take teen/tween pinup appeal out of your decision making and maybe you can do right by an admittedly infantile TV show, but one which little kids just loved.

Yeah, looking forward to this one. Tim Burton’s hit or miss recent track record be darned.

I say, not very sporting, wot wot?

Calling your movie “Pet Graveyard” when it has nothing to do with pets, and barely visits the graveyard, or as the neighborhood kids misspelled it to Stephen King, “Sematary?” That’s not cricket.

But here stands “Pet Graveyard,” a limp, limey “Flatliners” with nothing but a misleading title to connect it to the latest remake of Mr. King’s work to trot into theaters. Shameless. Cheap, not really scary, but “shameless” is what stands out about this British production.

There’s this young guy, Jeff (David Cotter) who is feeding traffic to his daredevil vlog by taking the occasional daft risk.

And he’s heard about this thing, “brinking,” which the Brits think means taking your life long enough to commune with the dead, which he wants to try out.

Judging by his accent, Jeff and his nurse-in-training sister Lily (Jessica O’Toole) are Americans, living in the UK. That doesn’t explain how they don’t know “brinking” has a different definition here in the states.

He’s got other folks interested in this process, and he figures they can make a joint journey to the afterlife and he’ll get at least the “died and passed on” part of that on video for this vlog. He’s also got it in his head that he can finally “say goodbye” to his dead mother in the process.

It’ll be “safe,” he’s sure. “Worst case, we just get woken up,” re reassures Zara (Rita Siddiqui) and Francis (Hindolo Koroma).

The “waking up” part will be handled by sister Lily. As we’ve just seen her urged, by her faculty advisor, to “take a gap year” because maybe nursing isn’t for her, there are flaws in Jeff’s plan.

But Francis is torn by guilt over the girlfriend who died when he was behind the wheel, and Zara mourns the brother who died when they were little. So it’s off to an empty church with sheets of clear plastic to suffocate themselves with. Nothing to it, right?

Right. Egg timers at the ready, because we don’t want them staying “dead” too long.

The suffocating requires “help” and those scenes are the creepiest thing director Rebecca J. Matthews manages here.

The “afterlife,” a pool of blackness where the living reconnect with lost loved ones, only to see a tall dude in the worst “Mr. Death/Devil/Demon” costume (robe) in the bargain, isn’t much.

And the creepy hairless cat who is a harbinger of death and perhaps Old Scratch in another form is just here to make that “Pet Sematary” connection.

Which feels like an after thought.

The ritual that they recite before “dying” is Ouija board silly.

“The powers that see, the powers that be…let us cross over in peace and return in light.”

And the dead? They’re not the most articulate at expressing what life in the hereafter is anything worth coming after.

“It’s always dark here…I’m always alone. Are you staying?”

The disasters that befall our quartet when the dead follow the living back from “the other side” are predictable and fail to frighten on any level.

But maybe somebody will see this offered, video on demand, and forget the “REAL” title and that’s what they had in mind, if not all along, at least once they realized “Pet Sematary” was coming out in early April, too.

MPAA Rating: unrated, bloody violence, profanity

Cast: Rita Siddiqui, Jessica O’Toole, David Cotter, Hindolo Koroma

Credits:Directed by Rebecca Matthews, script by Suzy Spade. An Uncork’d release.

Running time: 1:38

This Indian melodrama and dance fantasia opens April 19. The trailer doesn’t give much away, save for the dance, the setting and the fact that “His Father’s Voice” is in English.

They still eat spaghetti in Italia. And they still make Westerns, though not like in the old “spaghetti Western” days — not with horses, six guns and Sergio Leone theme songs.

“Dogman” is a grim to the point of bleak tale of Italy built on classic Western tropes. A little man is beaten down by the bully who terrorizes his town, ostracized, humiliated. In the Old West, Marcello (Marcello Fonte) would have gotten his gun. What remedies does a man of modern Italy have? Italian justice? That’s an punchline laughed at the world over.

The director of director of “Gomorrah” and “Tale of Tales” (Matteo Garrone) paints a frustrating, harrowing portrait of violent intimidation and the price one pays living under it. We can sense what’s coming, but there’s no guarantee Garrone will give it to us.

Marcello is homely, short, nasal-voiced and vulpine, a 30something dog sitter, dog groomer and animal lover.

“Dogman” is the name of the window of his shop of this run-down coastal town (Castel Volturno, Villaggio Coppola, Caserta). And as we watch his coo and calm a vicious and perhaps frightened pit bull into accepting a bath, it seems apt.

He whistles “Amore!” (“sweetie pie”) at every dog he sees and dotes over the one he lives with and the dogs in his care.

“Everyone in the neighborhood likes me,” he says. “That’s important to me.”

Yeah, he’s a pushover. The other shopkeepers, who play soccer with him, tolerate him but have limits to the respect they give him. He doesn’t merit a second thought.

His sweet little girl (Alida Baldari Calabria) helps dad with his grooming business, feeds him pointers at groomer contests, and loves scuba diving. Divorced dad lets her decide what expensive diving location he must pay for next.

Dog boarding and dog grooming won’t be enough for the Maldives. It’s a good thing he deals a little coke on the side.

But Marcello, like everyone else here, lives under a cloud, a hulking impulsive brute named Simone (Edoardo Pesce, perfectly cast as a brooding behemoth). And the little man’s years of placating the town’s “Mad Dog” with arm-twisted “favors,” saying “Yes” after insisting, pleading and begging to say “No,” and with cocaine, haven’t exactly paid off.

He’s still bullied into driving Simone and a pal to a robbery, still forced to surrender cocaine whenever Simone insists he give it up.

Marcello may realize he’s a victim, but he’s slow to embrace how ridiculous and small Simone makes him. When his soccer buddies suggest hiring somebody to take care of this “problem,” he’s silent. When Simone flips out on his coke supplier, Marcello is complicit. When Simone is hurt, Marcello tends to him.

That’s got to be worth something, right? He’s a “friend,” right?

Garrone makes wonderful use of his diminutive leading man (best known for the film “Asino vola”), and Fonte manages to be both empathetic and pathetic here. The director/co-writer sketches in the moral code of this story in shades of grey. Yes, Marcello cowers. He tries to do the right thing, saving a dog that the robbers joke about stuffing in a freezer.

But unlike your classic Western “hero,” Marcello has few options and no simplistic recourse at his disposal. This is what a kind man trapped on the horns of this ancient  dilemma in modern times looks like — lost.

Garrone makes us see that when head-butting might exists without legal restraint, might makes right. It’s not cowardice if you have know for a fact and have plenty of evidence that you’re facing physical injury or death for resisting.

The town has a stark, worn beauty about it — half-abandoned boats, apartment blocks that haven’t been maintained, living space without landscaping or decorating.

And  trapped within it, losing his place within it with every shove against the wall, every thuggish demand, is a tiny, simple man with ever-diminishing options.

MPAA Rating: unrated, graphic violence, drug abuse

Cast: Marcello Fonte, Edoardo Pesce, Adamo Dionisi, Alida Baldari Calabria

Credits:Directed by Matteo Garrone, script by Ugo Chiti, Matteo Garrone and Massimo Gaudioso. A Magnolia release.

Running time: 1:43