CRIMES OF THE FUTURE

Directing: C+
Acting: B
Writing: C-
Cinematography: B
Editing: B-
Special Effects: C

I don’t think David Cronenberg has a plausible grasp on what evolution really is. In his mind, it’s connected to the idea that a little boy could wind up with the ability to digest plastic, and so he treats us with an opening sequence in which said boy is literally eating a plastic wastebasket.

I have a very simple understanding of evolution, but even I know that it’s not an active process, but a passive one: it’s about elimination, the disappearance of traits that are no longer useful, thereby allowing the surviving useful traits to flourish. In the world of Cronenberg’s Crimes of the Future, from a script he first wrote in the nineties and which still feels like it’s from that era, human bodies have begun randomly generating new organs with no known function. They have also stopped getting infections (one character marvels at how no one ever washes their hands anymore, blech), and people’s pain tolerance has skyrocketed, resulting in a trend of sort of sensual body mutilation just to get to the point of feeling something. And from an evolutionary perspective—ostensibly the perspective this film takes—absolutely none of that makes any sense whatsoever.

Science fiction works best when you can easily draw a logical line from what is known currently to the future being depicted—that is, when it has a sound scientific starting point. This was why Stanley Kubrick’s 1968 film 2001: A Space Odyssey still wows audiences, and even why Ridley Scott’s Blade Runner still impresses. These depictions of a then-far future have anchors in the real worlds in which they were created. Crimes of the Future does not. Instead, it’s far more concerned with “body horror” wrapped in a cocoon of pretensions, the kind with which self-serious “art film aficionados” might have a heyday.

In terms of credit, I’ll give Cronenberg this much: he knows how to establish and maintain tone. Granted, his score composer on this film, Howard Shore, is doing much of the heavy lifting for him on this front. It’s only due to his synth-heavy, “haunting” score that an otherwise innocuous shot of a little boy milling about the beach is telegraphed as ominous. And not for nothing, but that score has its own echoes of Vangelis’s far superior score for Blade Runner.

Furthermore, Cronenberg is on record as having an incredibly hands-off approach to directing his actors, and it shows. He must have given them all one consistent note, though: everybody speak in halting, hushed tones! His “future” here is curiously unpopulated, the rare exterior shots depicting derelict, graffiti-riddled buildings on mostly empty streets. Yet, at the performance art events put on by the lead characters, Saul (Viggo Mortensen) and Caprice (Léa Seydoux), in which Caprice uses a repurposed old autopsy machine to extract his useless organs for a live audience, the audiences tend to be packed, all of them holding up recording devices of varying design (curiously, all of them a bit bulkier than one might imagine). But never noisy—they stand in rapt, silent attention.

There’s one exchange of dialogue I particularly liked. Saul says: “She said sex is surgery.” Caprice corrects him: “She said surgery is the new sex.” The latter is the basic premise of this film, but I’m much more interested in the implications of the former as an idea. I want someone to flesh out a sensual film from that idea. Maybe not David Cronenberg.

Trying and failing to find something of lasting interest in there.

Overall: C+

FIRE ISLAND

Directing: B
Acting: B
Writing: B+
Cinematography: B
Editing: B+

There’s a lot to love about Fire Island, this year’s first major “Pride Month Movie” release, streaming on Hulu since its release yesterday (June 3), and most of it has to do with representation. Written by and starring comedian Joel Kim Booster, and co-starring viral sensation and SNL cast member Bowen Yang, this is a movie clearly aimed to be a “mainstream release,” itself no longer unusual for a story focused on queer people—what sets it apart is its unapologetically plausible and realistic representation. This is definitively not a “family-friendly” movie, and not because it happens to be about a group of gay friends, but because it includes frank depictions of gay sex and casual drug use.

To be clear, though, the overall plot is surprisingly chaste, largely because it’s a modern adaptation of Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice—very much in the vein of the classic 1994 high school adaptation of Emma that was Clueless. Granted, Fire Island has no chance of becoming the cult classic that Clueless did, but that’s just because of how much the movie industry has changed in the past thirty years.

Anyway, the casual observer might be forgiven for thinking the story is only about Howie (Bowen Yang), and his sweet, budding relationship with Charlie (James Scully), initially at the behest of Howie’s best friend Noah (Booster), who is so intent on getting Howie laid on an annual friends-group trip to Fire Island that he’s committed to not having sex with anyone himself until it happens. But, Charlie’s own group of friends are a much wealthier group, who overall rub Noah the wrong way, particularly a lawyer named Will (Conrad Ricamora), who Noah quickly writes off as a snob, responding in ways that only increase tension between them. Spoiler alert! By the end, this movie becomes just as much about the predictable trajectory of the slowly evolving relationship between Noah and Will.

If you are at all familiar with Pride and Prejudice, identifying which characters parallel those from the novel becomes a fun game. Noah is narrator Elizabeth; Will is Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy; Howie is Elizabeth’s sister Jane; Charlie is Jane’s love interest Charles Bingley. The diverse group of friends along the ride with Noah and Howie are, broadly speaking, the Bennet sisters.

The overall plot points of Fire Island do hew incredibly close to those of the novel, which is why, for instance, most of the time none of the aforementioned sex is ever centered in the plot. Noah and Will spend most of the story annoyed with each other, and Howie and Charlie spend most of it innocently getting to know each other. The unusual frankness comes in as background, sometimes as part of a punch line, such as when Noah crashes a bedroom orgy while looking for Howie, and all the guys stop their fucking just quickly enough to look around politely to see if there’s a Howie in the room. There is another scene in which Noah takes a potential hookup into a back room also filled with sex at a party, and yet another in which the group of friends are taking stock of their relatively pathetic collective stash of recreational drugs.

The great thing about all these details is just this: none of it is ever looked upon with judgment. It’s just, part of these gay guys’ world, secondary background details that they may or may not partake in depending on the circumstances or the mood. There is no self-loathing to be had in this movie, at least not as a result of one’s sexuality (they do discuss body image issues, in some cases in a way that’s a bit of a stretch, considering the conventional fitness of many of these guys who apparently feel out of place on Fire Island). There’s no tragic subplot about addiction, and there’s no hand-wringing or grappling with homophobia, a fact made easy by the convenient setting in one of the nation’s few small-town gay utopias. This story could just have easily been set in Provincetown or Key West.

All that said, if you strip away all these trappings that set Fire Island apart, and look strictly at its simple plot arc, as well as most of it’s dialogue, and it’s reduced to something little more than adequate. I can’t quite call this film “exceptional,” much as I really would love to. If I had my wish, it would be something with the staying power of The Birdcage, just without the conservative judgmentalism used for punchlines. Fire Isand could have been a great movie about gay guys on vacation, or it could have been a great modern adaptation of Pride and Prejudice, but apparently it can’t be a great combination of both.

Don’t get me wrong, though: I still thought it was a fun, worthwhile way to spend a couple of hours at home. I might even have enjoyed seeing this in theaters. That said, the “house mother” who owns the place this group of friends goes to every year is played by Margaret Cho, whose comic talents are criminally underused and whose presence seems only to serve as “gay icon cred.” And although the guys who round out Noah’s and Howie’s group of friends are diverse in both ethnicity and—critically—body type, their existence as a bunch of flamboyant femmes seems a little too amped up at times. This is a movie clearly meant to feel unusually grounded, but then at times the wrong “camp knobs” seem to get cranked up to 11. At least Will is unusually quiet and reserved—elements that are used by Noah to judge him.

It’s wonderful to see a movie like this, not just made by and about gay people, but gay people of color: the director is Andrew Ahn, whose short film First Birthday was made as a means of coming out to his Korean parents. I’ve been a fan of Joel Kim Booster as a comedian for a short while (ditto Bowen Yang, but given his rising fame that’s less surprising), and I do think he has talent. But, this script focuses more on the Pride and Prejudice angle than on the humor that could have been added; it did make me laugh several times, but the script still could have used some punching up. It could be argued, actually, that the whole Pride and Prejudice thing is more of a distraction than it needs to be, and the movie would have been better served just as a wholly original story about gay friends on Fire Island.

This is the movie we got, though, and it still works for what it is, and the significance of what its very existence represents cannot be overstated. The more broadly the queer community sees themselves in film, and the more films are made with that in mind, the better off we’ll all be.

You’ll have a generally good time.

Overall: B

TOP GUN: MAVERICK

Directing: B+
Acting: B
Writing: B
Cinematography: A-
Editing: B+

There was a time when a sequel produced three decades after the original was a transparent cash grab easily predicted to fall on its face. Think 1998’s The Odd Couple II . Or better yet, don’t: some classic movies are better left to stand on their own. On the other hand, given the right production team, maybe even that sequel could have been made better today. In the right hands, Hollywood has the means to be far more sophisticated these days.

Such is the case with Top Gun: Maverick, a sequel 36 years in the making, and an objectively, notably superior film to the original. You don’t have to re-watch 1986’s Top Gun to fully appreciate Maverick, but it helps; it also demonstrates how the original film only barely holds up. It’s easier to imagine how novel it was three and a half decades ago, and thus how exciting and massively successful it was. But, the plot is exceedingly simple, serving mostly as (wildly successful) military propaganda.

The same could be said of this new film—and it does seem strange for me to admit how much I truly enjoyed 130 minutes of military propaganda. But, Tom Cruise’s star power cannot be denied, nor can the fact that movie stars of this sort are a dying breed. No one under the age of fifty these days falls in the same category. In a long career of countless massive hits, Tom Cruise is arguably still best known for this role as Navy pilot Maverick, and this film expertly trades on that nostalgia.

Credit must be given to director Joseph Kosinski (whose resume includes lesser fare like Oblivion, also starring Cruise), a team of writers including Christopher McQuarrie (The Usual Suspects, Edge of Tomorrow), and a team of producers including Cruise himself, for how deftly it’s done. Top Gun Maverick hits all the right beats, is expertly paced, has spectacular action sequences but is not over-stuffed with them, and even features an appropriately affectionate scene with long-ailing Val Kilmer. For fans of Top Gun, or even fans of Tom Cruise, this movie has just about anything you could ask for. One might consider Jennifer Connelly as one of only two female parts and as Maverick’s love interest to be extraneous, but I’m just happy to see an age-appropriate relationship (Cruise is 59, Connelly is 51).

Most crucially, and surprisingly, I would place Top Gun: Maverick in the same class as Mad Max Fury Road (2015), an action movie I adored because of its stunningly achieved practical stunts, with very minimal use of CGI effects. The same is the case with Maverick: the jet flight sequences were all shot inside and around real planes actually flying. The difference from what this film would have looked like shot mostly against green screens is striking, and the massive amount of work put into getting the footage proves it. The actors themselves got pilot licenses, and although they usually flew in the planes with another pilot, they were always in those planes, in the air.

Just like the previous film, the “enemy” they are up against—in this case, a uranium plant under construction in a “rogue state” strategically located to be very difficult to hit—is never named, for transparently political and particularly economic reasons: they don’t want to alienate any country where they could rake in box office revenues. In years past I might have been more cynical about this than I seem to be now. I get it. Plus, the vagueness of this “enemy” keeps the focus on the pilot characters themselves and off of any other particular nation. It may seem ironic for a movie so blatantly celebratory of a military branch, but it’s really the only way the film can work, particularly for a broad audience. This film’s massive box office take thus far bears that out.

Cruise and Kilmer are the only characters who return this time out, although Miles Teller is exceedingly well cast as “Rooster,” the resentful son of “Goose,” Maverick’s friend who (spoiler alert!) died in the previous film. Teller has arguably never disappeared so well into a role, thanks to an effective combination of a mustache much like Anthony Edwards’s had been, and a stunningly ripped physique. (That physique is displayed by most of the men filling out the “Top Gun” class this time out—with one woman, and whether that’s tokenism is up for you to decide—and yes, it’s all once again showcased in a shirtless sports montage, this time playing football on the beach.)

There remains a lot of angles by which one could criticize Top Gun: Maverick, but mileage will certainly vary. I was so genuinely entertained by it, I’m not much inclined to complain. I would hesitate to say this film has any particular point of view beyond “flying fighter jets is cool and fun,” which is very much to its benefit. It’s easily enjoyed by people of all walks of life, an increasingly difficult thing to pull off. I found its action and suspense so well executed, easily more so than its predecessor, that I will likely see it again.

The few. The proud. The actors.

Overall: B+

CHIP 'N DALE: RESCUE RANGERS

Directing: B-
Acting: B+
Writing: B-
Cinematography: B
Editing: B-
Animation: B

I went back and forth as to whether I would even review this movie, my reaction to it was so . . . lackluster. I daresay I was disappointed, but that’s not entirely the movie’s fault: I let people whose opinions I respect convince me to expect something far better than it was.

The common comparison is to Who Framed Roger Rabbit?, the groundbreaking film blending live action and animation in 1988, now a marvel also because of its unique blend of both Warner Brothers and Disney cartoon properties. Chip ‘n Dale: Rescue Rangers is also packed with cultural references, not all of them Disney—but I didn’t notice any Warner Brothers cartoons.

I even heard someone call this movie a new “classic,” and that was really what finally cinched my decision to fire up Disney+ and watch it. A “classic,” this movie is not. If you want to see what a classic really is, just watch Who Framed Roger Rabbit?, right there on that same streamer. It’s a far, far superior film. Not only that, but it’s a period piece and it holds up: that film could have been released today and it still would have impressed.

Plus, it’s packed with both verbal and visual gags that are far quicker and far smarter than the ones peppered in Chip ‘n Dale. To be fair, the original Chip ‘n Dale: Rescue Rangers TV show that ran on the Disney Channel from 1989 to 1990 was not something I ever saw, and nostalgic fans of the show will likely delight in this film and how it trades on that nostalgia. I can understand that much, and appreciate the conceit in this film, in which the characters are the chipmunk actors who played Chip ‘n Dale in the TV show over thirty years ago, and are now a bit washed up. Chip (John Mulaney) works as an insurance agent (“Coercive Insurance” being one of my favorite subtle gags). Dale (Andy Samberg) is attending fan conventions to sign autographs—something that provides ample opportunity for the presence of many other kids’ programming character cameos.

Their friend and former coworker Monterey Jack (Eric Bana) finds himself kidnapped by a shady organization that alters cartoon characters for the purpose of overseas bootlegging, itself a running gag that runs kind of stale, and thus the estranged Chip and Dale reteam in order to attempt a real-life rescue.

It should be noted that the Chip and Dale characters speak with regular voices, not the high-pitched, sped-up voices of their “characters.” This film is filled with meta jokes about “making it” in Hollywood (or not), as well as the seedy side, and has some surprisingly adult jokes that little kids won’t understand: “Now he can’t have kids.” There’s a fun sequence on “Main Street” in which we discover the seedy underbelly of Hollywood toons, who push things like cheese as though they are drugs (Monterey Jack has a problem).

My main criticism is that not all of the gags land, and sometimes there is too much time spent between the gags for things like exposition or character development. I’m sorry to keep coming back to Who Framed Roger Rabbit?, but that film expertly blended all of those things with its clever humor, and often Chip ‘n Dale goes for easy rather than clever humor. Admittedly, it did get me to laugh out loud a few times.

The overall sense I got from Rescue Rangers, however, was one of a “direct to streamer” movie—and I mean of the sort that was typical before the pandemic. We now can get true quality films direct from streamers, but what Chip ‘n Dale is, is . . . fine. I can’t muster enough enthusiasm to think of it as something to get excited about, and that’s what disappoints me. I had hoped that, at the very least, I could tell people you don’t have to be familiar with the original Disney Channel show for this movie to come highly recommended. Instead, I think perhaps you do need to have seen the show. I have no connection to it, so, in spite of this movie’s many pop culture references, it just didn’t land the way I wanted it to.

At the very least, I will compliment the voice work: John Mulaney and Andy Samberg are great; as are the vast supporting cast of characters, including J.K. Simmons as the police “Captain Putty”; Will Arnett as “Sweet Pete,” an overweight, grown-up Peter Pan; and even Flula Borg as “DJ Herzogenaurach.” We also get Dennis Haysbert as Zipper; Seth Rogen as several characters; and Tim Robinson as “Ugly Sonic,” playing on a notorious internet controversy that no one knows about, and I am unconvinced will be as hilarious as intended for those who do.

Basically, Chip ‘n Dale: Rescue Rangers is entertaining enough, for something to watch at home with the family. It just fell short of what I wanted or expected.

Did I mention that Dale got “CGI” surgery? Hilarious!

Overall: B-

THE INNOCENTS

Directing: B
Acting: B+
Writing: B
Cinematography: B
Editing: B
Special Effecs: B+

When we first meet Ida, the little blonde girl at the center of the Norwegian horror film The Innocents, it’s tempting to think she’s vaguely reminiscent of one of the Children of the Corn. That would be an oversimplification, though; there are no mindless monsters here. This film is unsettling in how its young children discover their supernatural powers, don’t quite understand them, an feel guilt about the damage done during what amounts to subtle tantrums. Well, sometimes they feel guilt.

Ida is a fascinating character, though, in that at first she seems like she might be the villain. She has an older, autistic sister named Anna, who appears not to feel pain and so Ida will pinch her just to amuse herself. Then, in the large apartment complex development their parents have moved them into, Ida befriends a boy named Ben, who is just discovering a telekinetic ability. Another little girl, Aisha, finds she can read the other kids’ minds.

The discovery and exploration of all these abilities is relatively innocent—hence the title—as they all also discover their abilities are somehow stronger in the presence of Anna. But, Ben soon discovers other abilities, and well, let’s just say he doesn’t tend to use them for good. This is where The Innocents really diverges from other films even remotely similar: Ida, who seems a little creepy in her own right at first, gradually discovers that she is in over her head with her relationship with Ben. What they do to a neighborhood cat together should on its own merit a severe warning to animal lovers who might want to watch this movie.

Writer-director Eskil Vogt—who also co-wrote last year’s widely acclaimed The Worst Person in the World—really takes the concept of a “slow burn” seriously. There is a couple of jump-scares, but not in the way you might expect; and the first third of the film in particular really takes its time, with quiet, extended cuts. If you come to this film with open-minded patience, then it has its rewards. If you’re into the kinds of rewards they are, anyway.

What I like most about The Innocents is how the story remains within the worlds of the children. The adults in their lives are mostly oblivious, whether or not they’re subjected to a child’s mind-control. None of these kids’ parents have any idea what’s going on between the kids themselves, which is typically the case even in the real world. This is less a point Vogt is making than it is something he takes advantage of in his storytelling.

There are some special effects in The Innocents, but to say they are used sparingly is an understatement. Whether or not this is the result of budget limitations, it’s ultimately effective. Even when effects are used, they are always subtle and brief. The purpose of this film seems to be less spectacle than it is sustained tension, of which there is plenty. And in another sign of different rules than a typical Hollywood movie, both adults and children alike—in addition to animals—can be potential victims.

The Innocents is not excessively disturbed, but it is unafraid to go in disturbing directions. I’ve seen scarier films and I have seen more deeply unsettling films, and yet this one is unsettling in a way, somewhat vague, but unlike any other. It took quite a while for it to really hook me in, but its ability to sustain a consistent tone is something I can respect.

Choose your friends wisely, kids.

Overall: B

ON THE COUNT OF THREE

Directing: B+
Acting: B+
Writing: A-
Cinematography: B
Editing: B+

On the Count of Three may surprise you with how it handles multiple sensitive issues, from gun control, to mental health, to race. It surprised me, anyway. Opinions may vary, but on all fronts, from my point of view, the surprises were good.

Which is not to say this movie is fun, in spite of it being sold as a dark comedy. You deserve to be warned about this, especially as the movie comes recommended: it’s more of a tragedy, which happens to have a few chuckles. But, it’s a very good one.

I can’t help but compare it to Blindspotting (2018), which is both more accomplished and more assured in execution, a better example of a nuanced portrayal of a Black man and a white man who are best friends. (That film is also better shot, better edited, and funnier.) The great thing about On the Count of Three is that it offers a different example of such a relationship. We’re actually moving into an era of cinema where we have more than one example of how specific kinds of representation matter, with varying levels of quality.

Mind you, On the Count of Three competently holds its own, itself an impressive directorial debut by standup comedian and actor Jerrod Carmichael, who also plays one of the two leads, Val. And in this movie, instead of two guys struggling to elevate themselves from the mistakes in their lives, these best friends spend a day under the agreement that, at the end of it, they will end their lives.

The other best friend is Kevin (Christopher Abbott), the one with the lifelong struggle with mental health issues, who we meet in a psychiatric facility three days after a suicide attempt. As is becoming a trope, the opening shot is of a scene we will return to again later, with Val and Kevin holding their guns to each other’s heads, counting to three, and before it reaches three we’re taken back to the beginning of the day. I’m not spoiling much to say that we get back to this countdown moment surprisingly quickly, when Kevin decides he’s not ready just yet: he wants to live out one last day, with the knowledge that there will ultimately be no consequences. It’s the rest of their day together that makes up the bulk of, and is the point of, this movie.

There’s a moment when Kevin decides they are going to kill a man, the therapist who further damaged him as a child. (This character is played by Henry Winkler, always a welcome screen presence, even though he wears a wig in a couple of flashback scenes that fails miserably at the clear aim of making him look younger. This choice is the only clearly bad one made in the making of this movie.) Kevin’s plan creates a new sense of tension that Carmichael handles deftly, as it sets up a clear question: will this movie take these characters past a tragic point of no return?

That is the key element that I will not spoil, except to say that, quite satisfyingly, things don’t go in a direction you’re quite able to predict. I will say it’s refreshing to see mental health, and in particular suicidal ideation, handled with empathy and without condescension. When Val decides he also wants to die, it’s clear from the start that it does not come from the same, deeply seeded well of mental illness as Kevin.

In the midst of this, I found myself wondering whether this movie, co-written by Ari Katcher and Ryan Welch (oddly, two former Alaskans who previously co-created the Hulu series Rami, with Rami Youssef), would even address race. It gets about halfway through before it does, and only after Kevin starts drinking and starts spewing odd platitudes clearly borne of white guilt. I can only assume (and hope) Carmichael had a lot to contribute, particularly when it comes to things like Val’s penchant for calling Kevin the N-word, a bit of subtle irony.

In any case, the focus stays on the close relationship between these friends. Even the depiction of intimacy between two straight men is of an unusual sort here—not unusual for real life, but usual for cinema. There’s a casual comfort between them, both physically and emotionally, that feels genuine in a way rarely seen. As a side note, Carmichael recently made headlines by coming out as gay in his brilliant standup special Rothaniel, which can be streamed on HBO Max. This shouldn’t be relevant but it is, after years of Hollywood patting straight actors on the back for “sensitively” playing gay parts but not giving gay actors any of the parts at all. Then, gay actors starting getting the gay parts . . . but here, we have a gay actor playing a straight lead character, and no one is calling it “not believable.” (Incidentally, this film was shot in late 2019, more than two years before the release of Rothaniel.)

The plot of On the Count of Three feels patterned on a formula, but one that works: there’s some action and excitement in the third act, even including a car chase. Carmichael unfolds this otherwise unique story within those parameters with a finesse that’s all his own. I won’t reveal the fate of these characters, except to say the conclusion is both surprising and satisfying. This film’s approach to mental illness, in the writing, the direction, and especially Christopher Abbott’s performance, is done with an integrity you can’t help but respect.

“2 Guns” for the depressed set.

Overall: B+

THE BAD GUYS

Directing: B+
Acting: B+
Writing: B
Cinematography: B
Editing: B
Animation: B+

The Bad Guys may be the most “kids’ movie” movie I’ve watched and still managed to enjoy with adult eyes. It’s about as silly as it gets, but still fits in a few clever gags that fly over kids’ heads and right into the comic sensibilities of grownups. It’s clever enough, I was very much entertained, and the animation is fairly impressive, particularly its detailed urban backgrounds that seem to render Los Angeles as though it had more of a New York City density.

I say all this even though I’m still the dipshit sitting there confused by the inconsistent rules of the movie’s universe. Mind you, this movie is aimed squarely at children, and they don’t care about this stuff, like: how do characters that are a piranha and a shark (voiced by Anthony Ramos and Craig Robinson, respectively) able to survive without water? They exist as two-legged land animals! I guess I shouldn’t be stuck on this; there’s also a humanoid shark in The Suicide Squad and I didn’t have any hang-ups about that; in fact I was delighted by that demented movie.

I suppose a key difference is that The Bad Guys is the farthest thing from demented—although there are subtle moments of dark humor, particularly when it comes to Snake, who is easily distracted by all the guinea pigs he wants to eat.

That said, I still couldn’t help but to be distracted by the fact that, in the world of this movie, only the principal characters are animal characters, and everyone else in this world seems to be human. There is the quasi-butch Chief of Police, Misty Luggins (Alex Borstein), who is human, but otherwise the five “Bad Guys” are a wolf, a snake, a spider, a shark and a piranha; then there’s Governor Diane Foxington (Zazie Beets), a fox; and Professor Marmalade (Richard Ayoade), a guinea pig.

No other intelligent being in this universe is a talking animal, though. There’s even a massive army of guinea pigs at one point, and all of them are like regular animals. How do they become like that, but Professor Marmalade becomes an intelligent being with a British accent? There’s also a kitten who gets stuck in a tree and all it does is meow. What’s with all these inconsistencies? I want answers!

To be fair, the same sort of thing happens in old fairy tales. Little Red Riding Hood happens upon a talking wolf, after all. And a big plot point in The Bad Guys is that all of these animals are species that people are automatically afraid of, without even giving them the chance at being perceived as “good.” As a band of thieves and bank robbers, they are just meeting the fate society has created for them. But then Wolf gets an unexpected bit of appreciation when he saves an old lady from falling down the stairs, and gets a taste of what if feels like to be appreciated for goodness, and thus the plot is set into motion.

As already indicated, I’m the only one obsessing on the inconsistent rules of this universe. It still would have made a lot more sense if every character in this world were an animal (as in Zootopia, a similarly themed but better movie), but whatever. I’ll get over it! The voice talents alone go a long way, with Sam Rockwell as Wolf; Awkwafina as Tarantula; and Marc Maron as Snake, taking an unusual turn for his career, and one that’s a great fit.

The Bad Guys is almost pointedly over-the-top ridiculous, something that can really work against a film regardless of its target audience. But here, it somehow works, and I found myself charmed by it. They can’t all be classics, but they can be at least as entertaining as this. If nothing else, it seems obvious that kids love it, which is all a movie like this needs. It’s a bonus that I also enjoyed it.

You can’t help but love them all, in spite of an unnecessarily extensive running gag about piranha farts.

Overall: B

DOWNTON ABBEY: A NEW ERA

Directing: B
Acting: B+
Writing: B-
Cinematography: B
Editing: B+

Slipping back into the world of Downton Abbey is the cinematic equivalent of slipping into a cozy, warm blanket—specifically an old, beloved one you’ve had for years. It’s a bit worn and tired, a lot of threads are coming loose, but the familiarity alone brings a heartening comfort.

This feeling is arguably even more pronounced with Downton Abbey: A New Era than it was with the release of the 2019 original Downton Abbey film, which itself came along three years after the six-season television series aired its last season on PBS. Now, it’s been three years we last saw all these beloved characters on the big screen, and six since we saw them on the small screen. (Granted, the lines between “big screen” and “small screen” are increasingly blurred, both with shorter windows of release between the two, and literal sizes of home TV sets. But, this cast of characters fits comfortably in all combinations.)

Beyond that, I can’t say there’s anything particularly special, or particularly disappointing, about A New Era. It’s made for the fans, and it brings them just what they want. I enjoyed the film precisely as much as I was hoping to. The key difference between the two films, I think, is that the first came a year prior to the start of a pandemic that severely hastened a lot of inevitable changes in the film industry. As such, the 2019 film felt a lot more like an essential moviegoing event, at least for Downton fans, than this one could ever hope to. The official release date is today, but I went to an earliest screening possible, at 7:00 last night, and was one of maybe ten people in the theater. Had the pandemic never happened, this absolutely would not be the case. But, as it is, presumably there are plenty of people very much looking forward to watching this film, but also fine with waiting all of 45 days to see it at home on Peacock 4th of July weekend.

I might have been too, really. I just love going to the movies, and am one of those nerds who despair at the erosion of moviegoing as a tenet of American culture. Marvel blockbusters are singlehandedly saving the theater industry, largely with extraordinarily expensive testaments to mediocrity, but I must begrudgingly appreciate them, at least for now while they keep multiplexes open, and allow for movies like this to play on other screens while the blockbusters make all the money. Still having the monthly membership available through AMC (which other chains now offer too) does make it easier, so I can see Downton Abbey in the theater and not feel like it’s more expensive than it’s worth.

Because this movie is . . . let’s face it: fine. For true fans of the series, it’s good. Not great, but good—something that could be said of every iteration of this property from the start, really. It’s just another <i>Upstairs Downstairs</i>  concept effectively designed for addictive watching, a sanitized view of extreme wealth in period costumes (in this case as they shift into the 1930s), conveniently gleaning over the true horrors and oppressions of class and British colonialism while basically ignoring race altogether. (There’s a scene in this film in which a Black woman singer is highlighted at a party. You can practically hear writer Julian Fellowes desperately saying, “Look, I included a Black person!”)

As for the plot, just like the previous film, it feels very much like just another extended episode of the series—albeit one in which some key plot turns occur. I won’t lie, this movie did make me cry a little, but I’m just going to blame that on the relatively recent death of my mother making me soft, or at least softer than I was before. A New Era begins with a wedding (between Tom Branson and Lucy Smith, a woman introduced in the first film who I did not remember), and ends with a death—I won’t spoil whose, except to say that it hardly qualifies as tragic. There are sad turns, but nothing truly horrible happens in Downton Abbey, particularly in the film iterations, which exist solely to trade on fan nostalgia. This is a key difference between the films and the series, which was much more of a soap opera, whereas these films might make you wistful at the very worst.

Ultimately, Downton Abbey is pure fantasy. This is something Fellowes, as directed by Simon Curtis, kicks up a notch in A New Era, what with Lady Grantham (Maggie Smith, even at age 87 arguably the biggest star of this huge-ensemble film) suddenly inheriting a villa in the South of France, from a man with whom she had a weekend fling in her youth. Half the cast goes to this villa for a visit, meeting the bitter widow (Nathalie Baye) and her shockingly agreeable son (Jonathan Zaccaï) who invited them all. In an extraordinary coincidence of timing, at the same time a film crew has asked for permission to shoot a movie (starring actors played by Laura Haddock and Dominic West; West gets involved in a subtle almost-romantic subplot with Robert James-Collier’s Barrow, who is now running the downstairs staff after the butler Carson’s retirement).

There are many subplots, of course, and they all get tied up tidily by the end, as is the formula for Downton, and precisely what all of its fans come for. This movie exists just to keep us all satiated for just a little bit longer, but with that at its mandate, it succeeds on all fronts.

What’s old is still the same, ironically.

Overall: B

DOCTOR STRANGE IN THE MULTIIVERSE OF MADNESS

Directing: C+
Acting: B-
Writing: C-
Cinematography: B
Editing: C+
Special Effects: B

There are people genuinely convinced that Doctor Strange in the Multiverse of Madness is a truly great film, and that makes me despair of humanity. Not because this movie is particularly bad, but because audiences are so conditioned by the “Marvel Cinematic Universe” that they can no longer distinguish between that which is quality cinema, and that which is average.

The thing is, this movie isn’t even all that great by MCU standards. I largely gave up on superhero movies over a decade ago, actively avoiding then for several years—because they were nearly all just like this one: rushing through expositional interludes between overly busy action sequences drenched in CGI that looked dated within a year, all in the service of the same story beats as the last film just like it, over and over again. But, over the past five or ten years, Marvel found better directors and better writers, and slowly but surely began to offer movies more worthy of regaining attention. This movie feels like a throwback to that earlier time.

The greatest disappointment about that is the fact that it was directed by the legendary Sam Raimi, of Army of Darkness (1992) fame, who directed the original Tobey MaGuire Spider-Man in 2002, and who has not directed a feature film in nine years (there’s nothing better to say about the equally mediocre Oz the Great and Powerful). It’s true that Multiverse of Madness gets better in its second half, and eventually it even gets genuinely weird, with quasi-horror elements that are only novel by MCU standards, but are still presented with recognizable Raimi flair. Alas, it doesn’t get sufficiently weird until at least three quarters of the way through, at which point it’s really too little, too late.

Multiverse of Madness comes up short by every measure. Even compared to other MCU movies, it’s not nearly as much quirky fun as Thor: Ragnarok (2017); it certainly has nothing of anywhere near as much substance to say as Black Panther (2018); it’s not even as interesting as the original Doctor Strange (2016). What it does do is rehash every concept imaginable, most of all the idea of a “multiverse,” something introduced brilliantly in the animated Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse (2018, arguably the best year for Marvel) but which has already been revisited in Spider-Man: No Way Home (2021), a live action film that was better than anyone could have expected. But, here we are again, with fully expected diminishing returns.

And this Doctor Strange sequel is not helped at all by its very direct narrative ties to the Disney+ series WandaVision. I won’t say anyone who hasn’t seen the show will be lost in the plot here, but they’d certainly understand it a lot more having seen it. And what good does that do the movie itself? This is the twenty-eighth movie in the Marvel Cinematic Universe, all presented by a studio that increasingly expects its audiences not only to have seen but have remembered them all, plus increasing numbers of TV series. There comes a point when it’s just all too much, and that point arguably came and went a decade ago.

Elizabeth Olsen does a fairly impressive job as the villain, the Scarlet Witch, but it’s not as easy to recognize without having seen WandaVisison, which was itself, frankly, a bit overrated. Such is the case with a great majority of MCU films, with occasionally notable exceptions. Benedict Cumberbatch as the title character is . . . fine. The same could be said of the entire cast, none of who are given any room to breathe their performances in the overstuffed plot. This movie is 126 minutes long, almost “short” compared to many MCU movies, and too much is happening too quickly, whether it’s CGI spectacle action sequences or the rare quiet conversations between characters.

It just feels like a wildly missed opportunity, like a movie dictated by committee (it having only one writer notwithstanding; it should also be noted that this is Michael Waldron’s first feature film script), beholden to a multitude of strictures as part of the broader cinematic universe. That very much limits a filmmaker’s ability to put their own stamp on it—Chloé Zhao’s Eternals (2021) suffered from the same problem. If the studio could have loosened their evident grip, the uniquely dark and macabre Sam Raimi style could have permeated more than just the final quarter of the movie. With that alone, Doctor Strange in the Multiverse of Madness would have been much improved.

To be fair, this particular movie was never going to be a masterpiece, no matter who wrote or directed it. It still had massively unrealized potential, and instead stuck with well-worn storytelling tropes that renders it the same shit in a different movie. I’d probably have enjoyed this exact same movie more had it been released seven or eight years ago, but time is not always kind to a decades-old franchise (consider what a challenge it has been for ages for anyone to make a truly great James Bond movie). Now, we’ve spent far too much time, year after year, with rushed storytelling wrapped in subpar special effects. Too few of these movies get any finessing, and are instead churned out as from an assembly line, all using a well worn template. Even well worn templates are tolerable if they can be given a novel enough spin, but Doctor Strange in the Multiverse of Madness is convinced it’s taking a huge swing without realizing it’s stepping up to bat when the game is already nearly over.

I’d tell you more about the plot but it was so forgettable I forgot it.

Overall: C+

THE NORTHMAN

Directing: B+
Acting: A-
Writing: B
Cinematography: A-
Editing: B+
Special Effects: B+

Don’t let all the assertions that The Northman is by far Robert Eggers’s “most mainstream” film fool you—when measuring mainstream appeal of his work, the bar is frankly low. His last film, after all, The Lighthouse (2019), was so impenetrably weird that it’s the only movie I ever gave just a three-word review. I still stand by that review, by the way.

Rest assured, though, The Northman is uniquely bonkers. A transporting musical score largely using traditional instruments of the period is the tip of the iceberg . . . in Iceland, incidentally. This is fundamentally a tale of revenge, something the trailer made overtly clear, which is a tale as old as time. What Eggers does is tell it in a way you truly have never seen before, and well, let’s say, results may vary.

Even before the pandemic hastened inevitable changes in the U.S. cinema landscape, there’s no way this movie would be a huge hit. It’s just too weird, steeped as it is in historical viking details and traditions far more focused on historical accuracy than on anything even remotely close to viking cliches. It also detours into occasional, magical flourishes, making it a sort of fantasy epic for the viking set. Eggers managed to get Bjork to return to film for the first time in 17 years, appearing as an eyeless witch in just one scene. She offers a prophesy to Amleth (Alexander Skarsgård), who has returned to his homeland hell bent on avenging the death of his king father.

I have to admit, I spent much of The Northman unable to decide what to make of it, but once it ended, and I could consider the film in its entirety, I pretty quickly decided I really liked it. The landscapes of the North Atlantic are beautifully shot, and this story based on the 13th-century Scandinavian story Amleth, which is said to have later inspired Shakespeare’s Hamlet, predicts the ways in which simplistic quests for revenge are never actually simple. This is not just a “revenge flick,” but rather a text dense with lessons and textures. Some of them I found difficult to make out, but, whatever. Just surrender to it.

I’m not usually into something so drenched in testosterone. The Northman features a climactic battle sequence with two nude men navigating streams of volcanic lava. I mean, clearly the place is hot, they want to shed any extra layers. Still, one minute they’ve got clothes on, and suddenly they’re both buck naked. There’s nothing even remotely erotic about this scene, much as I had looked forward to it. Eggers’s point, clearly, is the deeply primal nature of what’s going on, and he conveys it incredibly well with his visual style. Most of this movie is, indeed, visual poetry, and this climactic battle is its zenith.

The primal tone exists from the beginning, however, when we meet Amleth as a teenage boy, his king father (Ethan Hawke) teaching him via memorably visceral rituals to commune with his inner beast. Amleth’s mother is played by Nicole Kidman in what may be secretly the best performance in the movie, even though she gets only one scene in which her acting talents are overtly showcased. But she is seen many other times, often in background or as a side presence, but paying close attention has its rewards. She gives a look in her very first scene that offers a glimpse of a twist to come many years later in the story.

As for Skarsgård, his clear talents tend to be more easily identified with the right directors who know how to draw them out of him. It could be argued he has never been more committed to a role. After being raised by a deeply animalistic group of pillagers (one impressive attack sequence features indiscriminate killing), Amleth disguises himself amongst a group of slaves that are being offered for sale to the murderous uncle who has now married his mother and had another child with her. Along the way, he forges a connection with a blonde slave woman (a suitably ethereal Anya Taylor-Joy), who is compelling enough on her own but ultimately just serves as a plot point and, in the end, a point of motivation for Amleth.

Along the way, The Northman goes some very strange places, and to some gruesome places, and some places that are both at once. A lot happens in this movie that is impossible to understand unless you are deeply versed in Scandinavian legend, history and mythology. And still, there’s something about this movie that I can’t shake—something that makes it feel greater than the sum of its parts. This film was absolutely worth seeing on the big screen, and even after being regularly baffled by it, I find myself thinking I might want to return to it for another look. I have a soft spot for such movies, which may not reach perfection yet somehow command reconsideration over time.

Careful where you’re swinging that rod!

Overall: B+