THE KILLER'S GAME

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

When it comes to a movie like The Killer’s Game, going in with seriously low expectations is an effective way not to hate it.

I hardly loved it either, mind you. This is a transparent ripoff of John Wick, with its own gimmick: Instead of a hitman avenging the death of his wife and his dog, we get a hitman who contracts a hit on himself after finding out he has a terminal disease, only to find out he’s been misdiagnosed. He’s going to live after all! Except, the other assassins—and one in particular—are bent on “honoring the contract.”

This would all be more fun if The Killer’s Game could be watched cold, with none of this known beforehand. The problem is, there’s nothing else interesting enough about this movie to pique anyone’s interest. What other reason is there to watch it? Even with this twist made crystal clear in trailers, it landed in theaters last movie with a thud, coming in at #6 and earning a paltry $2.6 million at the box office.

With a better script, The Killer’s Game might have worked. Instead, wedged in between some action choreography that is actually pretty good, it veers perilously close to self-parody. Leaning a tad more into earnestness, or even in the other direction into over parody, might have been an improvement. What we get, in this film directed by (of course) John Wick stuntman J.J. Perry, are characters who actually utter lines heard in countless other movies to the pint of ridiculous, with a straight face. When Ben Kingsley, as Dave Bautista’s hitman mentor, says “Don’t hate the player, hate the game,” not only is it played as preposterously profound, it’s at least the third time we hear a line that dumb and overdone.

Ben Kingsley, even at age 80, clearly just likes to work. Sometimes he’s amazing (Sexy Beast, Hugo), and other times . . . not so much. This is one of those other times. Don’t get me wrong; the B-minus level acting in this movie is the best thing it has going for it when we aren’t being treated to creative gruesome hit jobs. Granted, Perry ups the ante with each introduction of a new assassin or team of assassins. But then it goes so far that we wind up with Chilean martial artist and actor Mark Zaror as “El Botas,” doing a kind of one-man tango, complete with boot spurs as lethal weapons, as he cuts through his victims.

There is also more than just a splash of Kill Bill in this movie, with stylized introductions of characters with fun names, and blood gushing out all over the place. We get plenty of broken bones and dismemberment and bodies blown apart, some of it in a church—where, conveniently, there happens to be a priest handy when a couple decides on the fly that they want to get married. But not before the hitman must confess the entirety of his sins!

I won’t deny that I actually had a bit of fun watching The Killer’s Game. But that only works when there’s nothing better to choose from in theaters, and we’re setting a pretty low bar here. Bautista is barely serviceable as a leading man playing an actual human (as opposed to, say, an alien, or a Harkonnen), but the fact that he’s so giant and jacked it’s almost otherworldly makes it a challenge to accept him as someone who is in any way normal. Not that a hitman is normal, although a big part of the plot here is how he falls in love with a professional dancer played by Sofia Boutella. When they were shown in bed together, all I could think about is how dangerous it would be for them to literally sleep together, when he could just roll over and crush her to death.

The most frustrating thing about The Killer’s Game is its wasted potential. No one goes into a movie like this expecting high art—we’re here to watch people maim and kill each other. That’s the standard by which it should be judged: how well that is executed. Sadly, even by that metric, it’s pretty substandard, a constant riff on themes and concepts from far better influences that this movie completely fails to innovate in any way.

Dave Bautista demonstrates his acting range.

Overall: C+

BORDERLANDS

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

There are so many things wrong with Borderlands, it’s hard to know where to begin—but, much as it pains me to do so, I am going to start with Cate Blanchett. Who knew she was even capable of bad acting, let alone being possibly the worst performance in this movie? Granted, an absolutely abysmal script—cowritten by director Eli Roth and Joe Abercrombie—didn’t do her any favors, but Blanchett is an actor of such talent and stature that one could reasonably expect her to elevate the material. Instead, it’s the opposite.

A big problem—among, oh my god, so many—is that Blanchett was cast in a movie like this to begin with. No one can blame her for wanting to have a little fun, but can she not recognize quality fun? Perhaps not. She’s like an alien trying and failing to act human in this part. It’s as though she spent decades playing parts with genuine gravitas, then dipped her toes into the pool of blockbusters—in this case, specifically video game adaptation—and discovered she had no idea what she was doing.

This brings me to Jamie Lee Curtis, who perhaps thought this was a the logical next step after the wild and brilliant ride that was Everything Everywhere All at Once. But when her charaacter, Tannis, is introduced a fair amount of time into the movie, we are literally warned that she is an “oddball” and “says a lot of weird things.” She then proceeds to spend the rest of the movie never saying anything particualarly weird at all. The oddest thing about her is a pair of dark protective glasses, and Curtis’s line delivery that has a incongruous dash of childlike chipperness. What, exactly, are these people doing?

Floudering in a narrative sink hole, that’s what. It’s truly depressing so see the likes to Cate Blanchett, after spending way too long with pointlessly expository voiceover narration, sit down at a bar and utter the words, '“I’m too old for this shit.” We have heard that line so many times in so many movies, it’s no wonder she says it with no conviction whatsoever.

It’s slightly ironic, then, that it’s the cast who aren’t such huge movie stars who better hold the camera in Borderlands. To be fair, Kevin Hart is a huge star too—as a comedian. He isn’t particularly funny here (almost no one is), but he has fairly natural delivery as Roland, the guy who kidnaps a young woman from what appears to be a space ship prison (this is never explained). That woman is “Tiny Tina,” played by Ariana Greenblatt, who gives the best performance in this movie—not that that’s a high bar. But least when she’s not hampered by leaden dialogue, she’s both compelling and fun, exuding a genuine charisma.

Blanchett plays Lilith, a bounty hunter hired to retrieve Tiny Tina for a corporate mogul (Edgar Ramírez) who may or may not be her father. When Lilith returns to her “shithole” planet of Pandora (very original) in search of Tina, she discovers a snarky robot named Claptrap who is programmed, to his own dismay, to serve Lility until her death. And Claptrap, while hardly the best movie robot in history, is the one consistently good thing in this movie. His lines, and particularly Jack Black’s delivery voicing him, got a good number of giggles out of me.

The production design, mostly rendered by subpar CGI, is very junkyard inspired, decaying husks of appliances and vehicles covered in graffiti, this being the general vibe of Pandora, where legend says there is a “vault” that holds the secrets to human potential once under the protection of an ancient alien race, or some such nonsense. The tone that Eli Roth is clearly going for is very much like the seminal 1997 Luc Besson film The Fifth Element. Except that movie had a director who knew what he was doing, it had a cast of natural movie stars who understood the assignment, and most importantly, it had an assured handle on both pacing and wit. Borderlands has none of these things. If not for Claptrap, I’d say it was completely witless. And not all of Claptrap’s lines land successfully either; he’s just got a greater success rate than any of the other characters combined.

The most frustrating thing about Borderlands is that it actually could have been good. Being silly doesn't inherently mean bad, but it needs just the right calibration. It’s not just that Borderlands is all spectacle and no substance. It’s that overall it rings hollow. The characters have all the dimension of video game characters left dormant, with no one even playing them—even while they move and speak. There’s nothing driving this story but going through the motions. At one point Lilith walks past an abandoned park merry-go-round and I wished I could have just spent two hours riding that instead. It would have been objectively more rewarding.

Behold, the hole they will never dig themselves out of.

Overall: C-

DEADPOOL & WOLVERINE

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

I’m so sick of the fucking multiverse.

Deadpool & Wolverine takes a moment to acknowledge that it knows this about me—and, presumably, a whole lot of other viewers. The problem is not only that the moment comes far too late in the film, but after spending a majority of the film leaning on the Marvel “multiverse” as a critical element of its premise, its setting, and the driver of its incredibly convoluted and frankly stupid plot.

It’s always a convenient device, isn’t it? Well, less and less so as the years of is use drag on. I don’t think any Marvel movie has used “the multiverse” in a particularly clever or certainly original way, aside from the exceptional Spider-verse movies. Marvel runs out of ideas for specific characters, and then recycles them using the same characters in “alternate universes.”

With Deadpool & Wolverine, we get a “threequel” in the Deadpool franchise, and a resurrected Wolverine as a follow-up to the relatively uncompromised vision that was Logan (2017), one of the best superhero films of the 21st century. Not that that’s a particularly high bar. I wish I could say it’s a delight to see the return of Dafne Keen as Laura, except that she’s utterly wasted in this movie, given nothing of real consequence to do onscreen. The same can be said of the plethora of cameos by other actors who were once big stars in franchises of their own, now showing up to take part in CGI-laden battle sequences that barely have visual comprehensibility.

I can say this for Deadpool movies: at least they’re consistent. Every one of these movies is of B-minus quality, but I cannot deny they make me laugh. Deadpool & Wolverine has a lot of very funny gags, delivered by actors with very good comic timing. These are the things that elevate a movie that would otherwise just be garbage.

When the movie starts, before the opening credits, this film rather pointedy acknowledges how very dead Wolverine is. Well, that Wolverine, anyway. Almost immediately. director Shawn Levy, along with writers that include Rhett Reese, Paul Wernick and Ryan Reynolds himself, introduce the “Time Variance Authority” previously introduced by the Disney+/Marvel series Loki, which had a first season that was surprisingly fun and a second season that was relatively lame. One wonders how many viewers of this movie now have seen Loki and have the kind of working knowledge of the Marvel Cinematic Universe that has been expected of viewers for so long that a good majority of them are now utterly over it. In any event, you can pretty easily imagine how we get Wolverine back into a feature film as played by Hugh Jackman—for the ninth time. The man was 32 the first time he played this character. He’s 55 now, and among Deadpool’s endless meta gags in this movie, he quips that Jackman will be playing this character until he’s 90. It feels as though that may actually happen.

The thing is, I’m not nearly as sick of Wolverine as I am of the multiverse, because Jackman has an unstoppable onscreen charisma, and a genuine chemistry with Ryan Reynolds. And I won’t deny my delight in how much more Deadpool leans into a winking queerness with every film, this time constantly leering and lusting after how hot Wolverine (or, as the case may be, Hugh Jackman) is. Most of the time, Deadpool, in all its iterations, is dumb but fun.

Still, I wish they had come up with a better story idea. What we get here as a story arc is frankly lame, only partly saved by the rapid-fire comic delivery. As is often the case, though, Deadpool & Wolverine suffers from an uninspired villain, here played by Emma Corrin as a cross between Lex Luthor and Sinéad O’connor. Corrin was fantastic as Princess Diana in The Crown, so they’re clearly a gifted actor—yet another just wasted on this movie.

Ultimately, Deadpool & Wolverine boils down to a skilled delivery of an uninspired project packed with countless uninspired supporting characters. In the climactic sequence, it steals a conceit straight from Spider-Man Into the Spider-verse, then amplifies it, and “playfully” vulgarizes it. That is, of course, what the Deadpool movies have been doing all along: throwing out all the bloody violence and profanity it can just because it’s an R-rated superhero movie. This time around, characters say “fuck” so often it starts to sound forced, almost compulsive, as though being uttered for no other reason than to increase the count of its usage. There comes a point where that just gets boring.

I’ll never understand why studios think giving every single one of these identical story beats is a good idea. Foul language and giddy dismemberment does not alone make a movie stand apart; it has to have a uniquely compelling story, and on that front, this movie is utterly lacking. in the end devolving into the same climactic, mediocre special effects bullshit as countless others before it. If this movie has any saving grace, it’s the two leads. If you focus on their delivery and stay “in the moment” at all times without regard to wherever (or whenever) the hell the “sacred timeline” movie is going, you’ll have a relatively good time.

Just because he’s delighting fans by wearing a yellow suit doesn’t mean we haven’t seen this before.

Overall: B-

TWISTERS

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

It was a somewhat surprising experience watching Twisters in the theater last night, a 6:15 p.m. showing with perhaps ten other people in the theater—from what I could tell, all of them young. And I did not survey them, but it seemed likely that many, if not all, of them had never seen the original 1996 film, Twister—which, I really have to say up top: was much better. After re-watching that film only a couple of weeks ago and being genuinely impressed by how well it stands up, particularly in terms of its special effects, I could not help but be just slightly disappointed by this new one. I found myself envying those kids: they were clearly having a great time, while I was over here, nitpicking.

And in so doing, I am going against what I have long stated I stood for: which was that films should be judged on their own merits. The problem is that, in creating a “legasequel” such as this, the filmmakers are openly inviting comparison. And when you do the comparison: Twisters falls short. Not by a wide margin, but it falls short nonetheless.

And there’s a bit of a double-edged sword to this comparison. The 1996 Twister knows exactly what it is: a blockbuster disaster movie showcasing special effects (many of them shockingly practical) that does not pretend to be anything else. The premise being preposterous is incidental; the stock characters elevated by broadly charismatic performers. It had two teams of scientists chasing tornadoes in Oklahoma in pursuit of new data they can get from a new device they called “Dorothy,” which they hope will help extend advanced warning times by launching sensors up a tornado funnel from its base. One of the groups is the clearly villainouse one because their leader is ”in it for the money, not the science.”

The 1996 Twister was also a product of its time, its shamelessly knowing execution, of a dumb plot in the name of thrilling sequences, being something that would just never play the same way today. The unfortunate result is that the 2024 Twisters infuses an element of self-seriousness not present in the previous film, which really doesn’t work either. Which begs the question: Why make this movie at all? Box office would have to be the only answer. I’m sure the relative disinclination of young moviegoers to rewatch “old movies” (Twister came out 28 years ago) has not changed and never will.

So why not just make a new movie about tornado chasers? What purpose does it serve to ride the coattails of a movie from three decades back whose coattails petered out long ago? Especially when this movie’s connection to Twister is tenuous at best? I actually found this point lacking in clarity, the only “character” in this film that was actually seen in the first being “Dorothy” herself, the contraption that releases sensors . The young scientists in pursuit of grant money even make derisive references to how old she is. This is never stated explicitly, but Dorothy must have just been handed down by their scientific forebears and that’s it; there is no other narrative reference to the first film at all.

There is a meta connection, however, when James Paxton, the late Bill Paxton’s son, appears briefly as an aggressive customer trying to check into a hotel while he and his girlfriend willfully ignore a gigantic tornado approaching. There are also other subtle references, such as when the film’s primary protagonist, Kate (Daisy Edgar-Jones), visiting to assist an old friend for a week to get new data, responds to someone saying “Welcome back!” with “I’m not back!”—the latter being an exact line Bill Paxton delivers in the first film. Also, this movie’s story beats are nearly identical: opening flashback of a traumatic event in the midst of a tornado; survivor later pursues an understanding of this enigmatic force of nature; two teams of people compete with each other to catch up to multiple tornadoes in a single day of several tornado outbreaks.

All of this is to say: the script here did very little for me, it’s such a rehash of the first film, which itself took no pains to be any work of staggering genius. This time around, director Lee Isaac Chung (pivoting rather hard after the quietly wonderful 2021 film Minari) and co-writers Mark L. Smith (The Revenant) and Joseph Kosinski (who directed Top Gun: Maverick) introduce a character named Tyler (Glen Powell, by far the most charismatic presence in this movie—the man is a star) who we are clearly meant to read as an analog to Carey Elwes’s pompous character from the first film. Kate’s old friend Javi (Anthony Ramos, whose ample talents are criminally wasted here) has been employed by a guy with real estate connections, and between Tyler and Javi, Twisters ultimately “flips the script” from the first film that is clearly meant as a “twist” from initial expectations. But, it never amounts to much.

So what does that leave? Tornadoes, of course! This would be the whole reason I’m not sorry I saw Twisters, because it still features countless tornado sequences that are genuinely thrilling, and what else is anybody going to this movie for? Plus, in spite of this movie’s characters on average not being half as compelling as those from the first film, even with the down-time, “character” scenes, the run time is a perfectly decent 122 minutes, keeping it from overstaying its welcome or feeling bloated.

Still, this does feel worth mentioning: the effects in the 1996 Twister hold up surprisingly well after 28 years. The effects in Twisters hold up about as well as you would expect: they aren’t bad but they don’t push anything forward; they aren’t any more impressive than they were in the first film, although there are several shots with more comprehensive composition. This movie isn’t going to continue impressing thirty years from now in the same way, though. Not that it appears to have any intention to; it only exists to entertain us all in the present moment, and on that point it succeeds.

And that brings us back to the cast, and specifically Glen Powell, without whom Twisters would not be nearly as good as the just-fine movie it is. Here he plays a storm chaser with a whole crew who post videos to a YouTube channel with a following of 1 million, who at first seems like an arrogant ass but of course (spoiler alert!) turns out to have a heart of gold. I would argue that, on a character level, Powell is the single person who makes Twisters worth seeing. He actually manages to elevate his contrived material with a performance that is as nuanced as it is undeniably charming. (Admittedly, some viewers don’t find his character so charming; this is not a universal response. But, the critical and box office success of his most recent four films in only the past two years speaks for itself.)

There is plenty of talent elsewhere in the cast, mind you; they just aren’t given enough to do. Besides Ramos in a fairly thankless role, Tyler’s crew also includes critical darling Sasha Lane (American Honey, How to Blow Up a Pipeline), whose career trajectory never quite went where it should have. Here the most interesting thing she’s given to do is remote pilot a drone for aerial shots of the tornadoes.

As always, though, here is the bottom line: is Twisters entertaining? Yes. Does it give you what you come to see? Absolutely yes. No one’s coming to these movies for dimensional character portraits, they’re coming for the thrills, of which Twisters has countless. I’m just nitpicking because it’s what I’m here to do. Granted, the 1996 Twisters has thrills that are just as good, with a better cast, and more successful wit in its dialogue. But even then it was only the thrills that mattered, and it’s really all that matters here. I didn’t quite get everything I wanted out of this movie but I certainly got what I came for.

The two leads in this picture are ready for their close-up.

Overall: B

FURIOSA: A MAD MAX SAGA

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

There was never any hope of matching the action movie masterpiece that was Mad Max Fury Road (2015). That movie wasn’t perfect in its time, but it only gets better as it ages, and I feel comfortable calling it arguably the best action movie ever made—in spite of the B+ grade I gave it at the time. What that movie inarguably lacks in depth of story, it more than makes up for in the purity of its stunningly executed sequence of action set pieces—and its surprising but unmistakable feminism. After three famous movies starring Mel Gibson as a widowed family man seeking revenge in a post-apocalyptic Australian wasteland, the gravitas of Charlize Theron, and her chemistry with an equally stoic Tom Hardy stepping in the role of Mad Max, were just the breath of fresh air this franchise needed.

Fury Road never got the respect it deserved among general audiences at the time of its release, but it has become a classic of modern American cinema in the years since. And if you read the fantastic 2022 book Blood, Sweat & Chrome: The Wild and True Story of Mad Max: Fury Road, by Kyle Buchanan, you’d know that the history of development for Furiosa is nearly as fascinating. Once intended as an animated film, the first script for Furiosa was written as fleshed-out backstory for the character during preproduction for Fury Road.

Which is to say, both films took similarly long roads to the screen, their journeys overlapping for some years. Now that Furiosa is finally completed a full nine years after Fury Road, one might reasonably ask the question: will this one also be given higher regard as time goes by? I suppose it’s possible. But, I also doubt it—Furiosa spends too much more time on ultimately inconsequential story, stretching the film to an overlong 146 minutes (by far the longest film in the Mad Max universe to date), with action set pieces that are impressive but still feel like extensions of the previous, much better film.

There are also the casting choices. Anya Taylor-Joy is an excellent actor, but does not inhabit the soul of Furiosa, or have the simple weight of physical presence, the way Charlize Theron did. Theron was much more believable as a woman who could truly kick your sas. On the flip side, Chris Hemsworth steals the show as the villain, Dr. Dementus—the man who kidnaps Furiosa as a child, taking her from the so-called “place of abundance” where she was born. Hemsworth has the perfect blend of psychosis and charisma, although the choice to give him a prosthetic nose is a bizarrely pointless one.

But: here’s the thing. Furiosa still has several action set pieces that are amazing, filled fantastically executed stunts. They take a bit longer to get to because of the more drawn out story, but they are worth the wait, especially a “war rig” chase with hang gliders, and a battle set inside the Bullet Farm. These sequences go on much longer than set pieces do in your average action movie, and are riveting examples of expert stunt work, collectively what still makes Furiosa: A Mad Max Saga worth seeing. Sure, it’s all better in Fury Road, but that film set such a wildly high bar, a film like this one could reach half those heights and still genuinely impress.

All that said, I must address the visual effects in this movie. All those people who immediately lashed out at the artificial look of the trailer—they were right. Furiosa has too many obvious CGI shots which distract from the incredible stunt work (in stark contrast to the CGI in Fury Road, which was only ever used to enhance it), and too many of the scenes have their color so oversaturated that it takes you out of the movie. Honestly, for all the talk of potential Oscar nominations for Furiosa in the technical categories, I just don’t see it. Not in the same year of release as Dune Part Two, which is all but guaranteed to sweep all of those awards.

It’s tempting to wonder if Furiosa might more easily impress if Mad Max: Fury Road had not come before it. I’m leaning toward the conclusion that it would not—in a cinema landscape of cheap looking CGI for decades, Fury Road came along and showed us something we had never seen before. Even if that film had never existed, the same could not be said of Furiosa. That doesn’t mean it’s bad—I found much of it genuinely thrilling to watch. It just means it fell short of expectations, and that makes a movie feel like more of a disappointment than maybe it deserves.

Anya Taylor-Joy is miscast in the title role of an otherwise entertaining movie that’s still an undeniable comedown.

Overall: B

KINGDOM OF THE PLANET OF THE APES

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

Kingdom of the Planet of the Apes is not just a fantastically entertaining cinematic experience for a movie that’s fourth in a franchise (well, the modern iteration of it, anyway–technically it’s the tenth of these films to be made), but a genuinely thrilling experience in its own right, on its own terms.

One of the many great things about the modern Planet of the Apes franchise is that you really don’t need to have seen any of the others to enjoy any given one of them. But, the experience is still enhanced by it, particularly the through line of what happens to the human population over time in these films. In Rise of the Planet of the Apes (2011), the so-called “simian flu,” a virus made in a lab that enhanced the intellect of apes while making humans sick, was unleashed. In Dawn of the Planet of the Apes (2014)—my personal favorite of these films—tensions first rise between apes and what’s left of humans, ten years after the events of the first film, and apes discover that some of them aren’t so much better than humans as they thought. Two more years have gone by in War for the Planet of the Apes (2017), when the movie lives up to its name with some on-the-nose references to Apocalypse Now (“Ape-ocalypse Now” reads one graffiti), war raging with a pyshotic military human villain while a mutation of the virus in humans begins rendering them unable to speak.

All of this is, inevitably, leading toward the events of the original 1968 Planet of the Apes film, which itself was far more meditative and philosophically minded than these 21st-century special effects action extravaganzas have turned toward. The upside is that these films still have compelling ideas.

If Kingdom of the Planet of the Apes proves anything, it’s the modern franchise’s legacy of stunning visual effects. All of these movies feature ape characters rendered with motion capture performance, this one the first not to feature Andy Serkis, as his Caesar character is now long dead. Just as the franchise took a seven-year hiatus after its first three movies were released three years apart, in the universe of this franchise, we pick up on the story “many generations later.” We now have an entirely new cast of characters, among whom Caesar looms large as a mythic and increasingly misunderstood figure (shades of Ape Jesus there), all of them performed by new actors.

The urban landscape featured in all three of the previous films was San Francisco, and although there are no obviously recognizable landmarks this time, one can only assume its the same city—now almost completely obscured by green vegetation. I found it really fun to watch apes Noa (Owen Teague), Soona (Lydia Pekham) and Anaya (Travis Jeffery) swing and climb all over their habitat-home in the opening sequence of the film, increasingly wide shots revealing what they are climbing all over to be skyscrapers covered in leaves and vines.

It’s the details that elevate all of these movies, which one might otherwise expect to be as dumb as all those original 1970s sequels were, with talking ape characters in dated costuming. Now, the costumes are motion-capture visual effects, which actually hold up over time in a way few CG-laden films of the past twenty years have. Whoever makes these movies clearly cares about how convincing the visuals are, particularly Matt Reeves with the previous two films, and now Wes Ball, whose only previous feature directorial credits are the three Maze Runner films.

I can only say that the seven years since the previous film have been worth the wait. Ironically, War for the Planet of the Apes was the most critically acclaimed of these films and remains my least favorite; Kingdom of the Planet of the Apes is the least critically acclaimed (reviews have been mixed-positive) and I was deeply impressed and thoroughly entertained by it. This one has the longest run time of them, at two hours and 25 minutes, but not a second is wasted. It’s nice to have a film like this, set further into the future than any of the others, spend some time effectively world building. But when the action sequences do occur, they are consistently, genuinely thrilling to watch. There are moments of CGI-rendered creature movement that don’t look quite completely natural if you look closely enough, but the story is always so compelling that it’s easy not to notice.

Another thing that sets Kingdom apart is how many fewer speaking human parts there are. Here we get Freya Allan as Mae, a human who stuns the apes of Noa’s clan when she demonstrates she can speak (one of a sprinkling of clear nods to the original 1968 film that crop up in all of the modern films). We also get William H. Macy as Trevathan, in a relatively small part as a guy resigned to “the way things are” and comfortably biding his time offering human intellectual education to the tyrannical ape, Proximus Caesar (Kevin Durand). With the exception of one very brief other example of a speaking human, which might as well be regarded as a cameo, Kingdom is otherwise entirely made up of ape characters, including Proximus Caesar’s chief commander Sylva (Eka Darville); an orangutan Noa happens upon named Raka (Peter Macon) who has the last working knowledge of the original Caesar’s actual teachings and legacy; and Koro (Neil Sandilands) and Dar (Sara Wiseman), Noa’s father and mother.

When Kingdom of the Planet of the Apes begins, we get a glimpse of how ape culture has evolved, into this blend of what we think of as animal behaviors and organized social society. In all of these movies, the realistic ape-like movements and vocalizations of the motion capture performers have always been a nice touch. Wes Ball, and screenwriter Josh Friedman, have done an excellent job of continuing and expanding a genuinely unique universe, where the natures of men and beasts intersect in increasingly fascinating ways. That it gets couched in reliably thrilling action movie storytelling only makes it better, and if the quality of these movies has stayed this consistent through an impressive four movies, I can only hope to be first in line for another one in a few years.

Prepare to be wowed and thrilled.

Overall: B+

THE FALL GUY

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

The Fall Guy is a lot of fun. I might even agree with the assessment that it’s delightful. It’s also relatively forgettable, but how important is that? This is a movie that merely aims to entertain while you’re there, and it meets that aim.

There’s a line fairly early on, about the movie the actors are making: it doesn’t have to be realistic, it’s just a movie. It felt like it was giving its own audience permission not to get too nitpicky, and just sit back and enjoy the ride.

I, of course, have nits to pick. It takes a bit longer than really needed in order for the story to really get going. The Fall Guy is the kind of movie that could have been a tight ninety minutes, in which case I would have been left with it in much higher regard. There was no reason for this to be 126 minutes long, which provides too many opportunities for the narrative to sag a bit.

Once the story finally does get going, stuntman Colt Seavers (Ryan Gosling) gets drugged at a club. There follows a fight sequence that is uniquely weird, a character in the scene itself name-checking the psychedelic sequence in Dumbo, a perfectly apt reference. A running gag involves visions of a unicorn. I’d have loved it if this movie had taken the cosmic-comic vibe of this sequence and stretched it through the whole story.

Maybe I just expect too much of a movie like this. The Fall Guy is perfectly serviceable entertainment. You could call it a romantic action comedy, a fairly rare thing to be done all that successfully. Colt gets injured on the job while endlessly flirting with a cinematographer, Jody Moreno (Emily Blunt), quits the job and disappears for a year, gets convinced by producer Gail Meyer (Hannah Waddingham) to return as stuntman on a blockbuster science fiction romance epic on which Jody is now the director. The primary tension is whether these two can overcome Jody’s resentment for Colt disappearing and Colt’s regret for not staying in touch.

In other words, the stakes never get all that high. Not even when Gail asks Colt to go look for the movie’s missing star, Tom Ryder (Aaron Taylor-Johnson), but without letting Jody know he’s going it, let alone that he’s doing it to keep the studio from pulling the plug on the production. Granted, the stakes kick up a notch when Colt goes to Tom’s house and finds a fellow stunt man dead in ice in his bathtub.

Most of what follows is just a bunch of action sequences, actors playing the stunt performers who are, ironically, often replaced onscreen by actual stunt performers. A lot of them are genuinely entertaining to watch, particularly a fight sequence in Tom’s apartment between Colt and Tom’s girlfriend (Teresa Palmer), where they wind up using movie props as weapons; a dog who only understands commands in French and takes rides along on a car chase; and a climactic sequence in which three people fighting in an out of control helicopter over a recording device veers a bit into screwball comedy territory. The car chase across the Sydney Harbour Bridge could have been rendered a bit more convincingly real.

When The Fall Guy is firing on all cylinders, it really works, mostly due to the undeniable chemistry between Ryan Gosling and Emily Blunt. It should be noted that there is some irony in casting Aaron Taylor-Johnson as the hot movie star and Gosling as—well, as the fall guy, the one whose face you’re not supposed to want to see in the movie he’s working on. I mean, come on. Taylor-Johnson is plenty handsome but he’s got nothing on Gosling. Of course, The Fall Guy is the real movie here and Ryan Gosling is the actual star. Oh right, I almost forgot again: it doesn’t have to be realistic, it’s a movie.

It’s just too bad when a solid-B movie could have been markedly better with just some minor adjustments, a tighter polish. I’m convinced this is the real reason behind the film’s underperforming box office—a light action comedy never needs to run longer than two hours. I never got bored, but I did feel like some minor but key thing was missing. Perhaps it was an editor. A shorter film would have been more tightly packed with what are genuinely good action sequences, but as it is, there are too many stretches without much in the way of action.

There is a slightly pointed bit of dialogue about how there’s no Oscar for stunt performers. It’s saying something that, if there were one, The Fall Guy would not likely win it. I’ve seen better stunts in better movies, but this is still pretty fun—the best we’ve got in the genre at the moment.

How great the shot is, is up for debate.

CIVIL WAR

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

A movie about a modern American civil war should have a clear point of view, and it should have balls. Alex Garand’s Civil War has neither. It should be noted: the premise alone does not qualify.

I’m not even saying this movie has to make explicit what the political issues were across the country that resulted in armed forces in many states turned secessionists. Garland’s choice to avoid that kind of specificity is actually one of his smart ones. That does not, however, preclude a point of view, something beyond vague notions of “war is bad” or “journalists are soulless.” And notwithstanding the empty complaints among people on the right who clearly haven’t even watched this movie, Civil War really offers very little, story-wise, to hold onto. It’s just a road trip through war-torn country that happens to be America, with some incredibly well directed, gripping, beautifully shot battle sequences.

Even the comparisons of this movie’s American President (Nick Offerman, seen onscreen far less than expected) to President Trump are exaggerated. We know this president is in his third term, that he has ordered air strikes on American citizens (but not how or why), and we know that unlikely groups of people are allied against him. He’s never characterized as a buffoon, or of particularly low intelligence. And yet, the “Western Forces” of California and Texas are allied against him—something that has caused a great amount of chatter among people, on all sides of the political spectrum, as straining plausibility. My stance on this is that far weirder things have happened in times of war, which makes strange bedfellows. Besides, a line early in the film has really stuck with me: “When D.C. falls, they’ll turn on each other.” Indeed, once a common enemy is pushed aside, people previously on the same side are free to find fault with each other.

There are other references to aligned states in throwaway lines in Civil War, such as “The Florida Alliance,” or Midwestern states still loyal to the U.S. government, where small-town residents live their daily lives pretending like none of this is happening. Our protagonist, hardened photojournalist Lee Miller (Kirsten Dunst, truly fantastic) has parents in Colorado doing exactly this. Her very young acolyte photojournalist, Jessie (Priscilla’s Cailee Spaeny, actually 23 years old during production and playing 23, though she barely looks even 18), has parents in Missouri doing the same.

A major problem I have with Civil War is the same problem I have with many dystopian visions of a near future: its refusal to acknowledge race. Does anybody really think there would be a second civil war in the United States and race would have no relevance? There’s a very tense sequence in which Jesse Plemons plays a blithely murderous militia man, and the scene uses two men of Asian descent to illustrate his pointed xenophobia. This is in the same neigborhood as racism, of course, but it’s still distinct from it. But Alex Garland just isn’t interested in going that step further.

This is the fundamental problem with Civil War, which is the cinematic equivalent of a product with claims of nutrition when it actually has none. And don’t get me wrong, there is still a lot to recommend Civil War, which is genuinely gripping from start to finish. But, much like the 2006 film Children of Men, it has too many “why” questions it refuses to answer while it wows us exceptional production. (Children of Men, at least, is far more impressive on a technical and production level, creating a world that feels far more lived in, if just as implausible.)

It’s the ideas themselves that are the problem—or, the lack thereof. This is the kind of movie that you really get into while it’s happening, and can only leave saying it was great if you don’t think too hard about it. Garland, however, is challenging us to think about it, without fleshing out what it’s trying to say. There’s certainly the idea that there are not truly “good guys” in active warfare, and we are never given a side to root for—something these journalists don’t even want, as they pride themselves on supposed objectivity.

And yet, even with journalism being looked at through by far the most critical lense in this film, even that winds up muddled in presentation. Too many of the details make too little sense. “They shoot journalists on sight in the capitol,” we are told early on. Somehow, the armed forces closing in on the capitol welcome press with open arms, no questions asked. Come on, really? And this is hardly a new observation: far too few of the journalists in this film are seen taking video (in fact, I think we see only one or two doing so, and only with a professional news camera—literally not one single character is seen taking video on their smartphone). Lee and Jessie engage with still photography exclusively, albeit with many of the still shots they take being equal parts beautiful and horrifying.

A lot of Civil War is gorgeously shot, which is part of the deeply misleading journey it takes us on. All the plot connections are shaky at best, making this a kind of low-rent Apocalypse Now, even with its often beautiful imagery. I just watched this movie feeling a bit lost as to the actual stakes, and what I was supposed to take away from it. And what I took away from it was its top-notch cinematography, direction, and acting, particularly on the part of Dunst, who has never been better. But what is the whole thing that these parts are coming together to make? Yet another in a long line of supposedly anti-war movies that wow us with its rendering of war, in this case with nothing of any real substance to say.

The Expendables: four journalists face their various fates.

Overall: B

MONKEY MAN

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

I really, really wanted to like this movie. I have long enjoyed Dev Patel as a leading man. This being his feature directorial debut was a compelling idea. Most exciting of all, Monkey Man is a Hollywood-style action movie set entirely in India, specifically Mumbai, fully embedded in Indian culture. There’s only one White character in the entire movie, and he’s a South African underground boxing emcee (Sharlto Copley). There’s no American characters to be found anywhere, giving Patel—actually a British actor—the space to showcase the culture of his heritage. What’s not to love?

There’s a lot not to love, it turns out. Patel so directly wants us to think of Monkey Man as “John Wick in Mumbai” that his character, credited as “Kid” (side note: Dev Patel is 33), buys a gun from a man who directly references the Keanu Reeves films: “Have you seen John Wick?” the guy asks. “This gun was in it.”

Here’s the trouble with comparing this to John Wick—a franchise that consistently puts out solid-B action movies: there’s a purity to John Wick’s premise, which is also less serious but delighted audiences: some assholes kill Wick’s beloved dog, a crime worse than human murder to dog lovers, and he spends the first movie getting revenge for this wrong. As the series has gone on, the world of assassins in which John Wick inhabits gets increasingly ridiculous and elaborately structured, but at least it stays in its lane, and consistently offers moments of levity in between its many extended “gun fu'“ action sequences.

Dev Patel’s movie is also a revenge tale, but seeped in sectarian and religious tensions that have characterized India for decades. “Kid” is out to get back at both the police chief (Sikandar Kher) who killed his mother when he was a chid, and the Hindu nationalist politician (Makrand Deshpande) who gave the order to destroy the settlement on the land later used for his temple. This turns what could be a movie about good clean, personal vendettas into an action “thriller” that amounts to little more than political violence. I struggled to understand how I was supposed to sit in the theater and root for it—and make no mistake, Monkey Man is not a Dune-style commentary on the pitfalls of hero worship. It simply glorifies violence for its own sake, using the dressing of social justice in a way that is far more transparent than it realizes.

There is also a significant presence of transgender characters, known in India as hijras, which I have very mixed feelings about. Setting aside the fact that the prinary trans character is played by Vipin Sharma, a cisgender man—I cannot find any confirmation whether any of the other hijra characters were played by trans actors—the Kid character’s position among them never sat quite right with me. The way the hijra characters help Kid felt only a step or two away from a queer Indian version of the “Magical Negro” trope; the way Patel is clearly proud of himself for offering unprecedented trans representation in his film feels like a straight-Indian version of White saviorism.

In short, it never quite feels like the trans presence exists for the right reasons. And Monkey Man clearly wants us to applaud it for featuring these trans characters as badasses, an idea I very much support in theory—except they just engage in the same gruesome violence as anyone else, their saris shot spinning in slow motion while they slaughter nameless enemies with the same ruthlessness with which they themselves are targeted. Somehow, we’re supposed to feel good about this?

The fundamental problem with Monkey Man is that it’s convinced it has a righteous point of view while its moral center proves nebulous from start to finish. This applies to Kid’s showdowns with both the corrupt police chief and the Hindu nationalist politician running for Prime Minister. What should have been fun movie violence, with only very sporadic moments of minor humor, gets weighed down in South Asian politics with real-world implications that are muddled at best—a phrase that would be aptly applied to this movie as a whole.

The Hindu legend of the hanuman has more clarity than this movie.

Overall: C+

THE BEEKEEPER

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

There are countless legitimate reasons to shit on The Beekeeper, to bury it in a . . . a swarm of criticism—but I have to be honest: my heart isn’t in it. I had too good a time watching this objectively idiotic movie.

So, well, why not judge a film on its own terms? The Beekeeper knows exactly what it is, which is both a b-movie and a bee movie (get it?), with its own rules of logic, which it basically follows to the letter. It may be a by-the-numbers revenge action movie, naturally starring Jason Statham, but somehow, it still manages to be way better than what it could have been.

I’ve seen some disappointment that this movie doesn’t lean into the “so bad it’s good” genre, but being disappointed on that level entirely misses the point. Have we learned nothing from Snakes on a Plane? When a movie self-consciously tries too hard to be “bad,” it tends to land with a thud. The “so bad it’s good” vibe only really works when the people making the movie were genuinely convinced they were making something good.

The Beekeeper is something different, ironically by being exactly the kind of movie it’s designed to be: it’s pretty stupid, but not too stupid. The actors are all kind of phoning it in, but none of them are being lazy. The action is well choreographed, just clever enough, and consistently entertaining.

Admittedly, even I went into this movie, about a literal beekeeper (Statham) who turns out to be retired from a nebulously defined, top secret program of people also codenamed “beekeepers,” kind of hoping it would be relentlessly stupid. That can be fun, right? And it is stupid, just not relentlessly so. It’s also got a healthy dose of onscreen charisma, a modicum of wit, and a subtle self-awareness as a film that refuses to take itself too seriously.

I sometimes wonder what a stacked cast was thinking when they read the script for a movie that clearly doesn’t work. And no one here is exactly turning in Oscar-worthy work here, in a cast including Josh Hutcherson as the misguided “brains” behind a company that scams elderly people via their computers, Jeremy Irons as the company’s head of security, Phylicia Rashad as one of the company’s victims, and Minni Driver, getting disappointingly little screen time as the director of the CIA. One thing they all have in common, though: they’re having a good time. And so is the viewer.

The Beekeeper does lay it on a little thick with all of its many “hive” metaphors, not always with full coherence (Statham’s Adam Clay is somehow just “protecting the hive” with all the countless people he dispatches), which ultimately is part of its charm. No one set out to make a “smart” movie here, and no one watching it expects one. This is a rare instance of movie marketers being full forthcoming with the kind of movie they’re offering, likely because anyone going to see it only wants exactly that.

In a way, The Beekeeper is just a Fast and Furious movie without any racing cars. You might expect that to make it less exciting, and I suppose arguably it is—but not by much. It’s still got plenty of violence, well staged combat scenes, and at least relatively inventive scenes of either dismemberment or death. What more could you ask for? If you want Oscar bait, there’s still more than plenty of that to go around. If you want heightened action ridiculousness, with an inexplicably indestructable hero bent on avenging the victims of elaborate phishing schemes, there’s The Beekeeper.

It should also be noted: January and February are historically notorious dumping grounds for cinema garbage. What the makers of The Beekeeper seem to understand is that, they can make something in keeping with the vibe of this time of year that’s actually worth the time, if all you’re looking for is knowingly mindless but well-executed entertainment.

If you leave your intellect at home, you’ll have a blast.

Overall: B