 The Materialists
Review by Jeff DeRouen Folks, you will probably never see a scathing review from me in this publication. That’s because I am an artist, a filmmaker myself, and I know how hard it is to make a movie. I can usually find something I like (or even love) in every movie I see whether the whole thing works for me or not. Also, I don’t take time to go see movies I don’t think I’ll enjoy (my apologies to How to Train Your Dragon), so a full-on castration of someone’s art is not something I will ever do. That being said, I wish I loved Celine Song’s new movie, Materialists. Her previous film, Past Lives, was on every critic’s “best of” list and was nominated for a ton of awards. It’s well-written, funny, and deeply emotional. It’s a beautiful film, a masterpiece even, so I was really looking forward to this one, and Materialists starts out great. It’s fast, fun, funny, sexy, and manages to play on our expectations of a romantic comedy – and it does it EXCEPTIONALLY. The actors absolutely swim in Song’s terrific dialogue while basking in the beautiful glow of cinematographer Shabier Kirchner’s lens. Everything is here – it’s the perfect setup: the story of a matchmaker who thinks of relationships in terms of graphs and spreadsheets and boxes is torn between two men and then hijinks ensue – should be a slam dunk for an adept filmmaker like Celine Song, even with a genre-subverting approach. The movie rocks for over an hour and then something bad happens. Something that abruptly changes the tone and, instead of being a one and done development, becomes a full-blown extremely clunky and heavy-handed subplot that runs through the VERY LONG third act. I won’t say what the something is, but whether it works or not is being hotly debated between the cinema experts in the blessed marketplace of ideas. Some folks like where the movie goes, but it derailed the whole train for me. I could be totally wrong about all this and I’m seeing it again this week to make sure. Different points of view can often make me look at something differently, and, who knows, maybe that’ll happen here. I’m open to that. But my first impression is that the story is undercooked, the tone is all over the place, and at two hours, the film feels about thirty minutes too long. There is a world where the 90-minute version of Materialists is considered a romantic comedy gem, because the bones and first hour of this movie are impressive and captivating. So, ultimately, I was disappointed, but I’m gonna keep buying tickets to Celine Song movies because I love that we live in a world where she gets to make her films her way. And I would take Materialists over a How to Lose a Man in Four Hours (or whatever it would be) any day. She’s taking big swings, and I love watching when artists get to play that ballgame.  Review by Jeff DeRouen
When my Southern dad became a grandfather, he lost all connection with the often emotionally unavailable “men don’t cry” parent of my youth and turned into a giant softie who says “I love you” and cries during Folgers Christmas commercials. I mention this because, at its core, I feel like Wes Anderson’s new movie, The Phoenician Scheme, is about that kind of personal transition. Benicio Del Toro (in yet ANOTHER brilliant performance) plays Zsa-zsa, an oligarch they (yes, THEY) call “Mr. 5%” because of his reputation in the global industrial trade game. He is wealthy, powerful, and under constant threat of assassination - a running gag that plays out in hilarious and often cartoonishly violent ways. He reconnects with his estranged daughter (Mia Threapleton in a star-making turn) for an important mission where Zsa-zsa hopes to repair their relationship and talk her into taking over his business/estate before she makes her vows to become a nun. Watching this pair of moral opposites make their way along this journey is incredibly entertaining and laugh-out-loud funny, not to mention a supporting ensemble boasting the kind of all-star roster they used in 70’s disaster movies. These are great actors having fun and turning in top-notch performances without the threat of the ship sinking around them or the airplane they’re on going into the ground like an exploding earthworm. Wes Anderson mainstays like Tom Hanks, Geoffrey Wright, and Bill Murray (as GOD) are just some of the players here and Michael Cera, in particular, is positively brilliant as Bjorn, the tutor who joins Zsa-zsa and his daughter on their quest. Look, either you dig what Wes Anderson throws down or you don’t – and I REALLY dig what he does. The Phoenician Scheme fits perfectly into Wes’s wholly original filmography, both thematically and visually (it’s gorgeous – see it on the big screen), so if his style of storytelling is something you’re drawn to, you’re gonna have a really great time at the movies. It’s an endearing story about family and the crucial life requirement of changing who we are, becoming better people so that we can experience happiness. It’s a true delight, and a perfect movie to take your parents to.  MISSIONARY IMPOSITION: MISSION: IMPOSSIBLE – THE FINAL RECKONING
Review by Jeff DeRouen For me, 1996 was the best summer of movies ever. My hometown of Lake Charles, Louisiana, had finally leveled up its theatrical experience and I spent those months sitting in the brand spankin’ new United Artists Theatres air-conditioned auditoriums. I was surrounded by Dolby and SDDS sound and lost in the perfect picture quality of hits like Twister, The Nutty Professor, Independence Day, The Rock and more. It was banger after banger that summer and, for a college- aged movie nerd like me, it was absolute cinematic paradise. I specifically remember shoveling popcorn into my mouth and drinking real Coke when I was introduced to agent Ethan Hunt in a stylish action thriller called Mission:Impossible – starring an actor who always delivered, based on a TV show I had never seen, and directed by a guy I really loved because I was a video store geek. I was hooked. I needed to pee, but didn’t dare leave my seat as Ethan hung there, suspended above the floor in the much-publicized Langley heist. This safe and insurance-friendly display of a movie star doing impressive gymnastics was awe-inspiring and would evolve into Cruise becoming Hollywood’s best stunt man, constantly risking his life for our enjoyment. I won’t bore you with specific plot elements of the new installment and it’s fine if you get lost like a five-year-old in a Wal-Mart. All you need to know is Ethan and his crew must stop the Entity or it’s the end of the world. It’s a shame, though, the movie slogs along for over an hour with Ethan being driven and flown from conversation to conversation, exposition-heavy scene after scene in place of plot-driven sequences, until FINALLY he’s under water doing something and The Final Reckoning kicks into gear. With his team (and collaborator/director Christopher McQuarrie), Tom plans, builds, and executes, the kind of grand and complex stunts that give him the rush he craves while flying through the air, making the audience squeal with pleasure knowing he could hit the side of a mountain at any moment because it’s ACTUALLY him. And boy is it exciting when we see Tom hang off a real airplane for the climax of The Final Reckoning - hundreds of feet in the air in one of the most exhilarating action sequences ever put on film. The sheer size of it all begs to be experienced on the biggest screen possible and it was specifically filmed for IMAX, so it periodically opens to the full aspect ratio of that giant screen – see it there if you can. Alas, Tom and I have both aged since 1996 – one of us better than the other – and he seems ready to bow out as Ethan Hunt. This movie may not be the best in the series, but it’s a fitting send off to one of the more consistently dependable popcorn properties. And, on the bright side, there’s plenty of opportunities to pee before it starts to cook. Mission : Impossible - The Final Reckoning plays across the city  The New Orleans Museum of Art (NOMA) presents a new film series, in collaboration with award-winning producer and filmmaker Meryl Poster. Each film screening at NOMA will be accompanied by a conversation with Poster and other leading figures. Discussions will draw connections to art more broadly and celebrate cinema as an essential art form.
The museum kicks off the series on Wednesday, May 21, with a screening of director Anthony Minghella’s The Talented Mr. Ripley (1999) followed by a conversation with actor Jude Law and producer Meryl Poster. Full schedule:
A limited number of tickets are available for each screening. Tickets are $10 for NOMA members and $15 for the general public. More information is available at noma.org/producerschoice.  The Last Showgirl
Streaming Veteran Vegas dancer Shelly, in increasingly threadbare garters, wilting feathered headdress and frayed silk wings, radiates a thousand-watt smile as she gears up for one exhausting last lap of the showbiz track. The camera is soft, vaseline-smeared around the edges, framing unsaturated hues of faded glamor. Her job, her life, is performing in ‘The Razzle Dazzle’, a creaking fixture at a resort in transition. Even the name feels out of time. The implied missing word, ‘old’ (as in, “Give ‘em the old razzle dazzle”), hangs limply in the air, like a deflating disco ball. Pamela Anderson stars as the aging optimist, juggling past mistakes with a blinkered positive attitude that gets bolted on every day as she repairs her weathered costumery. The Razzle Dazzle is coming to an end, being replaced by bawdy circuses with ever more lurid acrobatics. 18 punters a night cannot sustain this ungainly throwback - “We were like rockstars, a spectacle!” says Shelly, defending its legacy. But, like the song says, that was thirty years ago, when they used to have a show. It’s a firecracker of a performance by Anderson, the parallels to the injustices and seedy manipulations of her own career presumably weighing on her mind in every take. We could reference Demi Moore in The Substance, or Micky Rourke in The Wrestler, the clinging onto the grubby coattails of an industry with desperate fingertips, a business that has drained them of what was once needed, but which now distances itself from them at light speed. We’re given vignettes rather than real story arks. There’s the emotional wreckage of courting an estranged daughter, and a half-hearted attempt at romance with the socially-awkward, aging stage manager (played with moving empathy by Dave Bautista), but director Gia Coppola keeps us involved enough in this rhinestone-clad existential crisis. Shelley argues with her much younger dancer cohorts (the excellent Kiernan Shipka and Brenda Song) that The Razzle Dazzle has class, honoring a long line of French tradition. “It’s Parisian Lido culture,” she announces to a mostly-bored dressing room. For them, it’s just another softcore nudie gig with a paycheck: “It’s just a job that pays American dollars!” replies Song as she applies the cumbersome upholstery of her trade. At home, Shelly dances along balletically to old 16mm projections. In her mind, she’s a cultured entertainer, the most glamorous artiste in the trailer park, but it’s an increasingly debilitating delusion. She’s not Margot Fonteyn, she’s Tawdry Hepburn. I mean that less cruelley than it reads, because in many ways, she’s admirable, supportive and, as she maintains throughout, just doing the best she can (-can). The most memorable scenes, though, come with the whirlwind support of Jamie Lee Curtis. Her fake-tan-daubed Annette is a hard-as-iron cocktail waitress in a downbeat casino, withered by decades of sulphuric lighting and cigarette smoke, but gamely punching her way through every single shift. Both Curtis and Anderson have euphoric solo dance scenes that let the light shine out of their hearts, if only for one last song. They may be crying every night into their homemade margaritas, but The Old Razzle Dazzle can still sometimes paste on a smile, flip off the world and hold its head high. (PO)  Out for the Count: Nosferatu
The themes of reanimation are hard to ignore in Robert Eggers' latest. Of course, there’s the undead nature of the monster itself, added to which the project itself is a remake of a remake of a remake of the original Dracula story. A (cough) revamp, if you will (though you probably won’t). Taking on Dracula is to operate under the weight of the mythos. Bram Stoker’s novel was published in 1897, and its grip on the human imagination means that we’ve had countless iterations since then. 1922’s Nosferatu, a classic of the German Expressionism movement, was essentially an unlicensed adaptation for German audiences. Changing a few minor details didn’t dissuade the Stoker estate from suing, and all copies should have been destroyed, the ruling coming too late to prevent its distribution. Since then we’ve had everything from the classic 1930s Bela Lugosi to Gary Oldman’s creepy Count in Copolla’s 1992 version. Twilight, Blade and Sesame Street’s Count Von Count show Dracula’s panoramic reach. Eggers (The VVitch, The Lighthouse) makes the canny choice to take the material, and shape it using his strengths. These would be, among other things, obsessive attention to historical detail, a fascination with esoteric folklore and an evocation of dark atmospherics that is among the best in modern cinema. Bill Skarsgård’s Count Orlock (‘Nosferatu’ is an archaic Romanian word for ‘vampire’) is a necrotic, zombie-like creature with a mustache you could lose a small nutria in. He swings between weakly cadaverous and bounding towards us with the gait of a rutting grizzly bear. In his own worlds, he is not a mortal object. “I am appetite!” he growls, placing him beyond reasoning, and beyond mercy. He has become fixated on Ellen Hutter (Lily-Rose Depp), luridly projecting himself into her dreams before pursuing her through his business dealings with her effete husband Thomas (Nicholas Hoult). Ellen’s visions and seizures are equal parts seduction and repulsion, increasing in intensity as Orlock ships himself from Romania to take up residence in her home town. Depp does an incredible job swinging from sexual mania to nihilistic melancholy. Orlock is a one-man apocalypse, bringing pestilence, plague and infant death. He is parasite and strongman, terrible yet irresistible. Ellen’s condition reflects a physical darkness across the town, one that must be battled. Local doctor Wilhelm Sievers (Ralph Ineson) enlists eccentric metaphysician and occult scientist Professor Albin Eberhart von Franz (played with obvious relish by Willem Defoe), and once Orlock’s nature is beyond doubt, they wage war as best they can. Given the sheer scale of a century and a half of world building, Eggers’ take is even more impressive. Chilling psychological drama keeps the inevitable levels of camp in check, and the grotesque form of the Count - as opposed to a Brylcreemed, cape-flapping caricature - create a vampire that is stirringly novel, yet remains a sincere homage to both the original source material and the pioneering 1922 adaptation. Old horrors in new forms. It’s truly a monster for our times. (PO)  Glad all over: Gladiator II
Review by Jeff DeRouen The first Gladiator is not even close to my favorite Ridley Scott movie (that honor belongs to Thelma & Louise), but the Best Picture Oscar-winning sword and sandal epic is universally adored, and I certainly acknowledge that it’s a whole lot of fun to watch. And it’s that fun that Scott and company are after with Gladiator II, no doubt giving Paramount a blueprint for what future sequels (or series, or cartoons, or aerial drone shows they can “evolve” the property into) will look like. I’d give you a full rundown of the plot, but it basically follows the original in that we have the rightful heir to the throne fighting their way to freedom in the coliseum while being nursed by Connie Nielsen. The “fighting their way to freedom” part provides the spectacle that a seasoned pro like Ridley Scott can do in his sleep. Aside from an overreliance on CGI creatures (this movie could have been called, Gladiator II: F**k Animals), the battle sequences are big, loud, vicious, and very, very bloody – exactly what we want to see on the big screen. Even the over the top and ridiculous “battle at sea in the coliseum with SHARKS” sequence is pretty darn thrilling, because Ridley Scott knows how to do his job. The movie, though, plays it too safe in trying to be a direct sequel and makes the obvious choice of following the “son of Gladiator” and not giving the movie to Macrinos, played by Denzel Washington. Macrinos is calculating, manipulative, power-hungry, FUNNY, and absolutely the best thing in this movie. Denzel is having so much fun and is so masterful here, I wanted to follow HIM as our protagonist; “spawn of Crowe’s” storyline just isn’t as interesting and feels wholly underwritten. The movie belongs to Washington anyway, so why not have given him the whole thing from the beginning? If fun is what you’re after, then Gladiator II is a solid pick. Yeah, it ultimately suffers from being an unnecessary follow-up, but you get a fine cinematic meal from one of our great storytellers who always delivers a great night at the movies.  It's all Poping off: Conclave
Review by Jeff De Rouen “You know what’s missing from my life? A good papal thriller,” said no one ever and Hollywood, as far as I know, hasn’t scratched that nonexistent itch since Godfather III (for the record, I love Godfather III but, apparently, it’s just me and one other guy in Peoria). The world of Vatican intrigue was indeed ripe for the pickin’ and director Edward Berger (All Quiet on the Western Front) delivers unto us the compelling, taught, and beautifully shot thriller, Conclave. We’re thrust right into the story: the pope is dead and Cardinal Lawrence, played meticulously by “definitely will be nominated for everything this year,” Ralph Fiennes, must organize and run a conclave to choose the next pope. From the beginning, we have games: power moves are executed, loyalties are tested, and secrets are uncovered. The movie’s pace never slows, and it’s a delight to watch some of our best actors (Stanley Tucci, John Lithgow, and Lucian Msamati – in a stunning performance – to name a few) chew the scenery and bring their A game. That being said, the movie is VERY GOOD but misses some big opportunities. They basically waste the iconic Isabella Rossellini (her “big” scene merely repeats what we already know despite a magnificent opening line) and the big reveal at the end felt like artists trying to say something important but playing it safe so that it’s more palatable, completely diluting the message. In my opinion, they should have really gone for it. You’ll know what I’m talking about when you see it and you absolutely should see it ON THE BIG SCREEN. Berger’s film expertly uses space and color as the foundational canvas for the actors and one shot in particular, a sudden occurrence of violence, is breathtaking. Conclave will not go down as one of the best films ever made, and who knows what you would actually call this genre, but it’s a perfect addition to the “let’s have a really fun time at the movies without anything like a Pixar-induced full-blown emotional catharsis” genre that pairs perfectly with popcorn. MORE MOVIE REVIEWS SIGN UP FOR YOUR FREE WEEKLY NEWSLETTER  LET US PREY: HERETIC
Behold the timely arrival of a new A24 horror film as the nights start to get darker. It’s holding the cinematic door open for us, all we have to do is nose into the shadows of the rickety old house…just ignore that there’s only flickering candles and no real light. Slice of pie while we watch? I don’t mind if I do. Providing the chills in this creepy three(ish)-hander is Hugh Grant, starring in his first flick from this particular genre since Ken Russell’s The Lair of the White Worm, all the way back in 1988. The innocents knocking gingerly at his door are Mormon missionaries Sophie Thatcher and Chloe East, here with a mind to convert non-believers to the Mormon cause. It begins simply enough, the disciples welcomed by Mr Reed (Grant), who is doing his best, genial Brit schtick to great effect. It’s a dark, crumbling cottage with lots of strange doors and idiosyncrasies, but his wife is purportedly making blueberry pie in the kitchen. She never does seem to appear, though, much to the growing consternation of the holy sisters. As Grant’s religious cynicism and theoretical challenges start to become more intense, the girls' safety slowly recedes, and the weird, remote house becomes a kind of ecumenical escape room. Mr Reed has lured the girls here with the intention of skewering their beliefs, or at least scaring the girls into questioning their realities. The film is quite dialogue heavy, and you can almost imagine it as a stage play. There’s a lot of rhetoric in the first two acts, with some fairly predictable takedowns of organized religions. Grant has so much of a twinkle in his eye, though, that we get swept along by pure charisma. Thatcher and East are the foils, but they hold their own as the situation intensifies. The climax has the audience questioning if supernatural forces are actually at work, Grant toying with them relentlessly as the Mormon elders start to notice that two of their number are missing and a ticking clock starts. It’s a psychological horror as much as anything, and though some of the arguments are philosophically sophomoric, the performances and twists keep it elevated above schlocky. I’m enjoying late-career Hugh Grant almost as much as he evidently is. (PO)  Review: Beetlejuice Beetlejuice
I SEE TIM BURTON HAS MADE HIS FILM AGAIN is what I would usually open with as a stock introduction to reviewing any of his films. But this time it’s not a wittily sarcastic opening salvo like you thought, this is actually a real live (well, undead) sequel. My notes say that the original was released in 1988 (that can’t be right, I saw it at the cinema and I’m only…OK, OK, that’s scary in itself), with Burton reuniting original cast members Michael Keaton, Winona Ryder and Catherine O’Hara. Notable additions include a hilarious Willem Defoe as a theatrically hard-boiled underworld detective, Justin Theroux’s pitch-perfect male feminist and modern-day sad gurl icon Jenna Ortega. With Ortega playing Ryder’s daughter, this almost feels like an official passing of the Goth ‘It Girl’ torch, like when Madonna kissed Britney at the MTV awards except they’re both sat in a graveyard wearing Victorian mourning dresses. The plot is chaotic, involving lots of passing back and forth into the cartoonish afterlife, trickster demon Keaton with his army of pinhead warriors/administrators being chased by his reanimated ex-wife (Monica Bellucci). The special effects channel some of those memorable, late-80s graphics and mix them well with modern-day cgi. They’re employed with some gusto during the musical numbers, which culminate in a triumphantly possessed and thoroughly entertaining cover of MacArthur Park. It’s anarchic, nonsensical and highly enjoyable if you don’t think about it too much. Just strap yourself in - it’s like being on a theme park ride scored by Danny Elfman, and everyone commits to the bit. I had fun, anyway. (PO) |
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