Welcome to Marwen (2018)

Score: 3 / 5

I really think this movie would have worked better had it not given away its entire story and spectacle in marketing.

Robert Zemeckis does his typically brilliant directorial work in visualizing the story of Mark Hogancamp (played by Steve Carell), an artist who was brutally attacked by five men and left with severe PTSD and precious few memories. As he cannot draw anymore, he creates a small town of miniatures and photographs them as his therapeutic practice, calling the town Marwen. Its citizenship of dolls share uncanny likenesses to people in Mark's life, though the town is set in Belgium during WWII. Mark's artistic successes belie a man attempting to cope with debilitating pain and disorientation, but the film depicts his journey to a sort of self-actualization when he can finally stand up for himself and function in society again.

There's a lot going on in this picture that we could spend hours discussing. Mark's identity as a cross-dresser, for example, is curiously specific yet largely unexplored by the film, which never uses terminology beyond his attempt to get close to women's "essence". The men who attack him repeatedly call him "queer", and the women he develops intimate relationships with befriend him with great kindness and sincerity; one, though, perhaps thinks he's gay until he proposes to her. It's a fascinating dynamic that is never fully realized; then again, this might be a fabulously non-judgmental portrayal of transvestism that is almost never seen on screen.

Too, we might analyze the questionably feminist tendencies of the film. The cast of mostly women are wonderfully diverse, in ethnicity and culture as well as personality and performance of womanhood. All are strong, though, and their love for Mark is infectious. His love for them, though, is occasionally questionable, and Zemeckis's focus on their bodies (especially breasts and shoes) arguably serves to fetishize their bodies. It's not incompatible with Mark's fixations -- we see him enjoying pornography, his collection of 280+ women's shoes, and miniature scenes of an often erotic nature -- but create an ambiguous tone that battles between the male gaze and the dialogue and themes, which repeatedly praise empowered women.

And while these elements are worthy of discussion, they are also largely matters of lenses and preference. The film as a whole is a mess of such lenses, and we're lurched between what could (and probably should) be an ensemble drama and what is, in fact, an intensely personal character study. Mark battles drug addiction and antisocial tendencies, incarnated by one of his dolls named Deja, a witch whose turquoise color she shares with Mark's pills and whose jealousy of other women keeps Mark perpetually alone. The climax of the film comes when he vanquishes her, letting her disappear in a time machine he built (that is basically the DeLorean time machine, thank you Zemeckis) and washing his pills down the drain. He attends the sentencing of his attackers and proclaims that he'll "be okay," aiming for a future of reality more than fantasy.

Speaking of which, the real joys of the film come from the astounding visual magic when his dolls come to life. Their little adventures weave seamlessly into and out of Mark's life (though the film itself is not seamless, their integration is a thing of wonder), making our experience of him something between reality and fantasy, much as Mark experiences life. As they kick Nazi ass -- another element worthy of hearty discussion, elsewhere -- they help him make decisions and make sense of his own tragedy.

There's a lot to admire here, if you can stay on track with a meandering screenplay and a strong split between narrative focal points.

IMDb: Welcome to Marwen

Aquaman (2018)

Score: 4 / 5

What a fabulous flick.

It's become cool to hate DC films, and I simply do not understand why. People suck their teeth and shake their heads and say words like "bad" without giving any evidence, let alone articulating why they simply didn't like the movies, which is their real complaint. Maybe because I don't like hopping on hateful bandwagons, or maybe because I'm not a big DC fan anyway so creative liberties in new adaptations don't bother me, but I've never felt less than thoroughly entertained in a DC superhero film. And Aquaman is no exception.

If you, like me, knew precious little about the hero, I'll give you a quick rundown. Son of a lighthouse keeper and the princess of Atlantis (Nicole Kidman), Arthur Curry embarks on a mission to save the world. A year after the events of Justice League, the reigning king of Atlantis, Arthur's half-brother Orm (Patrick Wilson) sows strife among humans and sea-dwellers to justify his preparations to launch an attack on the surface world. Warned of this plot, Arthur begins a quest to find the lost trident of Atlantis, a magic weapon that will establish Arthur as the rightful king and master of the oceans.

It's not an original story, and this Arthur seems to be a curious mixture of Hamlet and King Arthur searching for his Excalibur. Combine it with the visual wonder, though, of a James Cameron film and the rollicking energy of the very best fantasy/action pictures, and suddenly this Indiana Jones-meets-Avatar adventure launches itself into a memorable new stratum. Director James Wan gives us an underwater world like we've never seen, bright and vivid, teeming with life and creativity, completely absorbing in its every detail. There's everything from soldiers riding sharks and seahorses to an octopus playing the drums. What's not to like?

Aquaman provides the DC franchise with a fresh aesthetic and energy. Though elements of its plot are needless or needlessly complex and contrived, it's an engaging story that knows it's running on tried and tested ground. Its novelty doesn't even lie with its hunky hero, Jason Momoa, whose swagger and haunting eyes lead the picture with incredible star power, nor with its other stars, of whom Nicole Kidman is easily the brightest. Rather, this movie works best because it simply has fun with every single moment. An infectious sense of joy bursts out of the screen at you, flooding you with wonder and good humor.

I was enjoying myself, I'd like to note, until one scene right before the final third of the film. In this moment, when Arthur finally enters the Trench, where monstrous hordes were thought to have murdered (eaten) his mother. Escaping the snapping teeth, he enters a portal to the center of the earth. There had been a Jules Verne reference early in the movie, and here it comes gloriously alive as dinosaurs -- yes, dinosaurs! -- swoop over a secret beach, and Nicole Kidman is revealed as the lone warrior who helped Arthur escape the Trench. It was at this moment I stopped enjoying the movie and grew to love it. It's emotional and beautiful and exciting and basically everything I wanted. Oh, and not long after, Arthur gets his magic trident which is guarded by a Kraken-like monster voiced by Julie Andrews. I mean, honestly, does it get any better?!

I'd also be lying if I didn't add that this movie gives me hope for a quality live-action remake of The Little Mermaid.

IMDb: Aquaman

Mary Poppins Returns (2018)

Score: 5 / 5

Mary Poppins Returns, and in a big way. Even for someone who was never a big fan of the 1964 original film, this long-delayed sequel is an amazing movie experience. In fact, I liked this one so much that I'll be revisiting the original with a much lighter disposition. The Broadway musical was great, but this film exploded any and all expectations I had for the character and franchise.

The story takes place twentyish years after the original, when young Michael Banks (Ben Whishaw) has lost his wife and now fathers three adorable motherless children. Helped by his sister Jane (Emily Mortimer), though she's quite busy organizing labor activism, and their housekeeper Ellen (Julie Walters), Michael works for Fidelity Fiduciary Bank and has squashed his artistic aspirations in favor of making ends meet. Yet his dreams do not survive the Great Depression, and the Bank's greedy president (Colin Firth) threatens to take the Banks home.

Remembering their father owned shares in the bank, the Bankses frantically search for proof, and in comes Mary Poppins, floating in on the kite that ended the original film. Emily Blunt is utterly magnificent as the iconic character, at once vain and proper but bubbling over with magical joy. Director Rob Marshall seems infected by this energy, and this movie becomes a sort of sensory overload in the best possible way, forcing you to forget about your troubles and simply enjoy the endless pleasures offered. It's a spoonful of sugar, and then some: vivid colors, mesmerizing effects, glorious dancing, and gorgeous costumes are matched by a score that could have been written by the original musicians. I was tapping along to songs I've never heard before, and humming them as I jaunted out of the theater. That is some damn good movie magic.

Yes, the cast is brilliant and yes the film is a masterclass in what Disney can get so, so right. But what struck me and stuck with me was the absolute genius of this film. Structurally, it is Mary Poppins. The original. Instead of sweeps, we have lamplighters who dance, yes, but underground instead of on the roofs. We have Mary's first number not with cleaning the nursery but with cleaning the children themselves. We have cousin Topsy (Meryl Streep) whose home spins around her, rather than Uncle Albert who floats around his home. We have a chipped china bowl to adventure within, not a chalk painting before the rain. We have balloons instead of kites, given by none other than Angela Lansbury. And Dick Van Dyke shows up for one of the most purely entertaining moments I've ever seen on screen.

If it all sounds like a cheap ripoff -- and it does -- fret not! Nothing here is cheap or forced. In fact, it's all done with such an eye for authentic nostalgia that it even won me over. Unlike The Force Awakens that relied on forced nostalgia and plastered fan service, this movie is a pure work of fans for fans and for everyone else. It's a celebration of childhood, of beauty and creativity, and there's not a moment I wanted the movie to end.

I have absolutely no complaints about this movie except that it did, unfortunately, end. It's pure and sweet and fun and creative and intelligent and everything you could possibly want. We can only hope Mary Poppins will be back.

IMDb: Mary Poppins Returns

Mary Queen of Scots (2018)

Score: 4 / 5

This was a perfect companion for The Favourite on a double-feature date night with myself. Highly recommend the pairing, though lots of wine would have been nice.

While The Favourite was easily, well, my favorite of the screenings, Mary Queen of Scots has a lot to offer. Though arguably a remake of the 1971 film of the same name -- starring the incomparable Vanessa Redgrave and Glenda Jackson -- this new film owes a lot to its time and place. It's the sort of revisionist history porn that we all love feel guilty about, but keep indulging anyway. Think I'm wrong? Look at The Tudors and the host of shows it inspired and that keep making history sexy and soapy. Look at one of my favorite flicks, The Other Boleyn Girl, and the extent to which it obsesses over style and smut while sacrificing history at the altar. It's a magnificent aesthetic, one that loves history so much that it allows itself to take liberties.

Don't forget, these are films. Not history books. So get off your high horse.

Mary Queen of Scots begins with Mary Stuart (Saoirse Ronan) returning home to Scotland after being the Queen of France and widowed at the age of 18. Everything is set against her ruling in her homeland, from the Protestants taking over to her cousin Elizabeth (Margot Robbie) having assumed rule over both England and Scotland. The film focuses of course on Mary, establishing her household and plans for domination in spite of overwhelming opposition and open violence. The two queens regard each other from afar, admiring and testing their strengths while timidly seeking for answers. The world of men they inhabit is dangerous, and they know that far much more than their crowns are at stake.

Politics and religion, money and laws, rebellion and warfare aside, the film seems most interested in the private lives of these women. Though some will argue it's more fanciful than realistic to fantasize thus about the sexual exploits of these women, the film works because of its fascinating split between private and public realms. Just look at their costumes, inviting appraisal as well as interest, or the constant use of windows and doorways as frames for us to view both the inner and the outer. We're assaulted by endless facades, from the thick white makeup on Elizabeth's face to the translucent sheets adorning the barn in which our queens eventually meet.

Their adventures through worlds of men and sex seem awfully timely for this era, and the film is deeply queer in its attitudes. Leave it to screenwriter Beau Willimon -- developer and showrunner of House of Cards -- to acutely examine this most fascinating of boundaries between high politics and eroticism, suggesting that major points of history were dictated by a man eating out his queen or by the same man seducing another man in her retinue. Set in a crumbling castle in the exotic highlands, it becomes weirdly difficult to imagine anything else having happened in reality. Why shouldn't we review history as sexy? Otherwise, it's all too depressing and boring.

IMDb: Mary Queen of Scots

The Children Act (2018)

Score: 4 / 5

The High Court Justice Fiona Maye is in a crisis. But then, as a family law expert, she's used to that.

The Children Act begins by showing us her steely demeanor in the courtroom, ruling on a complex case involving the separation of conjoined twins -- the death of one for the life of the other -- that results in controversy. It would seem such cases have taken a drastic toll on her personally, for though she outwardly presents a flawless facade of professionalism and intelligence, she is also trapped in what appears to be a cycle of workaholism, resulting in a sexless marriage.

Emma Thompson stars as Fiona, and she delivers a typically stellar performance as someone maneuvering high-stakes work with no less weighty personal matters. The story really kicks into gear when we are introduced to the two main men in her life. One, her husband, played by a quiet Stanley Tucci, wants her permission to carry on an affair; Fiona counters with an ultimatum threatening him with eviction and divorce. The other is her newest case: Adam, a young man played by Fionn Whitehead, suffers leukemia and is dying. As a Jehovah's Witness, his belief system will not allow him to be subjected to blood transfusion, as it will pollute his soul; his parents actively support this, and so the doctors have taken them to court. Only a blood transfusion will save his life, and though Adam is underage, both he and his parents are united in their refusal.

Fiona meets Adam in an unorthodox hands-on approach to the case. The two experience a profound connection, and Fiona cannot bear to let Adam die under her watch. She allows the doctors to perform as they see fit, and Adam lives after a blood transfusion. He seeks her out, sending letters and leaving voicemails for her that she never answers; he begins following her, earnestly wanting nothing more than to be friends with the woman who saved him. He questions his religion and seeks a parental figure other than those who were willing to martyr him to their faith.

The film works best because of Thompson's performance and Ian McEwan's recreation of his own novel; we are entirely caught in Fiona's internal story as if the film were shot from her perspective (it is not, thank heaven, and so we can see the beautiful woman in all her glory). We see a powerful, professional woman who has made a career of subduing her emotions and keeping personal conflicts at bay. Her cool-headed exactitude cracks under the strain here, though, and the character's repressed feelings bleed out before she even knows what they are. It's a powerful character study mixed with a cerebral journey through hot topics, though it never really means anything beyond that.

IMDb: The Children Act

The Favourite (2018)

Score: 5 / 5

Yorgos Lanthimos does it again with The Favourite, a brilliant comedy-tragedy that might also be his most accessible film yet to those not familiar with his auteurship.

The year is 1708, but that's mostly incidental, and the characters are based on real historical figures, but that's almost an afterthought. You don't need to know about Queen Anne's reign, her confidant and lover Sarah Churchill, and Sarah's cousin Abigail who rose in power and became the titular favorite of her majesty. I certainly didn't, although apparently it's been extensively documented through letters, memoirs, and even a lengthy biography by Sarah's descendant Winston Churchill. Ignoring, as I do, did, and will, the political and historical details about their biographies, we're left with the film as a masterful portrait of women in power and loving every moment.

The ailing Queen Anne, falling apart from gout and miserably forsaking her own crown in favor of eccentric indulgences, relies fully on her adviser Sarah, who is immediately seen to be the real power behind the throne. Sarah manages the household, the country, and, yes, the Queen's sexual appetites as well; she's also strong-willed and proud, manipulative but not sycophantic, and so tension follows in her wake as sure as sin. Olivia Colman deserves accolades for her role as the queen here, in the kind of powerhouse role women usually dream of and never get. She cries and screams and throws herself around with reckless abandon, speaking to the spoiled monarch in all of us. Meanwhile, Rachel Weisz plays her cards close to the chest, rocking some intensely androgynous costumes with stony-faced intelligence.

Enter, then, Emma Stone as the once and future favorite Abigail, who starts earnestly enough to situate herself in the queen's household. Despite her hostile work environment, she climbs the ranks before we (and her endangered cousin) realize she may be climbing with malicious intent. Her performance doesn't quite match her capabilities, nor does it quite match the output of her co-stars, but the trio of women make a fascinating and brilliant group for us to watch on screen. Their power play is endlessly entertaining, and I found myself laughing and gasping aloud in an otherwise pretty silent theater. Some people just don't understand quality comedy.

I have no complaints whatsoever about this film, except to say there wasn't more of it. It's irreverent, brutally funny and sad, and casts a lasting spell that will keep you giggling and thinking long after the credits roll. Dig the female power. Dig the awesome cinematography, performances, music, screenplay, costuming, and editing. It's all fabulous. One of the best this year, by far.

IMDb: The Favourite

Boy Erased (2018)

Score: 4.5 / 5

Joel Edgerton again flexes his directorial and writerly muscles with his latest drama, one seemed aimed at awards season and, slyly, the current vice president. Boy Erased, though by no means one of the best pictures this year, is something I never expected to see on screen and therefore earned my respect and a whole bucket of my tears.

When we first meet Jared (Lucas Hedges), he's on his way to Love in Action, one of the more notorious "ex-gay" conversion therapy programs. The son of a proud Baptist minister and car dealer (Russell Crowe), Jared is taken by his beautiful mother (Nicole Kidman) to the program, which immediately establishes all sorts of arbitrary and problematic rules while sucking money out of the hopeful parents. The leader of the program (Joel Edgerton) commands the group of misfit queers as if running a drill camp, and it doesn't take long before Jared has second thoughts about this program. Even his mother suspects something is wrong, but the will of God seems notably difficult to identify. The story escalates to an explosive climax that is all the more powerful because it is based on a biographical memoir.

I knew this would be a difficult movie to watch, as I also went through conversion therapy for several years, but it's a masterful insight into the minds of everyone involved. Though Edgerton's screenplay is skimpy on explaining itself or delving deep into the theology or psychology of the process, it's clear that he understands the whole scenario far better than I would have expected from someone who never lived the experience. He's sensitive and acutely attuned to the minutiae of complex emotions that riddle everyone in the conversion process, so much so that the film becomes a master class in cinematic subtext and theme.

In my opinion, the film works best to understand the intentions behind someone who, like myself, freely chose to enter the program. That's something people seem bewildered by when the topic is brought up in conversation. Further, the film becomes a sort of nearsighted experience that forces us to live in the world of conversion therapy, albeit in episodic form. Everything is close, sensory, vivid,  and sentimental (in a good way), and though Lucas Hedges has performed much better before, here he masterfully accomplishes the thankless work of becoming a sort of every-man, a blank slate that we can immediately project ourselves onto. It's some really difficult filmmaking from both Hedges and Edgerton, and ultimately wildly successful.

While the film will unfortunately be known as the "conversion therapy" movie, it's important to actively try to squash that. It is by no means a sweeping exploration of the process or its various forms; neither is it a treatise on morality or faith or family. It is -- quite simply, and for better or worse -- a biographical story that happens to feature the conversion process. It features a very specific form of the therapy in a no less specific time and place. It also, and this is where the trouble sets in, fails in its final act because it can't decide what to do with itself. After starting with a bang into the plot, it dwindles once Jared (SPOILER ALERT) escapes the program with his mother. This emotional sequence is followed by several dragging denouement scenes including news of the death of another victim, Jared moving away, and then Jared returning to confront his parents.

It doesn't quite work, this ending, because it intensifies the disconnect Edgerton clearly struggles with between biopic and drama. While the story may be true -- that the real-life protagonist escaped, moved to the Big City and had a Big Gay Life -- it's a story that died out in the 2000s and needs to stop being propagated. The queer destiny is not urbania, and phrases like "it gets better" and "wait til you leave this town" are infinitely damaging to queers who hear them. Keep your empty well-wishes to yourself, y'all.

Further, much like one of my complaints about Love, Simon (and I have a lot), the ending of this film loses its steam when it succumbs to a narrative that loses its stakes. When Jared returns, his mother welcomes him, and we see the change his struggles has effected in her. She no longer attends her husband's toxic church, and pointedly tells her son, "I love God, God loves me. And I love my son." While this may be true, it fails to add a few key elements -- "God loves my son" I whispered in the theater before realizing she had recited her entire line -- that might make a significant difference in hegemonic 2018 mindset. Later, when Jared does confront his father, the scene laboriously drowns in its own subtext, and I found myself completely bewildered by both characters, their dialogue, and the pacing. It's needlessly slow, hopelessly sentimental (in a bad way), and limits the scope of impact from the rest of the film.

Finally, the film skates cleanly over the lasting effects of conversion therapy -- and believe me, it's not pretty -- by effectively saying that Jared got out, he's fine now. But that's a matter of personal preference far more than anything else. Go see this movie. Go see this movie. Go see this movie.

Oh, and Nicole Kidman is just brilliant. As always.

IMDb: Boy Erased

The Mule (2018)

Score: 3.5 / 5

In what felt like -- and could very well be -- his swan song, Clint Eastwood reminds us of everything great about him and everything not so great. For better and worse, then, we are presented a film that both works and doesn't in many ways, but one that I personally liked far better than anything he's done since J. Edgar, seven years ago.

The Mule's title refers to its main character, Earl Stone, a 90-year-old Illinois man whose life is in shambles. Having made a career of traveling and selling and networking, his family has all but abandoned him for abandoning them. Facing foreclosure and the disappointment of his granddaughter (Taissa Farmiga), he accepts a job transporting drugs for a Mexican cartel. His runs earn him lots of money, and the increasing payments prove hard to ignore; as people around him can certainly use funds, he becomes a sort of benevolent Robin Hood, providing means for his granddaughter to be married, to re-buy his house, to renovate the local VFW, to help his ailing ex-wife (Dianne Wiest). Unfortunately, a DEA strike force (including Bradley Cooper, Michael Pena, and Laurence Fishburne) is closing in on him, and the cartel will not suffer any delays.

Sound thrilling? It should -- and the oft-played trailer for this film certainly made it out to be a nail-biter. Add to this setup the fact that it's all loosely based on a real-life case (on a man from Michigan City, not far from where my parents live!) and I was ready for a masterful return to form from the man who expertly delivered staples like Mystic River and Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil, mystery-thrillers like Changeling and Blood Work. Add to it his recent (and much weaker) politically-minded, true-life flicks, and we reasonably supposed this would be a radical return to form, if uncomfortably timely.

I generally don't care much for Eastwood's acting, though I deeply admire the niche he carved for himself, dedicating his career to playing anti-heroes as heroes. And while I similarly admire the varied body of directorial work he's amassed, I can't help but feel constantly disappointed at his plodding workmanship evident in every picture. Not unlike Ron Howard -- but with far less craftsmanship and far more bewilderingly popular response -- Eastwood tends to overdo his films, draining what's engaging about the real (often fascinating) stories and smothering them in tense atmosphere and, yes, more than a little of his political and social biases.

Unfortunately, the film -- which could and probably should have been structured in terms of plot -- is lugubriously slow. Melancholia can certainly work in a character study, but this film is a little too stretched for that. Eastwood delivers a powerhouse performance -- one of his very finest -- as old Earl, the complex old man who is superficially likable and deceptively caring. His charisma belies deep insecurities and personal failures that eventually break him. It's a great performance, but one that Eastwood as a director treats as laughably lovable; that it most certainly is not, and it's deeply disturbing to sit in a theater of white folk laughing at the crazy, silly old man who unapologetically womanizes, praises himself for helping some "Negroes" with their flat tire, and insults Latinos with the handful of Spanish words he knows. They laugh because Eastwood laughs, not as the actor or even character, but as the director.

Final verdict: Go see this movie, or don't. Like his performance, or don't. Like the story, or don't. Like his direction, or don't (...actually, no, just don't). If you like Eastwood already, you'll probably like this one; if you don't care about him -- in any capacity -- you may not like this one either. I personally found this to be infinitely more engaging and entertaining than American Sniper or Sully or that ridiculous-looking gimmick he churned out last winter about the train.

IMDb: The Mule

The Front Runner (2018)

Score: 3.5 / 5

Hugh Jackman continues to surprise us with fresh, invigorating new characters. This time, he plays the suave, brilliant presidential hopeful Gary Hart, the Colorado senator who infamously failed in his quest to the White House. It's a fascinating story, and one The Front Runner gets mostly right, at least to those of us who had to learn about it over a decade later rather than live through it. Jason Reitman's latest film has a darker, more urgent tone than we might have expected, and the screenplay from Matt Bai and Jay Carson feels a bit like a mockumentary or teleplay, pumping out exposition through lots of rapid-fire dialogue.

The story, if you didn't know, follows Hart's campaign in 1988 through his decision to drop out of the race. At one point, hounded by reporters, Hart cavalierly dares media to follow him away from the campaign trail and into his private life. Unfortunately a few reporters from the Miami Herald take this to a dangerous extreme, staking out his residence and spying on his movements. They even snap photographs of Hart accompanied by Donna Rice -- not his wife (Vera Farmiga) and not affiliated with his campaign -- and without any evidence publish a story insinuating an adulterous affair. It's a chilling look at how public opinion can work, and how influential news outlets can be.

The problem with this film comes into focus not long after, when the alleged scandal hits the press and fallout forces Hart to restrategize. At this point, when the film revs its engines and rapidly grows intense, it also narrows its scope to destabilizing effect. Too many focal points, each too isolated, you might say. We are jerked from Hart's desperate attempts to keep his campaign afloat to fallout with his wife and daughter; from campaign manager Dixon (J.K. Simmons) fighting organizational derailment to one of his employees comforting Donna Rice; from the reporters fighting disgrace to their editors (including Alfred Molina) holding tightly to their headlines. It could have been a fascinating study of political scandal and the press, but ends up a little too unwieldy to make any clear pronouncements on the issue.

That may not be a problem for some viewers -- after all, the film never pretends to be about anything more than Gary Hart himself -- and it really wasn't for me. But in our age of "fake news" and endless political scandal, this kind of story should soar. Look at The Post last year. You would think that when the president declares certain media outlets to be enemies of the people, more films about this very topic would provide insight or inspiration. And, ultimately, I feel the film would have been stronger if it didn't constantly toe the line as to Hart's alleged affair. Painting Hart as an adulterer would have had one effect, one that could have made the film an uncomfortable moralistic tragedy or radically reshaped the way we think about celebrity culture, the political machine, and our problematic obsession with powerful people's sex lives. Painting Hart as an innocent victim of bad journalism and intrusive public interest would have had a very different effect, one that I think would be most resonant in our society.

But, much as we've seen in our political history since, well, since Gary Hart lost the election, we don't always look after our communal best interests. And so The Front Runner exists not as an indictment, nor even really a commentary, so much as a snapshot of the cost of our prurient popular sovereignty.

IMDb: The Front Runner

Woman Walks Ahead (2018)

Score: 2.5 / 5

I never thought tribal resistance, female strength, and the sweeping West could be so boring.

Woman Walks Ahead concerns Catherine Weldon (Jessica Chastain), the white woman who travels from New York to the plains, seeking Sitting Bull for a portrait. She's a painter, it's the 1980s, and such a thing sounds absurd to everyone who's anyone. Her desire to go -- however it actually played out in history, which, I expect, is fantastically different than the dramatization presented here -- seems to be little more than a whim, a feminist urge to seek out a certain legendary freedom a woman cannot claim in New York. Trivial? Maybe, but a fun start to the tale, and a welcome, expected addition to Chastain's extensive list of feminist projects.

As we might expect from the title, this picture works best when it centers on Chastain, her billowing dress belying her defiant strength, silhouetted against gorgeous photography. Unfortunately, the film focuses so much on her experience that it begins to feel, well before the end of the film, that she is the reason for any strife against the Dawes Act, which did many terrible things but essentially worked to transfer tribal land to private hands and begin assimilating Native cultures into white settlements. If this film were taken out of even the most basic context, an idiot might think that Catherine Weldon was the outspoken hero who saw the horrors for what they were and raised up rebellion singlehandedly.

About the time the character begins to notice things aren't all peachy in Lakota territory, she meets Sitting Bull (Michael Greyeyes), a fascinating character here who is clearly world-weary and seeking a life of meaning in an increasingly meaningless world. Wise and noble, and more than a little eccentric to the white woman (read: to us), he helps the film feel like a character study simply because of the masterful performance of Greyeyes. Unfortunately, the film is not a character study: Weldon and Sitting Bull develop a weird connection that the film never tries to test, and before it even becomes interesting the plot tries to open into a historical-political drama that is too specific to be sweeping and too vague to be engaging.

The specifics of the film escaped me. but I don't think it's because I was too bored to pay attention. Ciaran Hinds and Sam Rockwell pop in for a few scenes to give some context (maybe?) but it's clear nobody behind the scenes cared about their characters. As a history lesson, the film fails utterly. Even knowing better, I was left with the distinct impression that Sitting Bull was only "woken" to the plight of his people when a white woman came over to paint his picture. Similarly, and perhaps more insidiously, the film's ending arguably seeks to exculpate her from the resistance's resultant massacre.

I might be too harsh. It's all lovely to look at, and diverting enough for an hour and a half. It boasts some solid performances and raises interesting questions about the problems when social justice is not intersectional. It could also be used as a case study for writers as to how tricky history can be to dramatize and make relevant. So if you are willing to pay attention through its dull delivery, give this one a try. Just don't expect it to walk ahead of you, because it won't.

IMDb: Woman Walks Ahead

Green Book (2018)

Score: 4 / 5

If there was ever going to be an updated Driving Miss Daisy, I'm glad this is it.

The year is 1962 and Tony Vallelonga (Viggo Mortensen) lives happily as a bouncer in NYC, living in a small apartment with his wife (Linda Cardellini), two sons, and a large Italian family who come and go as they like. When the Copacabana is closed for renovations, Tony looks for work elsewhere; he's booked an interview with famed pianist Don Shirley (Mahershala Ali) as his driver on a concert tour through the Midwest and Deep South. "There are gonna be problems," he half-jokes in his interview, before his future employer reveals that Tony was chosen for his skills as a bouncer far more than any driving ability.

Before long, they're on the road, and it's here that the strengths of the lead players blossom. Mortensen and Ali perfectly match each other as unlikely companions who, in turns, build each other up. A few insults fly and lots of casual racism graces the screen, but we see that the two men never actively or deliberately seek to tear each other down. This is the sort of iron-sharpens-iron bromance modern masculinity desperately needs (and, I think, desperately wants). It never sacrifices women to its humor or desires, and barely blinks when one party is discovered to be queer. Caught between two masterful performances by veteran actors, we are swept up in the characters -- if not quite the story -- and delivered to a holy place.

And that's what I think the film is really up to. From its opening scene, the picture glows with what I initially thought was a quasi-nostalgic aura. The sort of good ol' days that some in our society want to go back to and "make great again." While the film does get occasionally dark as the pair traverse Jim Crow-dominated Carolina and Alabama, it never really depicts the horrors of the era. This might be off-putting to some, and arguably rightfully so. After all, thousands of black people were murdered, tormented, ostracized, fired, and, and, and during this period of time, and if this was the only film to depict the history, it would of course present an inadequate view of the whole. But the warmth, I'd argue, is the warmth of its two leading men and the transformative friendship they shared, now shared with us.

Despite what some may see as the film's downfalls -- including the dramatization of the men's relationship, their personal lives, and the realities of Jim Crow America -- it's a film distinctly hard to shake afterward. By the end, it's just one of those earned catharses, a solidly entertaining piece with a lot of heart that bleeds for all the right things. Like La La Land, it might do exceptionally well come awards season simply because it is so entertaining; unlike that lauded picture, though, this one actually draws attention to the problems in our culture rather than ignoring them.

IMDb: Green Book

Overlord (2018)

Score: 4 / 5

It's the Nazi zombie movie you never knew you needed. For what looked like a cheap and silly excuse for exploitative thrills, Overlord succeeds as thoroughly entertaining horror with more craftsmanship than anyone expected.

D-Day is tomorrow, and to better equip the Allies, a team of paratroopers are dispatched to destroy a German radio tower hidden in a crumbling church. Only five survive after their plane is shot down; one is killed immediately by a mine. The remaining four, alone in enemy territory, approach their goal cautiously. Chloe, a French woman, provides them some information as well as shelter in her home, but the Nazis controlling the oppressed village come and go at will. They have been using villagers -- including Chloe's aunt -- as subjects of mysterious experiments that leave them horribly deformed. In their quest to destroy the radio tower, the soldiers will learn the full depths of evil the Nazis plan to unleash.

It might be reprehensible for a film in 2018 to feel the need to create fictional horrors for Nazis. After all, we all know the stories of Josef Mengele and his ilk; Nazis were indeed experimenting on (read: torturing and mutilating) people, and that's more than horrific enough. But we might also ask ourselves if we really need to see depictions of that on the silver screen; wouldn't that be infinitely more exploitative? Horror has a long tradition (arguably its entire tradition) of taking real life evil and reconfiguring it or displacing it onto fictive elements.

And Overlord takes these and runs with them. It wears its influences proudly, enmeshing itself into horror and war genres as a sort of perfect bridge between the two. Its heart-stopping suspense -- yes, we always know what will happen, but not exactly how -- and breathtaking action might not be the most original of the year, but allow the film to feel not unlike a video game. Think Wolfenstein meets Outlast (I don't video game much, so these might be poor references). It helps, too, that two accomplished cinematographers worked on this picture: Fabian Wagner (films Victor Frankenstein, Justice League, and shows Sherlock and Game of Thrones) and Laurie Rose (frequent Ben Wheatley collaborator, Peaky Blinders and London Spy, and the upcoming Pet Sematary). Together, they craft a film claustrophobic, visceral, and yet also sweeping in its microcosmic look at a specific mission on the field of war. Each shot tells a story on its own, making each scene drawn out and layered in complexity uncommon in this kind of picture.

For all the derivative elements of the film, it also presents us with some refreshing features. Jovan Adepo (The Leftovers, mother!, Fences) leads the film as a powerful protagonist, and the film nearly ignores the fact that he's black. Granted, this story has already fictionalized Nazis so why not also ignore the realities of segregated American soldiers? But he's a great hero here, and it's nothing short of awesome seeing him enter a Nazi compound to kick some ass. The film also includes some surprising psychological turns, as when our lead pleads with his corporal to stop torturing a captured S.S. officer; one who, no less, had attempted to rape Chloe in the previous scene. Chloe is no victim, though, especially in the climax when she rescues her brother and helps the survivors fight their way out.

So if you can set aside your hang-ups with death metal vibes and wade into the bloody mess, you'll find a really entertaining, thought-provoking war thriller with lots of action and scares. What's not to like?

IMDb: Overlord

Fantastic Beasts: The Crimes of Grindelwald (2018)

Score: 4.5 / 5

As with so many fandoms lately, it's become cool to hate new installments. And I resist that for many reasons, one of which is that the outcries are often raised by angry consumers who can't/won't/don't contribute to the franchises yet who seem to think that they nevertheless know more about the story or characters than the artists. Especially when it comes to a planned series, why wouldn't you just sit back and let it take you for a ride? We all know Rowling is a genius. Let her do her thing and stop your bellyaching!

Okay, now let's talk magic.

Beginning a few months after Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, this new story picks up with Grindelwald (Johnny Depp) breaking out of MACUSA custody. We immediately skip across the pond to find Newt Scamander (Eddie Redmayne) appealing his travel ban with the London Ministry. And so begins a complex tale with an ensemble cast, dazzling details spanning the Wizarding World, new kinds of magic we've not seen yet, and of course some fabulous new places spanning the globe. But, you know, new things tend to bother the closed-minded.

I don't want to spoil too much of the story; it's complex and detailed -- perhaps needlessly so -- and easily the most plot-driven story from Rowling yet (not counting The Cursed Child, which is also heavily plotted). But it's also one of the darkest installments in the franchise, thematically and chromatically, with major issues of racism, fascism, loyalty, and bravery taking the fore. Maybe instead of "darkest" I should say "timeliest." It's hard to watch this film and not empathize with Newt, for example, who is determined not to take sides in a conflict and who wants so badly to build bridges; it's a fascinating extension of his character from the earlier film, which is a perfect response to Harry Potter's toxic masculinity. But by the end of this film, Newt realizes that to stop evil, he does need to take a side and actively fight the war. Rowling is clearly saying, "Okay, world, are you paying attention?"

And indeed we should be. Grindelwald is a clear representation of fascist ideals and imagery. His imposing figure cuts a stylish swath wherever he goes, and his entrancing voice commands immense power. Depp is both terrifying and understatedly charismatic, oozing his control over the proceedings in a way Voldemort only hoped to attain. More interesting still, Grindelwald's message for "the greater good" rings more hauntingly now than when it was printed in The Deathly Hallows; though he seeks control and domination, his message seduces the likes of Queenie and Credence who desire greater knowledge and personal freedom. The moment when he uses future images of WWII to terrify the wizards of Muggle capacities for violence is especially unnerving.

The film also brings in Dumbledore (Jude Law) and a smattering of other characters to round out the massive tale. We finally meet Nicolas Flamel, though he's used as a weird comic relief, and of course we meet the young woman Nagini (Claudia Kim), who we learn will eventually become Voldemort's pet and Horcrux. It is at this point we can address some of the mounting claims of problematic writing and the issues of representation on Rowling's part. We can debate all day about her retconning, her appropriation of other cultures, her use of cultural shorthand (stereotypes, we might say), and of course her use of social media and personal blogs. However, her work should (and, frankly, does) stand on its own. While it might be culturally nearsighted to proclaim a character's sexuality but never depict it, this series has never been about sex; further, do we really need another cinematic example of a doomed queer love affair that ends in tragedy? While it may be problematic to depict a lone Korean woman (well, Claudia Kim is Korean, but we don't really know about Nagini, do we?) as a "snake" (think of the Asian "dragon ladies" and their dark magic and seductive sexuality), doesn't her inclusion also comment on the deeply problematic issues of colonization, racism, and of course the ableist construct of the "freak show" Circus Arcanus where we discover her?

These issues get further complicated by the fantasy world in which they find meaning. To what extent are we meant to believe these things, and to what extent do they simply allude or even allegorize? After all, we see the mushroom clouds and Holocaust marches; hell, we even see the Titanic (or what may well be the Titanic). Taken at face value, these issues are only issues now because they were non-issues during the Harry Potter series; we've become more "woke" culturally, and the target audience has learned much about the changing world.

Still, it is worth noting that this film has its issues. Besides its simply overwhelming amount of plotting and characters -- holy crap, the Leta Lestrange (Zoe Kravitz) stuff just gets wild -- the film relies heavily on visual effects. Glorious as they may be (and they are! They really are!), with so many new and interesting characters, I desperately wanted to know more about who and what we're dealing with. The inclusion of a young Minerva McGonagall threw me for a loop, because I'm pretty sure Rowling specified her birth in 1935 on Pottermore; that's seven years before this movie. Similarly, the final cliffhanger (as if we needed one, studio, gosh!) reveals the true identity of Credence, the MacGuffin of the whole bloody movie. Grindelwald reveals that he is the brother of Albus Dumbledore, named Aurelius.

This is super problematic in many ways: nobody (even Albus) knows about this, Grindelwald himself didn't even know in the first film and could scarcely have found out while in MACUSA's prison. Of course, Grindelwald could be lying, but at this point that seems unlikely; then again, so does the alternative. And, like with McGonagall, the ages don't add up. Dumbledore Sr., Percival, was sent to Azkaban when Albus was 10 or 11; Jude Law and Ezra Miller are more than 10 years apart. I don't think Azkaban has conjugal visitations. Also Grindelwald clearly says Credence's brother wants to kill him; it's hard to imagine Albus wanting to kill anyone. Maybe Albus wants to succeed with Aurelius where he failed with Ariana, but suddenly we're in terribly murky waters.

Rowling must have something clever up her sleeve. It seems impossible that the consensus-verified genius behind Harry Potter would make such simple slip-ups. Besides, it's still a hell of a fun movie. We get to see a bevy of new beasts, new locations (um, the French Ministry? Yes, thank you!), new magic, and new people. I'm willing to suspend my disbelief and let her take me for another magical ride. Aren't you?

IMDb: Fantastic Beasts: The Crimes of Grindelwald

Robin Hood (2018)

Score: 1 / 5

Taron Egerton may be the hottest thing on screen these days, but even his beauty couldn't save the latest Robin Hood from disaster. Despite attractive and usually talented leads, Otto Bathurst's attempt at a revamped update on the timeless story squanders its few virtues. Essentially, it robs from us and gives to no one.

An origin story for a cultural icon that doesn't really need one, the newest version tries really hard to create its own franchise with highly bankable stars. Egerton emotes as Robin of Loxley, Jamie Foxx charismatically tries to do something fun with the part of John, and Ben Mendelsohn overacts his bleeding heart out as the wicked Sheriff of Nottingham. Eve Hewson as Marian and Tim Minchin as Friar Tuck are just bad, and there's really nothing else to say about that. F. Murray Abraham and Jamie Dornan show up for a few scenes that effectively set up future installments in the series -- for clearly the ending wants there to be more -- and while their scenes are perhaps the most interesting in this flick, I desperately do not want to see more.

The film's occasionally handsome design seems inspired by ugliness, something I'm still not sure works to the film's benefit. The overloaded sets are bewildering and messy, often dripping with grime and needless filth that distracts more than enhances. During multiple chase scenes -- for there are many in this action-packed romp -- I found myself utterly lost and wondering aloud why there were so many intensely detailed planks of wood everywhere. Weird, I know, but if the story is worthwhile and/or the action engaging on its own, you don't need the spectacle to be so overwhelming.

And the screenplay is just laughably stupid. It begins with the typical "Forget what you know" blather that subtextually says, "We aren't actually doing a Robin Hood story, we're doing some ignorant bullshit as an excuse to make money." It tries desperately to make itself relevant to teenagers, preaching at length about the evils of institutionalized religion, theocratic government, poverty and taxation, and damning the Crusades as if they needed it any more. Its one virtue is to suggest that Islam is in fact the victim of Western culture, not its villain; unfortunately, this point is not hammered home as hard as possible to the film's target audience. Instead -- and I note my position as a jaded millennial -- the film, as a clearly capitalist appropriation of public domain iconography, becomes hilarious in its outspoken messages of socialist principles. So, mostly (arguably hypocritically) progressive, except in its anti-feminist attitudes and relegation of Jamie Foxx to his role as a mystic black mentor to the white savior.

It's all highly silly stuff, with impossible action and ludicrous strings of plot points wallowing in special effects. The contemporary gloss of leathers do nothing to update the story -- though the designers clearly tried -- and the hint of rock music underscores the proceedings to mind-numbing effect. Moments of the script reach for immediacy: the Sheriff repeatedly shrieks about being the "law and order" and working to enslave the people in his mines, a hellish construct that looks suspiciously like an industrial park, and if you don't get post-traumatic flashes of Donald Trump you must be living under a rock. Paired with these modern elements are those that yearn for timelessness: in a moment of Robin's doubt, Marian encourages him by saying with absolute conviction, "If not you, who? If not now, when?" After involuntarily gagging, I choked on my own bile.

IMDb: Robin Hood

A Private War (2018)

Score: 4 / 5

It only makes sense that a master documentarian would segue into narrative film through the story of someone like them. And, really, for an emotional tale of obsession and revelation, it might not get any richer than the story of Marie Colvin. Colvin's tale as depicted in this film is less an odyssey across war-torn Asia and more of, well, her own "private war," her relationship with her job, her work, and her life.

It's less a war thriller than a war drama: essentially, the character of Marie Colvin becomes the lens through which we see the world. Rosamund Pike delivers an awesome performance, and it's her gritty realism -- and arresting deep voice -- that hammers this movie home. We begin with (though we may not know it yet) the scene of her death in Homs from the perspective of a drone surveying the ungodly wreckage. We immediately fly back in time and though the beats are nominally structured in terms of time "before Homs" -- thereby creating a cinematic nihilism that's hard to shake -- the film takes on a nebulous quality in which we shift from conflict to conflict without much detail.

And I think that's the point. It's not a Zero Dark Thirty exercise in specificity, but rather an impressionistic montage of a episodes in a woman's life that shape her character. The wailing women, demolished buildings, dead bodies, men with guns: all are largely interchangeable, much like the wars that cause them. Suffering and pain and destruction are the product of all wars, and to someone determined to live in these areas, all wars thus become the same. It's the individuals she meets and the stories she tells that matter most.

Most to her, that is. On screen, she's what matters to us. Chainsmoking her way through each frame, she catalogs the psychological and physiological damage of her work. Panic attacks, a gruff demeanor, shapeless work khakis, and her iconic black eye patch all disguise a vibrant woman lusting for life. She wears designer bras and enacts apparently satisfying sexual encounters (even with Stanley Tucci!). Most tellingly, she actively hates the disasters in which she finds herself, but nonetheless feels compelled to engage. She suggests to her ex-husband that they marry again, though he says it ended badly the first time. Similarly, even after she loses her eye, she goes back out into the field knowing full well the dangers in store.

In fact, she hates the wars and violence as much as the film's director, and that's what makes this film so interesting. We're witnessing people drowning in a phenomenon they hate and yet consciously -- intentionally -- continue to throw themselves into. And while the idea that war is a drug might be commonplace since The Hurt Locker, here we see that it even affects those who hate it. Colvin's obsessive tendency is summed up when she says she looks so everyone else doesn't have to; I wonder, though, given Heineman's tendencies (he clearly identifies with Colvin), if the line might also mean they look so that they can make us look as well.

And, like from other excellent movies lately about the press, we also gain a newfound respect for this most democratic of institutions, so often vilified by the current president's administration.

IMDb: A Private War

Beautiful Boy (2018)

Score: 4.5 / 5

When Nic, missing for two days, returns with obvious signs of drug use, his father David takes immediate action. He takes his son to a rehab facility and supports his progress and eventual move into a halfway house. He's a great father, we clearly see from the get-go, and though his lovely life is threatened by such insidious behavior, he masterfully controls the situation. Or at least that's how it appears at first.

Beautiful Boy is the true story of David Sheff, the bestselling author of his memoir detailing his tumultuous relationship with his drug-addicted son. While I haven't read the book, this film is a stunning interpretation of lives lived in exquisite conflicts of love. At times the film lurches between David's perspective and Nic's, and though some may find that imbalanced, I found it to be a perfect sort of balance for this story. Drug addiction is one of the most complex issues of our age, and to have it so fluidly and beautifully depicted in a drama that demonizes no one is both rare and powerful (I'm also thinking of the musical Rent and the show American Crime as similar transcendent products).

And powerful it is. By the second scene, as David takes his son to rehab, I was in tears. They did not cease until long after the credits rolled. The film takes us through a mess of scenes, episodic and often temporally unspecified, to demonstrate the unpredictability and distinct contradictions that can shape lives in thrall to drugs. Each high is followed by a corresponding low, and scenes are often shaped to depict this bipolar nature: for each father-son, brother-brother, lover-victim bonding sequence we see, we are also subjected to the violent destruction of these same relationships.

In fact, the film is almost too much like real life, a distinction few films can boast, and one that -- as here -- serves more effectively to disturb than endear. It's not a pleasant viewing experience, though it profoundly moves and can, I think, work magic on your heart. This is due, yes, to the highly impressionistic approach brought by the writer and cinematographer, but also by the leading players. Steve Carell delivers still more of his stellar work, underplaying the part and allowing the horrors his son faces to soak into his pained eyes. Timothee Chalamet, on the other hand, delivers the great performance people pretended he exhibited in Call Me By Your Name. While I still don't get his appeal in that film (sure, he was good, but Oscar-worthy?), his craft is out in full force here, turning his boyish Dorian Gray-esque charm into its opposite, sickly and sweaty and pale and endlessly pitiful.

Though the film -- and its true story -- ends on a happy note, and ultimately, I think, fulfills an inspirational need in our pre-awards-season lineup, it is by no means a feel-good holiday experience. Prepare yourself for it, because it'll hit you hard and in totally unexpected ways. But that's a good thing. I promise.

IMDb: Beautiful Boy

Widows (2018)

Score: 5 / 5

Steve McQueen just slays me.

His newest work, Widows, is easily one of the best movies this year. It's got an ensemble cast all at their best. A riveting, timely, and complex screenplay -- co-written by Gillian Flynn -- that balances heist with drama perfectly. A gorgeous score by Hans Zimmer and haunting cinematography from Sean Bobbitt. And, of course, a fresh story expertly told and so relevant to 2018 America that it's hard to know where to start praising it.

When a group of criminal men are killed during a robbery gone awry, the mourning time for their widows is cut violently short. Threatened by Jamal Manning (Brian Tyree Henry), a crime boss from whom the men stole $2 million, the widows band together to pull off a heist for $5 million, based on plans left by Liam Neeson (does he ever really need a character name?) and discovered by his widow Veronica (Viola Davis). Her team includes Michelle Rodriguez, Elizabeth Debicki, and Cynthia Erivo, each woman offering special skills to make the heist possible.

What really makes this movie pop -- apart from the multitude of stars delivering powerful work in front of and behind the camera -- is its attitude and ability to tap into real issues. The women are unhappy, bereaved, terrified. They don't want to do the heist, which is significant in the wake of Ocean's 8 because so many heist films hinge on the enjoyment/entertainment aspect. More importantly, this film doesn't shy away from the messy disaster zone that is Chicago crime, metro politics, and issues of poverty, race, and the endless cycle of violence. The plot is seemingly initiated because of a high-stakes political race for alderman of a South Side precinct. Manning is seeking to upset the career politician dynasty of the Mulligans, father and son (Robert Duvall and Colin Farrell) whose wealth and power (and racism) are laughably out-of-place. So often these films paint the politicians as either clueless or corrupt but ineffectual. Not so here.

I won't spoil much more, because this is the rare heist that you have to feel rather than understand. It's raw and sharp, determined to get under your skin from the outset. Because Gillian Flynn helped write it, you can expect some sharp gender tension along with a brutal critique of normative roles, as well as some slick racial commentary including police brutality; you can also expect some capital-C Crazy plot twists, including affairs, returns, murders, money, elections, and friendships forged in fire. It's dark and disturbing, never less than entertaining, and fabulously original.

IMDb: Widows

The Girl in the Spider's Web (2018)

Score: 3.5 / 5

It may not be from David Fincher, but the newest installment in the budding Millennium film franchise is a welcome addition to, well, whatever it is becoming. Our favorite girl with a certain fire-breathing lizard on her back returns for action and hacking and sex and, well, the usual Lisbeth Salander stuff. And while it can hardly stand up to Fincher's film or the original trilogy, there are some high points to this spidery new story.

Or at least, high points to the film. The story itself was, for me, a mess of mostly inconsequential scenes with vague plot points that I can only assume made sense to the creators. Lisbeth is hired to retrieve Firefall, a program apparently linked to global nuclear codes, and return it to its designer, who may or may not destroy it. In doing so, she falls deep into a network of spies, thugs, and assassins who want various things and operate mostly to kill people. Which is fine and fun and makes absorbing cinema. It's also been done before -- to death -- and by more entertaining franchises. Nothing here is terribly interesting beyond what we've seen from Mission: Impossible or James Bond or, or, or.

Nothing plot-wise, that it. Claire Foy takes over the role of Lisbeth in this sequel or soft reboot or whatever this movie is. Though not as convincing as a vigilante hacker as Rooney Mara was, Foy climbs the ranks of great action spy/thriller women. She delivers a muscular performance, finding emotional resonance and physicality that, while arguably not accurate to the character as written in novels -- I don't know, I've never read the series -- nevertheless cuts a formidable swath on screen. And it's a plus that Foy didn't merely attempt to recreate Noomi Rapace or Mara on screen.

Director Fede Alvarez, though still clearly working to make this film stand up with his others, gives over often to a sordid sort of mainstream consciousness, delivering needless action and mind-numbingly overt metaphors instead of providing his usual unique flavor. Then again, though, he crafts a damn sexy movie filled with eye-popping visuals. It's got a gorgeous color palette, a chilled atmosphere, and the most nihilistic aesthetic we've seen all year. While the story is about as spidery and webby as any twisted spy thriller -- which means the details fly over my head -- you could get a lot worse than The Girl in the Spider's Web.

IMDb: The Girl in the Spider's Web

The Nutcracker and the Four Realms (2018)

Score: 1.5 / 5

I thought this was The Nutcracker. It was almost exclusively the Four Realms.

After all Disney's wins lately, it was bound to crash at some point. The Nutcracker and the Four Realms is that point. Pretty enough to look at but utterly void of substance, the fantasy adventure feels like a thoughtless mash-up of other (better) ideas. A young girl follows her curiosity through an old man's mansion and into a wintry wonderland and meets a sentient rodent; that's straight outta Narnia. The highly stylized magical world features arbitrary characters and places that seem to be at war with each other; it feels often like Tim Burton's Alice in Wonderland. And when the regents of the realms attempt to claim power while the misfits fight the good fight, I was distinctly reminded of Oz, the Great and Powerful.

Not that these are bad comparisons; rather, The Nutcracker is the failure here. Its dull story is mired in waste, begging its own spectacle to make up for the doldrums. Dripping in eye-popping visual effects, the film lurches from set piece to green screen, uncertain of its focus or even its own sense of fun. The only enjoyment I received from the film came in the form of its costumes, which are lovely to behold. Those, and the brief moment when Keira Knightley, lilting as the sweet Sugar Plum, turns to the camera and pulls cotton candy out of her hair and eats it. That moment was pure genius.

But where is "The Nutcracker"? I don't mean the character, whose bit part here is nothing special. I mean the famous short story by E.T.A. Hoffman, or even the standard ballet? Rather than treated to a festive romp through a world of toys and mice, we are tricked into a disappointingly typical young adult fantasy adventure. We're inundated with a new vocabulary of idiotic, simplistic proper nouns for the "Four Realms" and the regents of each; it begins to feel like an attempted creation of a legendarium that will never work. It's the kind of crap that defines those B movies, usually adapted from books in the wake of better franchises, flocked to by adolescent fans who say they like to read, but really only read elementary-level writings. You know which ones I'm talking about.

Worse even than these dismal trappings, the heart of the source material is utterly gone. It's not even a fantastic re-imagining of the story. The mice play only a menial part in this story, along with the nutcracker himself, and the focus is instead on the Oz-like characters and the state of their kingdom. There are exactly two scenes of dancing: one, briefly, a ball early in the film, and one during the credits. It's the latter that matters, featuring Misty Copeland in an (also brief) artsy display of talent with a half-naked man. It's nice, but not enough to dispel the waste that comes before.

Disappointing.

IMDb: The Nutcracker and the Four Realms

Bohemian Rhapsody (2018)

Score: 3 / 5

It's a jukebox musical with some serious tonal issues. But when it's Queen, do we really care?

Taking center stage here is Rami Malek, delivering a chameleonic performance as Freddie Mercury. The movie does not live up to his command of the screen: nuanced and bombastic in one fabulous swoop, he repeatedly brings down the house. Though most of the music is straight from the real-life artist, the athleticism and enthusiasm is pure Malek. He oozes sex and power with every movement, and it's easy to forget who we're watching.

Unfortunately the rest of the film suffers from wildly unfocused storytelling and varied aesthetic. What starts as a Freddie Mercury story becomes something more like a Queen story; what could be a biopic becomes a slipshod jukebox musical with lip-syncing and "hysterical queens." The movie flies along from studio scenes to concerts, recording sessions to raucous parties that thematically reflect the lives of the beloved band mates, if they don't convey a compelling story.

And while Malek's performance carries the film, Mercury's character is severely underwritten along with the story. His sexual exploits, gender dynamic, creativity and flamboyance are all kept intensely PG-13. It's so devoid of anything truly Bohemian that I can't help but feel it does an injustice not only to Queen but to us as fans. Even when the film finally begins to explore his relationship with Tom Branson (oops, I'm sorry, I mean Paul Prenter, played by Irish Downton Abbey star Allen Leech) and others, it's all so calm and calculated, I felt like this film was aimed at the same audience as Love, Simon. Is that a problem in itself? Maybe not, but it's also not truthful to the story or the men.

Then again, if the film is meant to simply be an entertaining musical mess, it succeeds magnificently. Its vibrant texture and hues delight and tickle the senses as much as the music pulsing through the air. The film's final sequence, beginning with Mercury reuniting with his band, is the highlight of the film by far. As they embrace Freddie and his disclosed diagnosis of AIDS, tears sprang from my eyes quite unbidden. We hop on over to Freddie with his family, making peace with their religion and his identity. Then, suddenly and magnificently, we swoop into Wembley Stadium for the 1985 Live Aid concert. Queen takes the stage and, of course, the rest is history. It's a fantastic sequence with some amazing craft that will raise your spirits immensely after the lukewarm, rote work that came before.

Then again, it's hard to swallow a musical biopic that barely scratches the surface of its protagonist, relies on lip-syncing and prosthetics, and is too grounded in realism for its own good.

IMDb: Bohemian Rhapsody

The Old Man & the Gun (2018)

Score: 4 / 5

I can't believe it's over.

The Old Man & the Gun was announced as Robert Redford's final acting role before retiring, and it's a fabulous farewell to him. He's given a fascinating character and makes him sweet and funny and classy and more than a little badassy. And, really, the same could be said of the film around him. Director David Lowery works his usual magic to make an old-fashioned charmer of a flick that honors its leading man as much as it maintains integrity as a standalone picture.

Career criminal Forrest Tucker (Redford) and his "Over-the-Hill gang" have been in the business of casually robbing banks for many years. Around 70 years old, you might think they want to retire and find another purpose; perhaps they think so too. But Tucker is cut from slightly different cloth than his companions (played by Danny Glover and Tom Waits). Their string of heists continue to confound the police and dazzle the public; even their victims are outspokenly impressed by their gentlemanly demeanor, kindness, and sense of fun.

When Tucker meets Jewel -- a real treasure, we immediately understand, played by a magnificent Sissy Spacek -- we wonder if she will facilitate the end of his life of crime. Though he tells her his profession almost immediately, he plays it off like a joke; her suspicions she keeps to herself. They end up thoroughly in love with each other, in spite of his livelihood. In no less of a love story, hotshot detective John Hunt (I know, the names are overkill) grows increasingly obsessed with the gang and with Tucker in particular. Played by Casey Affleck, we wonder if Tucker is his ultimate prize or perhaps his ultimate aspiration; he seems to admire the criminal more than appropriate, especially when Tucker confronts him in a diner bathroom.

Lowery's skill behind the scenes has been proven four times now, each in slightly different ways but each to impeccable effect. He has a way of fashioning a mythic, folkloric tale without all the bells and whistles you might expect. His stories are at once entertaining and profoundly elemental, and their apparent simplicity is a clever guise to fool the masses. This movie, as his others, is fun and interesting, but able to take you deeper if you just let it.

Go for Robert Redford's farewell gift; stay for Lowery's unique brand of storytelling.

The Happy Prince (2018)

Score: 2.5 / 5

In what is clearly a labor of love, Rupert Everett has delved deep into the character and cultural product that was Oscar Wilde. He fully attempts to embody his hero through acting; he channels absolute creative power, moreover, as writer and director. The film's central metaphor -- that of the eponymous story Wilde would tell children -- is voiced-over in sporadic intervals that creates amazing dramatic tension against the story we see. And while The Happy Prince works hard to educate and celebrate, it is almost never happy and only occasionally made me happy.

To be fair, it's not meant to. Wilde's biting wit and savage sensibilities have been the subject of countless works; this story, however, dramatizes the much-less-known time after his trial and imprisonment with hard labor. In fact, the film is almost exclusively concerned with his aging, his trauma, his despair, and his death. Obese, alcoholic, and weak, he stumbles his way across the screen and through the film, slurring words with a voice that was, surely, once beatific. He's selfish and pitiful, wallowing in misery and poverty while wasting away on gluttonous sin. And, true enough to the time and artist, he preys upon the youthful. I found Everett's representation of what amounts to abuse disturbing -- especially in light of current social movements -- and the pedophilia was not contextualized in the slightest, leaving even someone who knows plenty about Wilde's life confused as to the message being delivered in this film.

Everett views the story, thankfully, not as a straightforward biopic but rather as an expressionistic exhibition of Wilde's state of being. The camera pays close attention to color and light, texture and warmth, and we are left with a clear sensation of a man decaying within his own mind. We are forced to hear endless voiceovers, mostly narrated from snippets of Wilde's story that clash royally with what's happening narratively. It all becomes a dreamlike prison, a maze of audio and visual cues we follow for two good reasons: One, we aren't sure what the purpose is, and two, it's clear the aesthetic is so strictly controlled we don't want to impose ourselves upon it.

This latter point is why, in my opinion, the movie ultimately fails. In depicting so much suffering and failure, the film would have done well to engage the audience, letting Wilde get under our skin and into our hearts. Then again, that might not be faithful to the real Wilde. But the film instead alienates us from him even as it forces us into his headspace. He's totally unlikable but we still manage to feel everything he's going through. It becomes a sort of out-of-body experience, and it took all I could to stay alert, trying to piece together the film before me. Only too clear were Everett's efforts; if only he made his final product as accessible to us as it is for him.

I'm left with a conundrum. Am I impressed with Everett's performance but not his screenplay? Am I impressed with his direction but not his performance? For every compliment I can afford him, I find at least two complaints, but in different aspects. Let us leave it thus: It's a weird movie that deserves a place on the Wilde shelf but certainly not as an end-piece. And it certainly won't make anyone very happy.

IMDb: The Happy Prince

The Hate U Give (2018)

Score: 3.5 / 5

What? A young adult drama that doesn't take place in space? No witches or vampires? It's actually sensitive to real issues faced by teens? And it's both relevant and timely?!

The Hate U Give, titled from a mantra often repeated in the film ("The hate u give little infants fucks everybody"), serves as an acronym as well. The film indeed examines what "thug life" means, albeit from a specific, bourgeois perspective. Following Starr, a young black woman living in a fairly poor black neighborhood, the film launches into issues of class, race, and activism in a story that feels ripped from the headlines. Actually, there are several direct references to current events that help the film embed itself into a lively imaginative space.

At the urging of her parents, Starr attends a private, affluent, almost exclusively white school. She is keenly aware of her double consciousness: her vocabulary, inflection, attire, demeanor, and interactions change dramatically when she's at school compared with when she's in her neighborhood. The kids at school appropriate what they assume to be "thug" phrases, music, dance, and attitudes to try and connect with her, not aware that she's performing too. The kids in her neighborhood tease her about being too white when she attends their parties.

But all is not identity performance when this drama takes a deadly turn. Starr reconnects with a former flame, Khalil, while out for a drive one night; they are pulled over by a police officer who brutally murders the unarmed young man, thinking his hairbrush was a weapon. In this moment, Starr becomes a witness, not only mindful of the chasm her life straddles but determined to address it. Her life is changed, her community is galvanized.

I really liked the film. It proves young adult stories don't have to be swamped in genre trappings and dripping with immaturity; they don't need sci-fi jargon or fantasy experiments to get their points across. At the same time, they don't need to be hypersexual or obsessed with attempting to assume prurient adult interests. This one is arresting in its strength and sense of purpose, and it is doing some really admirable cultural work. Too, its craftsmanship is palpable. Amandla Stenberg delivers a killer performance as Starr, and her supporting cast are great. It's not saturated with artificial light and sentimental music (Twilight), it doesn't sacrifice anything to spectacle (virtually any YA sci-fi), and while it doesn't unrealistically portray the reality of its protagonist (Love, Simon) it does cater to a fairly specific audience.

Unfortunately, I was also distinctly underwhelmed. Despite some theoretically interesting identity performance issues, the beginning of the film crawls along on its righteous way. I wasn't fully engaged in the picture until the final third of the movie, when protest marches hit the streets and Starr learns to develop her own voice. Even when this happens, though, the film remains firmly about her. My preference is less with the individual and more with the community; I would have wanted something a bit more like Detroit in operatic scope. But, for a comparatively domestic story about personal identity, this movie works just fine.

When a single episode of American Crime (season one, in case you wondered) can depict a more complete, complex, emotional, and devastating view of a race riot than an entire feature film, you know the movie isn't as effective as it could (or should) be.

IMDb: The Hate U Give