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

The Sisters Brothers (2018)

Score: 2.5 / 5

Re-watch-ability is one of those things I usually scoff at others for valuing. Who cares if you don't want to watch it again? What matters is your experience of the art in the moment. Sure, we might love things more that we watch often (correlation or causation?), but surely that's just a measure of our personal taste. The more people I talk with, the more I find that their ideas of "good" movies heavily include their opinion of a film's re-watch-ability. I usually disagree.

Then I saw The Sisters Brothers and I had to concede.

The story follows the eponymous siblings as they roam the frontier in the employ of "the Commodore," a wealthy asshole who hires the brothers as hitmen. Their bounty: Hermann Warm (Riz Ahmed), a chemist whose new formula will help him easily find gold in California riverbeds. The Commodore had previously dispatched an assassin (Jake Gyllenhaal), but rather than murdering Warm, they had teamed up to strike it rich together. They make a handsome couple -- far more handsome and intelligent than the brothers teamed up to hunt them down.

The Sisters are almost immediately unlikable. Violent, brusque, and laughably grotesque, they stick out like cactus thorns. Joaquin Phoenix and John C. Reilly are in turns funny and pathetic, with the occasional spice of hostility, but they're also irritating, mean, indulgent, and simple. They harbor dark secrets that do not endear them to us. They're fascinating, to be sure, like the film around them, but only enough to keep us interested for one go-round.

Bleak, dry comedy characterizes this picture, and while it's somewhat fresh and intriguing in the genre, it's also not enough to save the flick from its other trappings. Some moments feel inspired; I think immediately of the nightmarish scene in which a beastly tarantula enters a sleeping John C. Reilly's mouth and they each bite each other. Horrific, to be sure, but also weirdly inconsequential.

Later, in the bizarre town of Mayfield -- in which everything is named Mayfield -- the brothers run afoul of the town's namesake, who they think is conspiring against them. There is no proof of this, and her denial of knowledge of their bounty is only painted as dubious because of our perspective (though she then hires hitmen to eliminate the drunken, dangerous brothers). Surviving, the brothers torture and interrogate Mayfield before murdering and robbing her. It's an awkward series of disjointed, sharply edited images, culminating in the brutal death of a woman in power; it doesn't help that the actress (Rebecca Root) is a trans icon.

Then again, the film has its occasional charms. When Carol Kane shows up in the final scene as the mother Sister, my heart leapt for short-lived joy. And that's nearly the same sensation I felt with the picture in general. It's entertaining and diverting for its run time, but little in it feels important or memorable, and it leaves a somewhat confused aftertaste. And it's not one I ever need to see again.

IMDb: The Sisters Brothers