The Gentlemen (2020)

Score: 3.5 / 5

These "gentlemen" are anything but. Matthew McConaughey is an American drug lord in England who is looking to sell his marijuana empire and retire in luxury. Michelle Dockery is his wife who knows how to use a golden gun a little too well. Charlie Hunnam is his soft-spoken but violent right-hand man always several steps ahead of everyone else. Colin Farrell is a mild-mannered, Irish MMA coach who seems adept at criminal activities though he insists he's no gangster. And those are just the good guys.

I don't remember most of the character names (I'm not sure they matter much anyway here), but recounting the ensemble cast helps describe the narrative. McConaughey's prospective buyer is Jeremy Strong, an effete American Jewish billionaire with hands that are a little too clean. The other, more pushy, buyer is Henry Golding, a major player under a Chinese gangster who is all too eager to usurp the throne. When all the hands are in the pot, so to speak, things get messy, and though the action occurs less often than the laughs, it tends to explode unexpectedly and satisfyingly.

Not having seen many of Ritchie's earlier films, I'm aware enough to know this is a sort of return to form for the writer/director, a sort of "mockney" way of getting back to his roots. That is, he's digging deep into a specific time and place and people group to provide a performative -- almost camp -- romp through familiar tropes. You can tell he's having a lot of fun with the proceedings, and that this is what the guy loves best in his business. A bizarre ensemble cast that feed off each other's best impulses and worst manners, an unscrupulous screenplay riddled with wit, charm, and indecency, and of course a complex web of crime overlaid with stunning style. I mean, Charlie Hunnam has never looked better, and I suddenly desperately want Colin Farrell's array of matching plaid track suits.

As I've briefly (and poorly) described it, the story itself is clever if familiar. There is a secret connection between Golding and Strong to lower the price on McConaughey's empire, and once we find it out, we pretty much know what's going to happen. But what makes this film brilliant is the frame story, narrated brilliantly by Hugh Grant in his best performance in years. Grant plays a private detective employed by a slighted tabloid editor (Eddie Marsan) to dig up dirt on McConaughey and ends up writing a full script for a movie. It's called Bush, with a double entendre milked for all its worth, and Grant describes it to Hunnam during the movie as a framing device for the central story itself. His goal in narrating: to blackmail Hunnam and McConaughey into saving their own secrets. But, on a meta level, the inclusion of this device and character allows The Gentlemen to approach a level of consummate cinema as a film about film. It helps that current debates about the movie industry, drug industry, and the businesses of art and pot are all so hot right now.

All that said, it's still a Guy Ritchie movie, and that means certain elements will appeal more than others. Rape is threatened on the sole female character of substance, whose otherwise fascinating character is almost absent (she runs a garage with only female mechanics -- can we see more of that?!). Crude jokes about the names of people of Asian and African descent litter each scene, along with tired jabs at Jewish people (not to mention Strong's loudly, stereotypically "gay" delivery of his character). And while xenophobia, homophobia, misogyny, racism, and anti-Semitism are always serious concerns, you tend to expect them in a movie of this tenor and from this director, and tend to be just shy of offensive when the messages being communicated are, at best, ambiguous.

And, just to reiterate, this is Hugh Grant's best performance in years. I'm so excited that he has begun taking on challenging character roles. Here, he's essentially just a narrator -- one who is unreliable and gleefully slimy -- but I found his character uniquely absorbing. There's not a single moment when he isn't working through multiple emotional beats and delivering on all fronts. Watching him do it is a masterclass in acting.

Papillon (2018)

Score: 2.5 / 5

What a weird movie. It probably helped my appreciation for this film that I haven't seen the 1973 original -- or maybe not -- but I found it pleasantly diverting and endlessly frustrating, an altogether entertaining way to spend a mindless evening after work.

Papillon, so named for the butterfly tattoo on his chest, is a Parisian safecracker who is framed for murder and shipped off to a penal colony in French Guiana. It would seem that Papillon's innocence inspires him to endure, survive, and escape, but the problem with that: he's not innocent. Charlie Hunnam plays the character as a brutish thug with hopes for escape. There's no redemption for him, though his character is not necessarily a bad person. He immediately connects with a slim, awkward counterfeiter named Louis Dega, played by Rami Malek, though his initial reasoning is based on hearing that Dega is wealthy and connected. Protect him from the wolves, Papi knows, and he'll owe you later.

At this point, when traditionally the plot builds into adventure upon escape attempt upon grand violence, the film shifts into completely unexpected territory. True enough that the film is rather violent and even quite exciting, but I'd argue that the central point of the film is an unlikely romance between these two men. We're never shown anything erotic or flirtatious, but their striking intimacy is something at once disturbing and endearing. It's not wholly platonic, either, but complex due to their time, place, and incarceration. It's a sort of Beauty and the Beast tale, except that they're both prisoners, wherein they each endure hardship and suffering and separation but always manage to come back to each other.

Gorgeously shot and starring two strong lead performances, the film suffers considerably from a lack of compelling plot as well as any deep consideration of its weighty themes. We're tossed about from scene to scene, lengthy time passes in the blink of an eye, and what could (and probably should) have been a profound meditation on the souls of men in torment becomes an unwieldy adventure-drama that neither wallows in its torturous excesses nor leads to any transcendent sense of redemption or freedom or victory. In fact, the romance was so strong that by the end, I was begging Papi aloud not to leave sweet Dega alone on Devil's Island. (SPOILER ALERT) He did, and I was angry at him for it. That's not, I suspect, the filmmakers' intention.

It could have been a sort of Count of Monte Cristo-meets-Shawshank Redemption, and while I'm glad it's not terribly derivative, I can't help but wonder, "Why this movie, and why now?" The film does not offer any answers.

IMDb: Papillon

Crimson Peak (2015)

Score: 4.5 / 5

The first thing you should know about Crimson Peak is that it's not a scary movie. It's a horror picture. More than that, it's a period piece Gothic romance. So if you're going to the movies this Halloween looking for shrieks and giggles, you are going to be severely disappointed. If, however, you are going to be reminded of the potential beauty in haunted house films, to revel in the glory of expert filmmaking, or to lose yourself in a macabre fantasy of passion and evil, you can do no better than Guillermo del Toro's latest vision.

From its shockingly white opening image, this film sets itself apart as an atmospheric venture not unlike this summer's Mad Max: Fury Road. We are presented then, in increasingly vibrant strokes, with an immaculately designed period piece shimmering with intricate details and daring lighting. Not a moment passes by onscreen in which the nightmarish hues don't burn themselves into your eyes, forcing you to watch the horror unfold. Of course, the real spectacle here is the house itself, a masterwork of architecture and special effects, riddled with carvings and tapestries, and oozing sanguineous clay. The house is alive, shifting and swaying, "breathing" and groaning, and in almost every scene the red mud that gave the property its name ekes out from under floorboards and behind brick walls. It's a surprisingly eerie special effect, something I would have expected (less tastefully) from a Burton film.

I could continue to praise the production design, but I think you get the idea. The other aspects of the film are all solid, though nothing particularly noteworthy. It's a very familiar story, with simple and conventional plot devices that ultimately lead to an unsurprising and totally satisfying ending. I might have wished that del Toro could have spiced up the drama or the supernatural elements, but there's a lot to be said for balancing a tried-and-true plot with a daring aesthetic. The dialogue is great, and the plot moves along at a brisk pace with enough evenly-paced thrills to keep things effectively spooky.

Jessica Chastain is far and away the crowning jewel of the film. Her cruel gaze and calculating restraint is disturbing from the outset, and frankly her dresses steal every damn scene. As ravishing as she is haunting, Chastain injects her character with seething malice so delicious I was ready to cheer for her in the film's climax. Tom Hiddleston parries her every move with equally calculating energy, though his burns the sweeter. His dynamic turn (and beauty) makes the film's climax far more satisfying, as he and Chastain wholly give themselves over to their perfect Gothic sensibilities. Mia Wasikowska is less satisfying than the other two, though she does work hard for her starring role. It's hard to watch the mesermizing subtleties of Hiddleston and Chastain, and then want to pay attention to Wasikowska's constantly pained expression as she wanders the evil house. I suppose, given her character's profound misfortune, I shouldn't fault her for that, but it just doesn't make for an interesting character. And her designer didn't help, placing her in a shapeless pale nightgown for most of the film and leaving her long stringy blond hair to fly around her puffy shoulders. Does it work to make our hero appear a floating white cloud? Yes. But the ghosts cut a more imposing figure on screen, which is probably not a good thing.

Speaking of the ghosts, I was a little put off by some of the CGI. I mean, thank heaven the ghosts were as stylized as the rest of the film, but perhaps a bit more variation would have sufficed. Neon-red skeletons floating out of pools of clay are creepy, sure, but only when you see them once or twice. After the sixth time, it's a bit less effective. Rather, let's go back to the first scene, where we see an ebony ghost, desiccated and smoking, palpably haunting the little girl's sleep. Much more enticing for me than a parade of bright phantoms floating in the air and pointing to various parts of the house.

Then again, the jump-scares of the ghosts only last a brief time, and it is not long before the real terror of the film introduces itself. Sure, the horror comes from spousal lies, devious plans, and murderous motives, but the terror is far different than I expected. The ghostly pop-outs are creepy, but cannot hold a candle to the surprising brutality that commands the film from the halfway point on. The physical violence, all captured on the screen, is often so surprising and vicious I had to close my eyes more than once. And the blood that ends up spilled is obviously the darker side of the "Crimson Peak" imagery.

It's "The Fall of the House of Usher" meets The Haunting, with a Tim Burton-level flair and a rock-solid aesthetic vision. Can you beat it? Hell no. Chastain's performance during the climax is easily the most terrifying thing I've seen in months. Del Toro's attention to detail and mastery of the genre is unparalleled. I lost myself to this nightmare, and I would gladly do it again.

IMDb: Crimson Peak