Gladiator II (2024)

Score: 3.5 / 5

Gladiator was never one of my favorite historical action epics, though I do harbor a soft spot for the genre. And it's not for any real reason except that I personally don't care much for Russell Crowe's acting and I have always been annoyed by the overwhelming praise for it. But it's a solid film, one that should be watched multiple times if at all, so when an unnecessary sequel is announced over twenty years later, we were all worried.

We needn't have been. Ridley Scott -- all hail -- is as much at the height of his powers as ever. We shouldn't have been worried; even though the master of the historical epic (and of filmmaking in general) is nearly 90 years old, he remains vivacious and visionary. Here he takes what worked best about his original classic and revs up the energy, adding about 10% more complexity and 40% more spectacle for a sequel that will either be half as good as the first or half again better, depending on what you like in your historical epics.

Nominally about Lucius (Paul Mescal), the son of Crowe's Maximus, doing basically the same thing his father did previously, the film retreads the same ground, adding almost nothing by way of ideas or plot. As such, and although there are many callbacks to "the past" and "legacy" yada yada, this feels more like a remake or reimagining of what has come before. I don't think it would work well as a companion piece, because they are just too similar. Even the insanity of the Caesars, the villainized sexuality of Romans, the strange pseudo-heroism of the slave owners, all are hitting the same notes now as before. It's not unlike The Force Awakens and subsequent sequel trilogy in the sense that it took established lore, set up camp in the midst of it, and reworked it for new audiences with a glossier finish. Sure, it's lovely to look at, but isn't it also a bit cheaply underbaked?

Ideas aside -- and trust, it's a hard pill to swallow -- this is a really fun movie. If, like me, you enjoy the politics and "slice of life" bits of the original, you'll get that here too, though it's not quite as compelling. Helped by Fred Hechinger and Joseph Quinn, drama here lies primarily in the realm of palace intrigue, as Connie Nielsen returns as Lucilla, gaining supporters to rise up against the childish and syphilitic co-emperors Geta and Caracalla. In her train are husband General Acacius (Pedro Pascal), a loyal warrior who has become disillusioned with his warmongering empire and Senator Gracchus (Derek Jacobi, thankfully) returns as well, though now in a sadly diminished capacity.

But the film soars -- and I do mean that -- when Denzel Washington graces the scene. It's been many long years since he's delivered a real, raw, and daring performance in any film, and I've started losing respect for the safety in choices he's made professionally. Not so here, as his character Macrinus is one of the most original, engaging, and delightful creations of his career. Insistently chewing the scene every time, his mannerisms and voice are just off what we expect of Washington, consistently surprising us with little tidbits of quirkiness and menace. Macrinus is the gladiator handler this time, and his attention to Lucius's rage fuels his own grandiose schemes for climbing the political ladder. His Shakespearean Iago is miles ahead of the co-emperors, who really should start a morning talkshow called "Incel Incest" for all their characterization manages to convey. The gladiatorial games this time, as before, are a ploy for power, but this time, those in power aren't aware of the game of thrones until it's too late.

Ah, yes, the games: did you think I'd forget to mention? While before the most exotic part of the games were the live tigers brought into the arena, true to form for a big-budget sequel, this time we get a menagerie of threats in the Colosseum. Rhinos, baboons, and sharks -- yes, sharks -- are brought into these games in increasingly laughable ways. Making for a fun viewing experience, it does broadcast a certain desperation to fulfill the promise of entertainment rhetorically asked by the gladiators. And these scenes, even including flooding the Colosseum to reenact a naval battle, serve best to distract from political intrigue and dramatic heft rather than offering thematic insight. Thankfully, for the most part, it looks fantastic (the baboons are a bit too Jumanji-esque for me) and you can barely tear your eyes away from the spectacle. Maybe that's enough for some audiences.

Personally, I'd have liked a bit less CGI and a bit more practical effects in the arena itself. I'd have preferred the screenplay not sideline its own hero: Mescal is just as (if not more) captivating in his performance, but the character just isn't as interesting the second time around. I'd even have liked more a focus on Washington's character, who will stick with me for some time yet. Pascal offers some surprisingly affecting moments of dynamism despite having a smaller role, while returning stars Jacobi and Nielsen are sidelined and not used nearly as much as they should be. If the point of this film was to remake the original, it succeeds. If the point is to complicate and expand the original, with the screenplay only slightly edited, they should have focused on Washington's character, turning the film into a meta-commentary on the nature of power behind the scenes -- behind the games -- and the corporate cost of personal ambition. But, for what it is, I'll just be glad to have another Ridley Scott blockbuster and eagerly await what comes next.

Come Away (2020)

 Score: 2 / 5

In an idyllic British forest, a beautifully multiracial family live their best lives. Children David, Peter, and Alice romp through the greenery playing fantastic games with tea parties and pirates. We experience much of it through their eyes, such as when a washed-up boat on a secluded river suddenly unloads its piratic passengers, and when the children's twigs become rapiers to defend them. It's all sweet and charming, the sort of fantasy we've seen in Finding Neverland and others of its sickly sentimental ilk, but warm for two main reasons: an immediately likable cast and references to common cultural fantasies. Here, the references are overtly to Peter Pan and Alice in Wonderland. It's very cute.

And then, in a tragic accident (that I didn't even realize was happening until later, no doubt a result of a pathetically PG rating), David suddenly dies. Alice and Peter, while trying to make sense of the tragedy themselves, see their parents struggling with addictive and destructive behaviors as a result. The brother and sister work together to help their family as the metaphorical wolves close in, launching on an adventure to improve their circumstances. I confess to being utterly unclear about exactly what the children are up to, and they come and go from the house with some regularity, indicating that they are not far away. While their parents stew in a miasma of sorrow and perhaps guilt -- their father's gambling addiction and increased debts bring violent men seeking payment, while their mother drinks dubious liquids from little bottles around the house -- the children run to seedy city dens where shadowy, threatening figures leer from the darkness and other children gang up in dank alleyways.

Director Brenda Chapman is no stranger to fantasy filmmaking, as she was a writer on animated Disney classics like Beauty and the Beast, The Hunchback of Notre Dame, and The Lion King, in addition to directing Disney/Pixar's Brave and DreamWorks's The Prince of Egypt. But this, her first live-action feature, tries to combine fantasy with drama in forced yet vague ways. Generally, I'd say this movie is a coming-of-age story about children who use fantasy to cope with their troubles. In the best examples of the genre, it's not unlike Pan's Labyrinth or A Monster Calls. Harsh reality provides room for magic and horror that creeps into our awareness of the world around us, teaching us about ourselves through the prism of the impossible. That's what the storytelling tradition began as; Homer used it for history and the Brothers Grimm had their morality tales.

But Come Away is certainly not the most polished of its ilk. I'd liken it closer to Bridge to Terabithia in its awkward handling of the boundaries between realism and fantasy. Both works feature starry casts; here, Angelina Jolie and David Oyelowo lead, supported by Gugu Mbatha-Raw, Michael Caine, and Derek Jacobi. Both work to understand the death of a young person, but ultimately don't come to much of a conclusion. Perhaps there ultimately isn't one that could fit in a family-friendly movie, if there is ever a way to understand or rationalize the death of a young person. Also in both, the fantasy elements are less logical and more emotionally felt. Come Away, however, has the particular problem that its references are to such popular and often-retold stories. Barrie and Carroll are too recognizable to be toyed with in this thin, inconsequential manner. Even when "Captain James" or a spookily unbalanced "Hatter" show up, we're not sure what's real and what's in the children's minds, and we often can't figure out exactly what the reference is meant to mean for the unfolding drama.

By the end, which seems to marry the stories of both Peter Pan and Alice, I even wondered if this strange mixture of the two was meant to be a first step into another, larger thing. As a grown-up Alice reflects on her life and coming to terms with maturity (pointedly noting that her imagination is the only thing she carries with her now), I couldn't help but feel that, had this movie been successful, it might have led to other ill-imagined mash-ups of classic characters in undercooked origin stories. But let's hope that doesn't happen for multiple reasons. First, I don't want to see Hansel and Gretel and Cinderella teaming up to fight off abusive parents or Dorothy and Pinocchio ganging up against their bullies (if it's not Into the Woods or Once Upon a Time, it can sod right off). Second, this movie comes dangerously close to abusing the children it purports to support; when little Alice takes a big ol' swig from her mother's "Drink Me" bottle of booze, which is totally in-line with the trippy source material, I couldn't help but worry about any children actually watching this movie. I cringed like I did in Radio Flyer, and that's just not a good thing.

Tolkien (2019)

Score: 2 / 5

Orphaned teenager Ronald is an outcast at his new school, probably because he's too smart for his own good. One of his first lessons sees a bully steal his textbook before he's called on to read Chaucer in Old English; as the other students prepare to watch him be shamed by the professor, he recites the passage beautifully from memory. This earns him no friends. Not yet.

Taking center stage in Tolkien, a biopic of the young J.R.R. Tolkien in adventures of life and love, is Nicholas Hoult as the esteemed writer. His solid performance is matched by his comrades, notably Lily Collins as his love Edith Bratt and Anthony Boyle as his friend Geoffrey Bache Smith. Young Tolkien's hard work and brilliant mind eventually earn him the respect -- and, yes, friendship -- of three other young men including Geoffrey, and together the four create a club of intellectual artists. Meanwhile Tolkien maneuvers ever closer to Edith, whose life is far more restricted than his own and who seems to fall in love with the freedoms Tolkien's imagination offers her.

We see hints, occasionally, of Tolkien's legendarium in his early life, but the film largely glosses over the significant events and works that inspired his greatest creation (or, if you know better, his "sub-creation"). The closest we get to witnessing his genius blossom is in the heat of World War I, as he fights through the Battle of the Somme. Clouds of gas belch forth visions of wraiths and ghosts, one explosion may be a balrog's attack and another spews from a dragon's maw. Tolkien plunges through pools of mud and blood choking with bodies in what we might call dead marshes while green poisonous gas oozes through the trenches. It's really the only sequence in the film worth watching.

The film hosts, now I think on it, two other scenes that are interesting for other reasons. One is between Tolkien and his friend Geoffrey, strongly indicated in the film to be queer and filled with unrequited love for his comrade. The two are together the morning after Tolkien learned his childhood love Edith is engaged to another man and drank himself into a stupor; Geoffrey delivers a stunning speech about unrequited love being the most pure, beautiful, and terrible thing a man can know: a perfect subject for poetry. The other interesting scene comes immediately after, when Tolkien meets and begins to learn from Professor Joseph Wright (played by Derek Jacobi).

These scenes are the only moments in the film of gorgeous screenwriting. Everything else falls woefully short of the grandeur and potential insight into Tolkien's life. His religious ideas are almost totally erased, as are his childhood and years after WWI. The actual inspirations and influences on his work are skated over, suggested, or completely ignored. Instead, we get a lovely romance about how a man maneuvers between coming of age, love, and burgeoning artistic genius. Too bad they had to tack on the real-life names and so blatantly water down everything interesting about the real man.

Tomb Raider (2018)

Score: 3 / 5

Confession: I've never played any of the Lara Croft games and I've not yet seen the films starring Angelina Jolie (though I'll be watching them soon). This was my first experience with the character and franchise.

What a blast! It's a sort of origin story -- I assume it's a reboot -- of the character with Alicia Vikander (Ex Machina, Tulip Fever, The Danish Girl) playing Miss Croft. She's totally badass, a hardcore action star that I certainly didn't see coming. Tough and reckless, her character is almost as impressive as Vikander, not letting the brute violence around her keep her down long. It's the sort of stuff that makes a star, and Croft, being one of the only survivors of the film's climax, is every minute a rousing hero.

That's not to say it's all a fun and fabulous movie. The story feels like a half-baked, half-eaten, and half-digested meal of Indiana Jones; that's not such a bad thing, but surely there were other ways to film sequences than copying them from Crystal Skull or Last Crusade. It's also irritatingly sentimental for an action movie and relies on excessive flashbacks to unravel the emotional connection Croft has with her father (Dominic West), whose lengthy absence and possible death serves as the major MacGuffin.

The story is simple and dull, that is, until the very end. The denouement is chilling and terribly exciting, as it suggests much more to come as Croft seeks to undermine the villainous Trinity organization, a powerful shadow group that has infiltrated her family's many business holdings. I'm keeping my fingers crossed for more appearances by Derek Jacobi and especially Kristin Scott Thomas as potential Big Bads!

What else is there to say? The action is very exciting, the special effects are pretty great, and the physical work done by the actors is amazing. If you want a mostly mindless action adventure of the old-fashioned kind, watch it. If you love Alicia Vikander (like me) and want to watch her kick lots of booties (and a few balls), watch it. If you like video games and get excited by movie adaptations, well, I can't really speak to that, but you should still watch it. Two hours of preposterous, blood-pumping genre film viewing won't be wasted time.

IMDb: Tomb Raider

Murder on the Orient Express (2017)

Score: 3 / 5

Everyone may be a suspect, but guilt may lie with the filmmakers here.

As if another Murder on the Orient Express was necessary or even really wanted, Kenneth Branagh helms this stylish whodunit with panache if not passion. He and his team do some fun and interesting things with the familiar tale, but its overall effect is cheapened by stuffy sentimentality, repeated attempts at superfluous spectacle, and a surprisingly unfocused screenplay by Michael Green (whose amazing breakout year has included American Gods, Logan, Alien: Covenant, and Blade Runner 2049).

It all starts with a strange opening scene at the Wailing Wall in Jerusalem, one that introduces not only Branagh's own Poirot (who I had more than a little trouble believing, but that's just my own taste) but the film's forced efforts at leaping into the twenty-first century. It's a bizarre little plea for interfaith harmony disguised as an introduction to Poirot, as he wryly solves a silly but consequential little mystery for a rabbi, a priest, and an imam. Unfortunately, the modern social commentary doesn't stop there. While the presences of Penelope Cruz, Leslie Odom, Jr., and Manuel Garcia Rulfo are a lovely addition, they do change the texture of the story in dramatic and unnecessary ways. If we're going to change the source material, can we please have a better reason than publicity?

Regardless, it doesn't take too long and our hero has boarded the titular train on his fateful journey. A particularly dour Johnny Depp plays Ratchett, a businessman afraid for his life, who unsuccessfully bullies Poirot into protecting him. Poirot is a man of apparently unshakable morals, it seems, and as he says early in the film, there is right and there is wrong. His opinion of Mr. Ratchett doesn't change for the better when the latter is found murdered in his bed. The thirteen passengers of that coach are all suspects, and as Poirot interrogates them and collects evidence, lies and trickery pile up into one of Agatha Christie's most beloved works. It's certainly one of my favorites, with a killer ending that, in my opinion, is one of the most satisfying and disturbing in all mystery literature.

Unfortunately, this film doesn't measure up to previous incarnations by a long shot. Sidney Lumet's 1974 version, though it too changed a few character names, is one of my favorite movies of all time. This film, like that, features no small amount of grandeur and style, in extravagant costumes and sets as well as in really dynamic camerawork by Haris Zambarloukos (Eye in the Sky, Sleuth, Mamma Mia!, Thor, Locke). His long tracking shots and attention to fabulous lighting are worthy of admiration. And while a feast for the eyes should be enough for a twisty mystery like this, Branagh and Green seem to think they need to add an irritating amount of spectacle. Swooping vistas of eastern Europe are grand in the 65mm film, but the extreme close-ups on actors' faces are a shallow attempt at intimacy and claustrophobia. Similarly, a few other camera gimmicks didn't work as well as Branagh may have hoped, such as the crime scene investigation, which all takes place overhead; cool, I suppose, but we are unable to see any faces or their emotion. Ratchett brandishes a gun at Poirot; one woman gets stabbed in the shoulder; a strangely Romantic lightning strike that causes an avalanche doesn't just stop the Orient Express from proceeding, but literally knocks it off its tracks. The film avoids any possible claustrophobia (a poor decision, I say) by having Poirot interrogate the suspects in various places around the train at various times, including one "picnic" as he calls it outside in the snow, as if he would do such a thing, much less expect it of a strong-willed British lady.

Irritated yet? Just wait. The film includes two ludicrous action scenes, which I would have laughed aloud during had I not been so anxious about what would happen. In one, a man attempts to burn incriminating evidence; he does so by inexplicably going outside the train, into the scaffolding under the bridge, and almost dying in the process. Why couldn't he have simply tossed the documents out a window? They're on a bridge in a snowy mountain range! Or burned it in the train, and scattered the ashes? It's just a cheap ploy by the filmmakers, who seem to think a good mystery has to have action sequences. In the other scene, another man shoots Poirot in the arm as he claims responsibility for the crime and the scene proceeds to turn into a fight between Poirot and the man. I could have accepted the scene, except of course that it is absurd and ends with no transition to the climax. Poirot wouldn't be caught dead fighting like a street thug, and more importantly, he'd never have to.

Speaking of characters, for the most part the cast is solid. The script does not allow for much characterization of anyone but Poirot, a sad fact for those of us who like character-based mysteries. Each interrogation of the suspects is interrupted either by (you guessed it!) spectacle or bewildering editing, which results in our inability to fully understand the criminal timeline and evidence amassed -- even those of us who know the story intimately. There are a few gems in the cast, mostly the A-listers who get the lion's share of screen time, including Michelle Pfeiffer, Johnny Depp, Josh Gad, and Daisy Ridley. Most of the rest of the cast gets severely limited exposure, especially Derek Jacobi, Lucy Boynton, and Olivia Colman. Judi Dench does her brief thing of scowling imperiously over everyone else, and Penelope Cruz turns the role that won Ingrid Bergman another Oscar into a bitter, shallow wretch of a Spanish missionary (wait, I thought this was supposed to be more culturally sensitive?). Whereas Christie and Lumet made their insular, claustrophobic stories to examine issues of human rationalization and projection, deception and delusion, and awful guilt, Branagh here mostly attempts spectacle and pleasure for a modern audience in focusing on celebrities in a more or less period film.

Apart from the film's reliance on spectacle, its greatest failing lies in its dripping sentiment. Nary a shot isn't Romantic or romantic, and while I like some eye candy like Branagh strutting along the roof of the snow-covered train for literally no reason, it doesn't mesh well with what is one of Christie's most disturbing and enchanting mysteries. We don't need to see Poirot fawning over a photo of his lover and repeating her name ad nauseam to have sympathy for his character. We don't need to see, at the climax, the suspects arranged in the mouth of a tunnel like the Last Supper to understand what's happening (and as if Princess Dragomiroff would deign to march through snow drifts!). And then there's the one-line groaners like Poirot's "There is right, there is wrong, and now there is you." There's a suspect's almost gleeful inability to maintain a lie during questioning, as he changes accents and behaviors on a whim without even attempting to look desperate, embarrassed, or ashamed. There's the revealed mastermind's "You are a clever man" before sobbing hysterically. And, worst of all, there's the flashback scene that depicts the murder in black-and-white; over the drama (which Lumet filmed as a straight-up horror scene to awesome effect) is played a romantic piano ballad that sounds like something from Twilight. It's not creepy, it's not warm and symphonic, it's not even a grandiose "AHA! It is solved!" Instead it's a sickly love song that makes no sense overlaying a gruesome murder and served only to irreparably rip me from the moment.

What else is there to say? It's an entertaining film -- until that climax -- and handsomely shot. I was disappointed more often than not, but if that's what it takes to keep Christie alive in the public eye, maybe it will be worth it. The ending suggests pretty overtly that the door to a sequel is wide open, but I certainly hope if Death on the Nile is green-lit, the filmmakers do it some justice. And, honey, do something about that mustache.

IMDb: Murder on the Orient Express

Cinderella (2015)

Score: 1.5 / 5

It's hard to walk out of this movie without feeling "good" about yourself, but it's also just as hard to pinpoint anything that makes the damn thing worthwhile. Sure, it's entertaining. Sure, it's pretty and cute and funny and sweet. Sure, we all wish we had a guardian fairy to dress us up in beautiful clothes so we can escape our miserable lives and have an impossible romance come true. But we've had this narrative for centuries, and frankly I don't understand why any self-aggrandizing artist (Kenneth Branagh, I'm looking at you) would want to touch this moldy material without putting some kind of new twist or flair on it.

The Cinderella story has been adapted into countless media, with different audiences in mind, and with many different contexts. Context is crucial to any successful iteration of the tale, because as most of us know, the story has some serious problems. I'm not saying it's not an effective fantasy, but too often the story caters to a very mainstream, hegemonic culture, which is probably why it remains one of the staples of our culture now. We can probably count on one hand the number of direct Cinderella adaptations that feature people of color. We haven't seen one yet in the mainstream that features anything but a cis, hetero romance. And I've maybe only seen one production that doesn't glorify materialism and the absurdly wealthy.

So I don't think it's too much to ask that this adaptation might have had some kind of useful spin on feminist rhetoric (Ever After), the politics of monarchy (Ella Enchanted), or varied ethnicities (Disney's 1997 television film of Rodgers & Hammerstein's Cinderella). Even last season's Into the Woods featured a Cinderella who actively chooses to escape her surroundings and venture into the woods, uses her kindness and resourcefulness to better herself and those around her, and to make a conscious decision to reject her womanizing husband and thereby forsake a life of wealth and comfort. With these in mind, it's really hard to like much of anything about Branagh's new picture, which is simply a lavish-but-empty direct translation of Disney's 1950 animated film.

There are exactly two and a half valuable things about this film. First, the costumes are killer. Second, what's not to like about such a fabulous cast flouncing around like a dream? And third(ish), some of the music is rather lovely. That's it. The special effects are beyond overblown (remember Maleficent, anybody?) and take away even the slightest traces of real drama. The sets are lovely, but don't make much sense; Ella's family lives in a veritable castle in its own right, so it's hard to believe their cries of destitution and ruin when every scene shows them in a house many real people would kill to spend even a night in, all while wearing obviously expensive, gaudy clothes. Worst, though, is the script: I have not heard such vague, uninspired blather since I was riding mass transit in Chicago.

Don't believe me? Take the climax for example. Ella climbs to her attic-bedroom and opens the door. Dappled sunlight sparkles on the contours of her glass shoe, as her malevolent stepmother leers out of the shadows beyond. It's a beautiful image, and one in which the drama of the film seems finally to shine. Ella asks her stepmother, point blank, why she hates Ella so much, and my throat tightened in anticipation of a profound revelation or shocking delivery from Cate Blanchett. And all we get is a clenched cliché about Ella being too good, too pure, too innocent (the exact line escapes me because I was grinding my teeth in frustration) before she breaks off in mid-sentence and stalks away. What an absolute waste of talented actors and a beautiful scene.

I'm not going to pretend I don't find parts funny, sweet, or sentimental. In fact, one of the best scenes involves Ella's dying mother (played by our beloved Agent Carter, Hayley Atwell) giving some of the world's best advice to her young daughter. Another involves our Prince (handsome and talented Richard Madden) making his peace with his father (handsome and talented Derek Jacobi) on the latter's deathbed, before curling up next to him. And yes, okay, I fell victim to the rush of happiness when the damn shoe fits and everyone claps and smiles and kisses and sings and does whatever people do when their monarch falls in love with the little blonde help. But besides those few moments, and of course watching my goddess Cate swishing around in elegant (if bizarre) getup, most of this dull retelling have already passed effortlessly out of my head. And for that I can be truly thankful.

IMDb: Cinderella

P.S. Just a few parting thoughts. Courtesy Google Images, under "Feminist Cinderella".