Mr. Harrigan's Phone (2022)

Score: 3 / 5

Adapted from the recent Stephen King novella of the same name, Mr. Harrigan's Phone debuted on Netflix last week. Unfairly (and somewhat inaccurately) labeled as "horror" and put in the same lineups as other spooky October-y fare, the film is almost certain to garner negative reactions from the casual viewer. Streaming categories like that are too broad; sure, the film is technically a horror film, but there's nothing really scary in it. Someone looking for a random scary movie to cuddle up watching will likely be very disappointed with this one, marketed as it is with King's name and reputation. And yet this is very much a King story, albeit a coming-of-age one like Stand By Me. His dramas, though arguably less famous, are pretty incredible themselves; his more recent ones (this story included) tend to take on specific hot topics or social issues head-on. This one, as you might guess, targets our relationship to smart phones even as it fleshes out a remarkably touching intergenerational friendship.

Schoolboy Craig (Jaeden Martell), after reading from the pulpit at church, gets hired by the wealthiest man in the state of Maine. Mr. Harrigan (Donald Sutherland), elderly and lonely, lives an anachronistic life in his local mansion, eschewing technology and preferring to read the newspaper or sit in his conservatory among the plants. As his eyes are failing -- or so he says -- Craig is meant to read to him. Not the tawdry and depressing mess of news blurbs, but rather the literature that Mr. Harrigan keeps in his library. After each reading session, they discuss themes and interpretations of classics like Heart of Darkness and The Brothers Karamazov, building an extraordinary friendship together. Mr. Harrigan's occasionally gruff demeanor belies a sensitive soul striving for sentimental connection. We wonder about his family, if he ever really had loved ones; his business acumen seems to have been his sole passion, one he now resents to some extent.

John Lee Hancock, director of The Rookie, The Founder, and The Blind Side (but, far more importantly, The Little Things, Saving Mr. Banks, and The Alamo), helms this adaptation with a brooding sense of calmness. We can see the ways Mr. Harrigan encourages Craig to stand up for himself with a level of confidence neither of them really feels; at least the elderly man surely did at one point, as he no doubt confidently stepped on others up the capitalist corporate ladders of his career. Craig, while clearly filling a void of companionship, seems to struggle with how to help his friend reciprocally, and so gets him a smart phone on which he can track the stock market and make real-time financial decisions. Mr. Harrigan gets hooked, much to both of their wonder and disappointment. He even mentions, while clasping and swiping his screen, how much he hates being tethered to the device. How many of us feel the same loving loathing toward these little torturous miracles?

I haven't read the story on which this film is based, admittedly, but I found myself wondering how much of the screenplay was King and how much was Hancock (who also adapted it himself). Most of the film is heavy-handed posturing about the dangers of being constantly connected, and it ultimately feels like a lecture on freeing ourselves from slavery to tech. That's not un-King-like, especially in some of his recent work that occasionally bends far from pure horror. But by the point in the film that supernatural elements enter -- and correspondingly darker themes -- it feels forced, rushed, and like woefully squandered opportunities. Because Mr. Harrigan, old as he is, indeed dies of natural causes. After Craig slips the man's cell phone into his casket at the funeral, he begins receiving calls from the dead man's phone. Despairing and missing his friendship, Craig shares stories like a verbal diary, describing his bullies and struggles with school and family. And soon enough, bad things happen to those who have slighted the young man.

Had the film leaned into these elements more intently and spectacularly, it would easily have made for a chilling horror flick. There could have been fascinating artistic representations of the balance (or imbalance) of power when it comes to our age, access to technology, and even virtual power (in instances of cyberbullying, for example). It could have shown how too much information -- rather, misinformation and fake news, as Mr. Harrigan notes his fear of the cell phone "gizmo" -- can in fact lead to radicalization and violence. It could have embraced Craig's coming of age through his learning of how to mete out justice with sudden and profound power. By the end, the film vaguely hints that had Mr. Harrigan had this power earlier in his life, great horrors would have happened, and that Craig has maneuvered through his moralistic mess to choose better. But I'm still not sure that Hancock ever really gets there in any concrete way, and so the film seems content to dwell in the possibilities: haunting in its own way, but not enough to provide any chills or even chilling insights.

Cruella (2021)

 Score: 4 / 5

We should have expected something like this after the financial success of Maleficent, though it's a bit surprising how late this is in coming. Not that an origin story for one of Disney's most iconic villains is ever to be expected, Cruella is still a wickedly good time at the movies. While it will have its detractors -- not the least of which vocally clamor against all live-action remakes, reimaginings, and sequels of beloved classics -- this is one case where I'm not sure that particular complaint is warranted. This is no mere origin story; in fact, it hardly even approaches the basic questions about the mad villainess. Why does she so detest nuclear families, and why does she want to murder 99 puppies?

Actually, if anything, this film answers the first of those questions. Cruella, or rather Estella, is a dog-loving, precocious child of a poor laundrywoman who is killed under suspicious circumstances at a wealthy manor. Newly orphaned, the Dickensian girl rallies herself and debuts as a sassy, spunky rebel with more bite than bark. Thieving on the street with her new friends Jasper and Horace, the trio come of age together and live in a crumbling flat by night while scamming the unwitting by day. But Estella (Emma Stone) is a fashion designer, and finally gets a job at the luxurious Liberty department store. Failing as a maid, she drunkenly reworks a window display that catches the eye of one Baroness von Hellman (Emma Thompson), a veritable Dragon Lady and primary vendor of the store.

In many ways, this is indeed an origin story, and it checks all the boxes of that narrative style in the sort of exposition-heavy, oddly fractured yet annoyingly coherent way that has become increasingly common. I'll never quite understand the need for these stories for iconic characters who really don't need them, but there is a basic satisfaction in seeing new performers and designers put fresh spins on old ideas. And while this isn't the same kind of story as Maleficent, which completely rewrites the character to be essentially and actively good, it's more like Broadway's Wicked or even Venom in that, while explaining her eccentricities away, the movie still respects and embraces the inherent madness and dangerousness that makes its antihero a true, real villain. I suppose, with that in mind, this movie is less an origin story and more along the lines of giving the Devil his due. Or, rather, her due.

In what becomes a crime-comedy mash-up of The Devil Wears Prada and Joker, our female fashionistas engage in heist after chase after publicity terrorism. Estella, now working for the abusive and manipulative Baroness, is determined to dethrone the bitch and take her place as London's premier designer. And yet, as in Phantom Thread and others, the Baroness is also the closest thing to a mentor (and mother?) that Estella has; moreover, even as Estella sabotages the Baroness's public appearances, the Baroness seems to feel that more lines are being crossed than just those between a boss and employee. While the film certainly never covers up the fact that Cruella is not a good person, and is capable of pretty rotten behaviors, we're constantly reminded that the Baroness is far worse; Cruella's intense determination to punish a wicked overlord intersects with her desire to be the best in the biz, and that combination reveals psychological depth to her character that is never fully explored by the film.

Craig Gillespie (I, Tonya and 2011's Fright Night, a personal favorite) directs this movie with a similar panache and irreverent style he's used before. Lengthy sequences match up with a bombastic and loud soundtrack packed with upbeat, recognizable hits like in an Edgar Wright movie. Cold lighting and stark sets frame costumes that wear actors, and yet everyone in this movie leans into the strange aesthetic. Whirling cinematography and nauseatingly choppy editing notwithstanding -- more than once during the two-and-a-quarter-hour feature I had to look away just to reorient myself -- its kinetic energy cannot be denied. And the movie looks great the whole time, even when we're not quite sure if it's doing anything substantial. Then again, the work here by costumer Jenny Beavan (Mad Max: Fury Road, Sense & Sensibility, Gosford Park, and countless others) is always doing substantial work, and I'd have watched it all again immediately to be able to stare at these habiliments again.

The only sore spot in this film that made me cringe is Joel Fry as Jasper, whose weird, unrequited thing for Cruella turns him into a limp, dull character who pulls focus in the worst way, a sort of bedraggled wallflower with little humor and too much sentiment. Paul Walter Hauser as Horace, on the other hand, is a laugh-aloud delight, and his pairing with wicked little piratey dog Wink is nothing short of brilliant. Kirby Howell-Baptiste and Kayvan Novak pop in to the film occasionally as Anita and Roger, and are lovely even as they are underused. But the movie belongs fully to Emma Thompson and Emma Stone, who manage to work with their costumes and hair in such a way that their performances elevate to another level altogether. Much like Glenn Close did, actually, in the original.

I say "original," because it quickly became apparent that this movie is not a prequel to the 1961 animated classic so much as it is a prequel to the 1996 live-action film that started the whole trend. Its updated time period and intoxicating visual spectacle reveal its kinship, to say nothing of the costumes that are sure to win buckets of awards. And with Close as executive producer here, could we have expected anything else? I'm desperately hoping for a follow-up film, partly to answer the remaining question of how and why Cruella becomes an animal-killing psychopath. Remember, it's not just dogs; in the original, we're introduced to her by way of cat-napping a Siberian tiger from the zoo and turning it into, well, something furry to play with in her boudoir.

But mostly, I'm eager for a sequel that has already been teased. Reports indicate that both Emma Thompson (who stars here, of course, but deserves a lot more screen time) and Emma Stone have publicly expressed interest in a sequel that bridges time, providing more backstory for these new characters and crossing over into Cruella's adult life. They described it as a Godfather II-like thing, which makes magnificently twisted sense, and would surely include Close reprising the role. If that happened, I could die happy.