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2019

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Rian Johnson’s (Brick, Looper) modern update to the Deathtrap/Murder on the Orient Express-style whodunnit is clever, tight, witty and consistently engaging. The wealthy family of a famous mystery author (Christopher Plummer) is suspected of having offed him at a get-together in his ornate mansion (a cop observes “Look around. The guy basically lives in a clue board!”) and the investigation centers on his nurse, Marta (Ana de Armas), who is alternatively claimed and condescended to by the clan. The investigation is a wellspring of black humor, biting cynicism and hilarious family drama. Everyone (and everyone seems to be in this) is excellent, particularly Daniel Craig as a Southern drawling Hercule Poirot.

Two nits. First, in a mystery, having a character who is congenitally incapable of lying is an egregious cheat. If it weren’t for Johnson’s ingenious plotting, I’d have been more put off. Second, the politics are for the most part deft but also a little clunky. The family fighting about Trump was funny and authentic, with its hypocritical righty who digs Trump and treats Marta as a maid and his lefty cliche’ amping to 11 and invoking the Nazis. It was also even-handed – a leftie social justice warrior who has befriended Marta ends up being a true Judas . Still, Johnson rhetorically over-dunks on the lot of the Richie Riches at the end, which is the only misstep in what is otherwise a seamless, lively flick.

021D93F8-A0C1-48D7-B998-A5E178118D6AFrenetic, excessive and nerve-wracking, one of those movies where you turn to your son with the “are you fucking kidding me?” look when you’re not crouched in your chair wincing. The recipient of your empathy is Adam Sandler, a New York jeweler in the diamond district, juggling a disaffected wife and three kids, a mistress thirty years his junior, and a gambling addiction.  He is perpetually robbing Peter to pay Paul and thinning the skin of his teeth as the film progresses.  This is one of a handful of serious roles for Sandler and he’s terrific (if you thought Al Pacino was terrific in Scarface – I did).  Kevin Garnett plays himself, turns in a great deal more than you’d expect from a non-actor and is particularly affecting in a scene where Sandler likens his drive to make a financial score with that of a pro athlete.

On the downside, the film is so histrionic, it’s hard to find people you can actually identify with.  You root for Sandler primarily because you want a particularly tense situation to resolve.  And the soundtrack – a blend of Vangelis and the hum of an 80’s video game arcade – is distracting, discordant, and near-unforgivable.

Other than some nice, genuine moments between Rey (Daisey Ridley) and Kylo Ren (Adam Driver),  pretty terrible. Perfunctory, inconsistent, soulless and enslaved to JJ Abrams’ zealous desire to wrap everything up. But it’s Christmas. Let’s focus on the good things.

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This guy (Greg Grunberg).  He plays an overweight X-Wing pilot who looks like a sitcom character.  The only thing he’s missing is a pastrami sandwich in his hand.  Reportedly, the Star Wars folks were all over Carrie Fisher to drop a few pounds for the role, yet this lard ass catches a pass?  I don’t know the other guy.  Without arms, I can’t imagine he/she/it/they are of much value.

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This guy (Mark Hamill).  He appears as a ghost to set Rey straight.  He has an uncanny resemblance to Jesus, until he speaks, and then . . . well.  Not exactly commanding.

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They’re baaaack.  Just in time for Christmas.

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Lando Calrissian and Jannah. While the chatter suggests she may be his daughter, their final scene has more a creepy, “Hey, baby, where you been all my life?” vibe.

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This guy.  Who jumps from a great height onto rock and says, “Ouch!” No lie.

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These guys.  Who follow our heroes everywhere, fortunate in the fact that they never encounter stairs.
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These guys.  Strategery continues to remain a weakness, as the entire fleet is a) lined up like planes at Pearl Harbor; b) wholly reliant on one communications device that allows them to maneuver during attack; c) leaden with exposed weapons in their underbelly that can be detonated with a few grenades, leading to destruction of the entire ship.

A7D1985B-625D-443D-8D36-B9FDE507C6FEA colossal failure, saggy, haphazard, wholly disinterested in its own mystery, and unforgivably unscary. The boys (and one girl) are back in the town of Derry because our favorite clown has returned after 27 years to feast. In order to consign him to the depths once again, they have to undergo torments/flashbacks individually and then as a group. Why is poorly explained (something about a ritual and native Americans in the nearby woods).

The script has no keys to locks, no trail of breadcrumbs, no rules and hence, holds no interest.  
The picture doesn’t hold together or tie up and drags interminably at over 2 and a half hours. On the upside, Gollum from Lord of the Rings makes an appearance, we get to see Bill Hader vomit (twice!) and true love and belief in yourself conquers all. 

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A touching and heartfelt tribute to a matriarch.  Smart, deep and without an ounce of treacle, this is the holiday movie you should watch instead of the grotesque Love, Actually.  Upon hearing of the terminal cancer diagnosis for her Nai Nai (grandmother), Billi (Awkwafina), who left China when she was seven, returns from New York with her family (along with other family members from abroad) to say their goodbyes.  The twist is that, per custom, no one can reveal the diagnosis so as not to upset Nai Nai in her final months.  Indeed, Billi, a struggling student who has just been rejected for a fellowship, was specifically asked not to make the trip because her parents thought she was too emotional and incapable of adhering to the compact.

What follows is a loving and funny rendering of Billi’s family as well as her own mmersion into Chinese culture and the clash that comes with it.  First time writer-director Lulu Wang’s second feature is confident and multi-layered, and her visual sense, depicting China in an almost dreamlike state, emphasizes Billi’s trepidation and confusion.  The film is also slyly funny, capturing the idiosyncrasy of family that survives no matter the time apart or the geographical separation.  One of the best of the year.

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Awfully slow and occasionally deadly dull. It’s 3.5 hours, 1.5 hours of which is trying to get Jimmy Hoffa (Al Pacino) either to his senses or a meeting.

The length and pace, however, may be the least of the film’s problems.  The movie depicts the rise of mob killer and union boss Frank Sheeran (Robert De Niro) and his relationship with his mob sponsor (Joe Pesci) and Hoffa. The novelty is the technological ability Martin Scorsese uses to make his actors younger, but the effect is only so successful. They can only make them so young.  So, you have a 76 year-old man playing a 40 year old man who looks like a 56 year old man who has a six-year-old daughter. Worse, when they are rendered young in the face, they remain old in the body. One scene, where a digitally younger De Niro beats a man, emphasizes the point.  It looks like Bad Grandpa is delivering an ass kicking.

But perhaps the worst part of the film is the fact that there is simply no drama, no tension. Every single character is the exact same person he was from beginning to end. In Goodfellas, De Niro and Pesci were a constant force, but the drama came from watching Ray Liotta and Lorraine Bracco rise and then try to survive.  In Casino, the entire film centered around the significant changes to the personalities of De Niro, the bookmaker made casino king in fledgling Vegas, and Pesci, the enforcer who gets too big for his britches and in-over-his-head alone in the desert.  The history of those films was compelling, but it did not have to do all of the lifting.

Here, De Niro is the same throughout. Sociopathic, steady, soulless and somnambulant.  It does not make for enthralling viewing.  Your eyes will move to the IPhone more than once.

It looks good, though. Damn good. I’ll give it that.  And there are a few exchanges in Steve Zallian’s (Moneyball, A Civil Action) script that are subtly sharp. But it’s not nearly enough.

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It’s fine. There is no need to see it in the theater, but this story of former driver and automobile designer Carroll Shelby (Matt Damon) and driver Ken Miles (Christian Bale) being subcontracted by Ford to take on Ferrari at LeMans is entertaining and fast-paced. Besides, Damon and Bale would be easy enough to watch grilling hot dogs, and Tracy Letts as Henry Ford II steals the picture in one scene.

That said, the movie is a tad too formulaic and cute and it has some thematic and structural problems. Bale’s overly precious relationship with his wife (Caitriona Balfe) is plagued by money woes and that seems to be the source of any dissension in theri union.  But then, all of a sudden, she goes bats because he apparently isn’t communicative enough, which comes out of nowhere (up until this point in the film, Bale is presented as aCockney loudmouth who can’t keep his trap shut about anything). Additionally, the relationship between Damon and Bale is unsupported, and we actually know little about either of them before their joint endeavor begins.  Some background, other than stoic and abrasive, respectively, would have helped.

But most problematic is the depiction of the Ford company, a corporate behemoth we are asked to loathe and root for at the same time.  The whiz kid who comes up with the idea of taking on Ferrari is Lee Iacocca, and as played by Jon Bernthal, he barely registers. Worse, as Ford’s no. 2, Josh Lucas is just this side of twirling a mustache. His treachery is over-the-top ridiculous.

The race footage is exciting and when you see this when it streams, you’ll be pleased, though Ron Howard’s Rush is a better racing film.