The Great Dictator

Transitions are difficult. This film serves as an example of that fact, as director and star Charlie Chaplin presents an uneven effort in his first full talking picture. The movie catches Chaplin caught between the type of visual set pieces that were standard fare in silent films and the more structured narrative demands of the modern, sound enhanced motion picture of later days. Some of the visual sequences fall flat, while others still work well enough to elicit genuine laughs. Meanwhile, a compelling narrative tale, featuring excellent supporting work from Paulette Goddard, is woven into and around those visual jokes, offering a story of deep pathos—in the story of the crimes of the period leading up to World War II—and biting satire—via a full-throated attack on the perpetrator of the those crimes. The sympathetic story is genuine and moving, even within the unevenness of the full presentation. And then, when the film reaches its climax, Chaplin steps out of character and delivers an end statement that is surprising and electrifying and that carries the potential of rousing the passions of even the most diffident viewer. This film was nominated for Best Picture, and that was clearly a reach; I can’t deem that nomination as anything other than a nod to lifetime achievement. Yet the movie’s message comes across so forcefully in the denouement that this film deserves recognition as must-see material, for its instructional value on being a human being if nothing else—and especially so as a great deal of that message remains so sadly relevant today.

Killers of the Flower Moon

This is an exceedingly difficult call to make. The issue right out in front: this movie is simply too long. The running time, combined with its languid pace, makes it a trial to keep focused on the story in its many beats. A healthy dose of economy in storytelling would have served the tale much better. Has this been a sweeping epic of grand scenes the length may have been forgivable, but this really is a much more intimate story than the largess implies. Also, lingering in the background of the whole thing is the sense that this is yet another example of Scorsese and De Niro making a big crime movie—practically to the point of seeing obsession in the repeated efforts. That interjects a feeling that we’ve seen all this before, in a sense, and dulls the feeling of there being anything truly fresh here. Finally, I note that the score features throughout a pulsating drum line—likely the contribution of the film’s musical director, the late Robbie Robertson—that may convey tension and drama...in smaller doses, but that starts to get on the viewer's nerves after a while. So much for the negatives. On the other hand, the performances are very good, everything looks fantastic—including the recreations of the 1920s milieu—the script is solid, with lots of great dialogue, and above all, this is a fascinating story that deserves to be told. It just should have been told with a little more brevity. If you have patience and are willing to make the big commitment this film requires, then I think it is worth a recommendation. But just know going in that you will be asked to sit and focus on this subject for a very long time in order to take in its full measure.

Gladiator II

The glory that was Rome does not really exist today. Similarly, the glory that was the first movie does not exist in this sequel either. Many of the elements are the same—they even recycle a few images from the first flick—but they do not retain the power they once had. This is not to call this outing a bad movie; it holds the viewer's attention throughout, and there is more than enough moviemaking competence on display for credit to be given. But some animating principle is lacking in this work; the proceedings do not carry as much emotional heft as the earlier work. Even the presence of the usually reliable Denzel Washington does not lift the story above standard issue sword and sandals spectacle; only briefly do we see his usual spark crackle across screen and scene. And, to top it all off, the script seems to rewrite Roman history to boot. The thumb points sideways for this one, and the Cat can only muster a MEOW. Take that as a sign from the gods. 

Fly Me to the Moon

Believe it or not, this movie actually made me glad to be old. Not for the inherent qualities of being among the aged—that ferociously sucks—but for the fact that I am old enough to have had the historic events depicted herein happen (just barely) within my lifetime, and I can remember their aftermath on the psyche of the nation. It’s that world-changing impact of the events that makes the space program stuff so perpetually appealing; make a film about those days, those people, those ideas, and you can always hook me in. As for this specific movie, it has its ups and downs, positive aspects and a few downsides. The soundtrack is spectacular, with a lot of great Memphis soul tunes chased with generous doses of Sam Cooke, as well as a handful of standards (yes, including the title song). The performers high and low do excellent work all the way through; no one phoned it in here. And the visual recreations—when they weren’t using archival footage—are spot on. And that includes the wardrobe choices; the men are mostly drab, but the women in particular look absolutely gorgeous. (Maybe, just maybe, the less-is-more aesthetic of the past offers something a bit more inherently attractive than the “it’s all out on front street” look of today’s female fashions.) But it mostly comes back to the Space Race milieu—that is, as always, the true star of the show. Perhaps it’s encouraging that people still want to make movies about that time, and that at least some of us still want to see such films. We could all use the occasional reminders about what our people can do when we all pull together. This one reaches high, and it achieves orbit, at least, if not making it all the way to the stars. 

The Sound of Music

An ode to beauty, both musical and visual. From the very first shots this movie is gorgeous to look at, and impressive visuals fill the screen throughout, while the music and songs present a lovely tableau that provides delight and warmth throughout. Julie Andrews and Christopher Plummer are splendid in their roles, as are the children, even if their transformations play a little too quick and easy (especially so with the Captain, who goes from hardass to softie in a relative blink). But that’s a quibble. Mostly, this story hits all the right notes, up to and including a touch of drama and derring-do at the climax. Even though it runs almost three hours this movie never drags; you stay engaged and entertained all the way to the end. No wonder this is perennially popular. You can do a lot worse than to include this one among your favorite things.

Air

I can’t really tell: does being old enough to remember the period of this particular period piece make it a better viewing experience or not? Sure, you get a kick out of the music and the artifacts, as well as knowing the details of how it all turned out—but in some ways that’s the problem, too. Try as the principal actors might to inject some suspense here, there’s no way you don’t know the ending to the story (which is really a beginning, after all), and that fact drains out a large amount of the drama. Still, the movie deserves credit for its precise recreation of the past, and Matt Damon performs yeoman's work in making the stakes for his character Sonny seem pretty close to life and death, for the company at least if not any of the people involved. Most intriguing may be scriptwriter Alex Convery’s decision to make one character present but mostly not a presence in the tale; that makes the story more about those other folks than the one person in the tale everybody already knows all about. The one big misstep comes at the crucial moment, when the pitch is made by recounting everything that hasn’t happened yet but will, as if the future itself is intruding upon the depicted past; it makes for a scene that is just not believable, and contrary to the rest of this story's telling. Still, the overall impression is of a well-played game. I wouldn’t say that this film soars to unprecedented heights, a la a certain basketball legend, but I think it does score enough points to come away with a win.

Babylon

This film starts out unpromising, with an opening sequence that celebrates people who are not in control of themselves. Only after that bit of showiness does the movie get on with its story, which, as one would imagine of a tale about people not in control of themselves, ends somewhat predictably. Really, though, those particulars of storyline are only the surface presentation; this movie’s actual subject is the nature of the movie business itself. Which, it turns out, really isn’t much more elevated than the behavioral grand guinol depicted in that opening. Thus, this work traces multiple parallel arcs of success and failure until we, viewers, characters and all, arrive at our eventual, rather inevitable ends. ultimately, this film wants to argue in favor of something greater in the nature of the movie biz, as have so many other “prestige” movies that exist along these same lines, though its conclusions are, at last, only half convincing. The final result of all that effort—and I do mean “all”; the full film clocks in at a heavy three plus hours—is a jittery, showy, but otherwise standard Hollywood cinematic ourborous: a grand example of the film industry vigorously fellating itself. Whether or not you find such a project entertaining is entirely a “your mileage may vary” situation.

Oppenheimer

Normally, the movie industry wants to shy away from bombs. But this story ain’t normal. Perhaps that explains the way director Christopher Nolan presents this tale—in a most unconventional way, particularly for a biopic. The storytelling here is eccentric, impressionistic, and idiosyncratic, with an almost staccato rhythm and pacing in the way it weaves its the tale. And 'weaving' is the correct term, as this story is nearly a co-biography of the title physicist and businessman and government official Lewis Strauss, with the parallel paths that the two men follow in the later years of their public careers displayed in intertwining narratives. Cillian Murphy is fine in the title role—he carries a heavy load here, being in almost every frame of the film—though Robert Downey Jr. almost steals the show (and will be a strong contender for a supporting actor award come next spring) as the antagonistic Strauss. The movie does have some flaws: some character introductions and scenes feel obligatory, the sorts of cinematic elements one often sees in a biopic; even with this work's nonstandard DNA, it can’t avoid some of the genre's cliches. Also, Nolan’s penchant for representational visual interjections—which lends a lot of that aforementioned staccato pacing—grows annoying after a while. Really, the whole style of the film is the greatest challenge the average viewer will face in watching this one. If you’re open to a non-conventional approach and allow the story to do its work, you will find this film to be rewarding, intriguing, in stretches even engrossing. But I also suspect that many viewers will be put off by the way Nolan’s direction asks a lot of the audience. That may be why, of the summer's two most anticipated releases, this one appears to have been left somewhat in the dust. Perhaps this should have been an Oscar-season release after all, and should not tried to swim against the summer blockbuster tide. Such a decision might have aligned expectations better for this film. Nevertheless, this movie is ultimately a success on its own terms, and one more interesting entry in the catalog of one of today’s most successful and intriguing directors. No bomb here; this project produced its intended product, be it a blockbuster or not.

The Last Duel

One is tempted to suggest that this movie gets hoisted on its own petard. It presents one story told from three different perspectives, with the heavy hint that only one version is the "truth." But...by presenting the notion of unreliable perspectives, the filmmakers suggest--perhaps unintentionally--that ALL the versions of the tale contain untruths. An intelligent analysis must recognize that the woman’s story isn’t automatically true just because she’s a woman. Only by way of a an uncritical acceptance can those watching take at face value the notion that only one of these accounts is factually accurate and honest. That conundrum diminishes the impact of the work as a whole, despite its fine performances and meticulous presentation of the period. (Director Ridley Scott is an old hand at putting spare-no-expense visuals on the screen.) This is hardly a bad film, for sure, but one can’t help but think that, perhaps, this could have been a more forceful work without indulging in the narrative puzzle-making.

J. Edgar

An oddly sympathetic portrait of a personage who had, by the time this film was made, largely become a punchline to various jokes and a symbol of some of the problems of his period of American history. The factuality of this account is destined to remain outside of true knowledge; this is mostly about looking through a prism, and what you see is more about who you are rather than any quantity of legitimate truth. What is undeniable is Leonardo DiCaprio's chameleon-like ability to fill whatever role he pleases, and to do so with such a natural-seeming ease that he remains, perhaps, under appreciated for his talent, even with a career full of plaudits behind him. This is his show, and his almost peerless ability as an actor makes this film worth the viewer's time.

Downfall

The biggest question here: does this film humanize Hitler and his most maniacal followers too much? Perhaps 'humanize' is not the right word; I suppose the question really comes down to sympathy, and the possibility that there's too much of it here. The answer to that question probably depends upon who you are and how you feel about such things. What you undeniably get here is an exhaustively detailed account of the last days of the Nazi regime. One might even say too detailed, as it goes on hammering home its message long after that point is made. From a cinematic angle, the performances are excellent all around, the recreation of time and place is meticulous, and the movie's ultimate statement--what starts in madness ends in madness--comes through clearly. One note worth mentioning: this flick was made for an audience that is assumed to have a fairly good knowledge going in of who is whom here; explication is minimal, which could trip up modern viewers.

300: Rise of an Empire

It's like watching the most overblown episode of Xena: Warrior Princess ever. Surprisingly, it also contains a fair amount of legitimate history, though at first glance you'd be forgiven if you chose not to believe it; a quick bit of research verifies a number of the details. (Thanks, Wikipedia.) Nevertheless, this is mostly about sheer spectacle--often spectacle somewhat ostentatiously covered in splatter and gore, so let's not put it in the curriculum just yet. All in all, I expected this to be much worse than it is; in fact, the film is ultimately fairly entertaining and mostly well done. I guess I’m a sucker for swords and sandals epics. Like those Greeks, you can watch this one and claim it as a victory, if the gods so direct you.

Judas and the Black Messiah

This one gets a soft PURR. That's to be expected; the Bad Cat is, after all, a black cat. The strength of this work lies in the performances of the two principal actors and their portrayals of the two main characters. LaKeith Stanfield does a solid job as informant Bill O'Neal, deftly walking the line of his role's ambivalence, while Daniel Kaluuya presents a powerful image as lead Chicago Panther Fred Hampton. Don't be surprised to see Kaluuya get an Oscar nod come this time next year. The only weakness of this film lies in its story, such as it is; what writer-director Shaka King presents is more a record of loosely connected events rather than a fully fleshed-out storyline. That approach leads the viewer to sometimes wonder where things are headed, rather than paying full attention to what is happening in the present scene. Nevertheless, many of those scenes are riveting in and of themselves, delivering a strong focus on the personal that informs the political. And King shows them with enough visual panache to make much of the tableaux interesting all the way to the film's gut-punch conclusion. As always with "based on" movies, it's hard to know how much of what we see here is factual and how much is interpretation; however, much of what is presented in the film's coda backs up what the whole work shows. (And the Chicago setting certainly gives portrayal a lot of credibility.). All in all, an interesting critique of yesterday, and today, and definitely worth a look.

Sword of Sherwood Forest

Decent, old-fashioned fun. So many guys get shot in this flick with arrows and bolts it's like watching a cooking show recipe for shish kebab. No doubt, this is inferior material vs the Errol Flynn classic, but it's not a bad retelling of the old story. And 'retelling' is appropriate; it's essentially the same story as always, but there are just enough new wrinkles to make this outing seem relatively fresh. A few slow moments drag the proceedings to something close to a halt, but they're not bad enough to bog down a flick that's otherwise big on action, generally well executed, and strong on the scenery and production value. All in all, this one robs from a rich tradition, but doesn't leave you feeling too poor afterward.

Drums Along the Mohawk

Dumb among the rednecks. It's surprising just how bad this movie is. The director? John Ford. The stars? Henry Fonda and Claudette Colbert? That's some pretty heavy duty bloodlines there. So why is this flick so foolish? It barely qualifies as a story; just a pastiche of scenes from colonial New York, culminating in a Revolutionary War victory for the proto-Americans and a few laughable visuals of women and Natives saluting the flag in their joy over a win for the white trash. As an echo of the country that once was, this is a weird piece of historical curiosity--but without the usual dose of fond nostalgia these sorts of movies usually bring. As a movie, it's makes little sense, is not particularly entertaining, and doesn't show its cast and crew in a good light. Quite an unusual--and disappointing--experience.

The Zookeeper's Wife

An old showbiz adage: never work with children or animals. There's a passel of each in this film, which as it turns out is not really the problem here. More daunting for the filmmakers--and by turns the audience--is the fact that we've seen this story, or at least variations on it, many times before. It is, perhaps, not surprising that after 75 years tales of heroism in the face of Holocaust are losing some of their impact. Even the presence of Jessica Chastain--this is very much her vehicle, and she drives it rather well, as always--doesn't entirely lift the proceedings beyond a standard-issue templated story about what a few good people were able to do during WWII. It's disturbing to be jaded about watching stories of remarkable courage in the face of unimaginable dreadfulness, but such is the state of being today, at this point in history this far removed from the focused days and times. It is worth contemplating the (continuing) need for such courage, and you won't do wrong to experience this telling--just don't expect to be blown away by anything presented here.

Abe Lincoln in Illinois

This flick, especially early on, could have been called "Abe Lincoln in Iowa," for the corn grows high in the first couple of reels. It's mostly just silly hagiography as the film recounts Lincoln's early years. Then, something interesting happens: as the character matures, so does the telling of the tale, until you finally get some interesting notes on the man behind the myth and the sad life that was overshadowed by the colossal political achievements. Speaking of which, when the movie gets around to the Lincoln-Douglas debates--presenting Abe's closing argument as a greatest hits mixtape of several of his speeches--the moment transcends an otherwise ho-hum viewing experience, and the timeless words are delivered in an electrifying moment of historical moviemaking. It's not entirely up to snuff, but viewing this film might be worth it just for that one scene alone (not to mention the final, farewell speech at the movie's end). Through such wisdom was a nation held together--and we can only hope its equal will rise again in the hour of need.

Detroit

This is a film that tests your patience, then rewards it. It's hard to know where it's going at first; the mixture of documentary style presentation along with dramatic scenes of the 1967 Detroit riots makes the direction of the work seem general and unfocused. Early sequences are more of a pastiche of scenes rather than a cohesive narrative--and yours truly has never been a fan of the pastiche approach. But stay with it: the very disparate threads eventually come together into a long examination of the events at the Algiers Motel, and that's where the unfocused film turns riveting. (Bigelow's strength as a director seems to be in presenting intense interactions.) Once the movie gets rolling there, it's an absorbing story all the way to the end. Definitely worth a look, and worth thinking about after the credits roll.

First Man

In a story about the moon landing, it's the moon that's supposed to be lifeless. Here, it's Ryan goslings performance that's a bit sterile. That may or may not be a fair assessment, because Neil Armstrong, for all of his fame, was not much of a public figure after he walked on the moon. Perhaps Gosling has the man perfectly pegged with his reserved portrayal. And, as with other Space Race films, you are reminded of what a colossal achievement the program was back in its day. It's nothing short of astounding what NASA achieved in the '60s, both in engineering missions into space and creating new perspectives for the human race in the process. This film is a good reminder of that legacy, and should be viewed for that even with its flaws. (The worst of those flaws is the decision to film everything in the execrable "shakycam" mode, even for the quietest and most intimate moments. Memo to all directors: put your damn narcissism aside and let your story hold our attention, not your presence with the camera.)

BlacKKKlansman

You know how you know this is a good movie? Because in the midst of its very heavy stuff, there's also a lot of fun moments, too. Director Spike Lee covers a broad swath of ground, his cast turns in a bevy of spot-on performances, and the story resonates powerfully from yesterday to today. Highly recommended.