Don't Worry Darling

The Stepford Matrix. Sorry for that sorta spoiler, but one must acknowledge that this kind of thing has been done before. Which is not to say this outing is automatically inferior to its antecedents. Indeed, this flick has a lot going for it, including a powerful performance from lead Florence Pugh, a shrewd choice by director Olivia Wilde to use the trappings—and especially the music—of mid-century, golden age (of a sort) America as the staging for this investigation into what’s what in a given life, and a tight, well-crafted presentation that grips the viewer's interest throughout. Life may be but a dream—or more likely, a nightmare—but at least you can be assured that these two hours are hardly the worst you’ll ever have.

If Beale Street Could Talk

Movies like this give "prestige" cinema a bad name. I desperately wanted to like this movie, out of respect for its source--it's based on a James Baldwin work--as much as anything else. Then I pressed the 'play' button. What exactly is this film? Is it a romance? Apparently, as it spends about half the running time mooning over a young couple. What's so special about them? Nothing, as far as the viewer can tell; they just happen to be there. Is it a drama about societal injustice? It sure has that aspect of it, in bursts, though I'm not sure I'd say it pulls that off very effectively. What one can say most accurately about this flick is that it's as dull as dishwater. Nothing ever really sparks in the story, the pace is languid in the extreme, and it feels more like a lecture than a tale, without necessarily being educational. Many complain about the "tent-pole" takeover of modern cinema, but when this is the alternative, you can hardly blame the hoi polloi for gravitating towards the empty--but at least engaging--spectacles. This street, all in all, had very little to say.