The Wild Robot
Perhaps the best thing about The Wild Robot is that it rarely feels like a Hollywood-produced animated film. It's more Miyazaki than Disney. Although seemingly simple, it explores concepts like perceiving "kindness as a survival skill" and how bonds of love can be stronger than innate differences. And, for a majority of the story, there is no villain. That's not to say there isn't conflict, but the movie doesn't require a "Big Bad" to advance its narrative. It relies instead on relationships and emotional resonance, and does so in a way that engages children and adults.

Set at an unspecified time in the future, The Wild Robot introduces ROZZUM Unit 7134, a.k.a. "Rozz" (Lupita Nyong'o), a general purpose robot who survives a crash and is accidentally activated by a curious animal. Rozz, unable to communicate with Universal Dynamics (the company that made her), establishes a mission that can provide a point of focus. She will train Brightbill (Kit Connor), a gosling that has imprinted on her as his mother, to be able to join the other Canada geese on their autumn migration journey. Because he is a runt with limited swimming and flying skills, Brightbill is not well regarded by the local geese population. But other animals are willing to help with his training: Fink the fox (Pedro Pascal), Pinktail the opossum (Catherine O'Hara), Thorn the bear (Mark Hamill), Thunderbolt the hawk (Ving Rhames), and Longneck the wise old goose (Bill Nighy). In the course of teaching Brightbill, Rozz begins to experience feelings and gains enough awareness to start overwriting her internal programming.

The concept of a robot achieving sentience has been a science fiction trope from the outset. In The Wild Robot, it is handled in a way that children will understand but without insulting the intelligence of older viewers. Although the movie has messages to impart, it does so without being unsubtle. There's humor, action, and spectacle but the mother/son relationship between Rozz and Brightbill is the most important element of The Wild Robot. The handling of an aspect of this interaction - the necessity of a parent to let go and allow the child to gain independence - is handled with delicacy and precision.

The Wild Robot doesn't look like every other computer-generated animated film. Director Chris Sanders (whose previous directorial credits include How to Train Your Dragon and The Croods) eschews photorealism and substitutes a tactile aesthetic he has described as "a Monet painting in a Miyazaki forest." The result is noticeably different from 2024's biggest animated successes, Inside Out 2 and Despicable Me 4. The migration scene, which features thousands of geese taking to the air, is breathtaking to behold. Sanders also does a lot more with camera movement than many animated films, showing a degree of innovation that hasn't been evident since the early films of Disney's animated 1990s resurgence (he worked on some of those in the animation department).

The voice casting prioritizes impact over star power. Lupita Nyong'o uses her voice to express Rozz's development from inquisitive robot to devoted mother. Although the rest of the cast includes recognizable names - Pedro Pascal, Catherine O'Hara, Bill Nighy, Mark Hamill, Ving Rhames - none is immediately noticeable (prior to seeing the credits, the only one I picked out was Rhames).

One of the reasons I rarely get excited about animated films is that I often find them to be less complex and interesting than live action efforts. Movies, especially animated ones, that value storytelling over franchise-building and merchandising have become increasingly rare in the "family friendly" sphere. And, while a lot of animated directors pay lip service to adopting the tenets of the legendary Hayao Miyazaki, few do it in a meaningful fashion. Sanders is an exception and his The Wild Robot deserves mention alongside the work of the Japanese master. He doesn't force-feed pop songs into the soundtrack and focuses on creating something that's visually interesting (instead of blandly generic). The movie tells a story I wanted to see unfold rather than doling out a bundle of carefully arranged cliches. The Wild Robot proves to be one of the best animated features to emerge from the American studios post-pandemic and even approaches Miyazki's (alleged) swansong, The Boy and the Heron, in blending artistry with entertainment value.

© 2024 James Berardinelli

The Wild Robot 3D
Perhaps the best thing about The Wild Robot is that it rarely feels like a Hollywood-produced animated film. It's more Miyazaki than Disney. Although seemingly simple, it explores concepts like perceiving "kindness as a survival skill" and how bonds of love can be stronger than innate differences. And, for a majority of the story, there is no villain. That's not to say there isn't conflict, but the movie doesn't require a "Big Bad" to advance its narrative. It relies instead on relationships and emotional resonance, and does so in a way that engages children and adults.

Set at an unspecified time in the future, The Wild Robot introduces ROZZUM Unit 7134, a.k.a. "Rozz" (Lupita Nyong'o), a general purpose robot who survives a crash and is accidentally activated by a curious animal. Rozz, unable to communicate with Universal Dynamics (the company that made her), establishes a mission that can provide a point of focus. She will train Brightbill (Kit Connor), a gosling that has imprinted on her as his mother, to be able to join the other Canada geese on their autumn migration journey. Because he is a runt with limited swimming and flying skills, Brightbill is not well regarded by the local geese population. But other animals are willing to help with his training: Fink the fox (Pedro Pascal), Pinktail the opossum (Catherine O'Hara), Thorn the bear (Mark Hamill), Thunderbolt the hawk (Ving Rhames), and Longneck the wise old goose (Bill Nighy). In the course of teaching Brightbill, Rozz begins to experience feelings and gains enough awareness to start overwriting her internal programming.

The concept of a robot achieving sentience has been a science fiction trope from the outset. In The Wild Robot, it is handled in a way that children will understand but without insulting the intelligence of older viewers. Although the movie has messages to impart, it does so without being unsubtle. There's humor, action, and spectacle but the mother/son relationship between Rozz and Brightbill is the most important element of The Wild Robot. The handling of an aspect of this interaction - the necessity of a parent to let go and allow the child to gain independence - is handled with delicacy and precision.

The Wild Robot doesn't look like every other computer-generated animated film. Director Chris Sanders (whose previous directorial credits include How to Train Your Dragon and The Croods) eschews photorealism and substitutes a tactile aesthetic he has described as "a Monet painting in a Miyazaki forest." The result is noticeably different from 2024's biggest animated successes, Inside Out 2 and Despicable Me 4. The migration scene, which features thousands of geese taking to the air, is breathtaking to behold. Sanders also does a lot more with camera movement than many animated films, showing a degree of innovation that hasn't been evident since the early films of Disney's animated 1990s resurgence (he worked on some of those in the animation department).

The voice casting prioritizes impact over star power. Lupita Nyong'o uses her voice to express Rozz's development from inquisitive robot to devoted mother. Although the rest of the cast includes recognizable names - Pedro Pascal, Catherine O'Hara, Bill Nighy, Mark Hamill, Ving Rhames - none is immediately noticeable (prior to seeing the credits, the only one I picked out was Rhames).

One of the reasons I rarely get excited about animated films is that I often find them to be less complex and interesting than live action efforts. Movies, especially animated ones, that value storytelling over franchise-building and merchandising have become increasingly rare in the "family friendly" sphere. And, while a lot of animated directors pay lip service to adopting the tenets of the legendary Hayao Miyazaki, few do it in a meaningful fashion. Sanders is an exception and his The Wild Robot deserves mention alongside the work of the Japanese master. He doesn't force-feed pop songs into the soundtrack and focuses on creating something that's visually interesting (instead of blandly generic). The movie tells a story I wanted to see unfold rather than doling out a bundle of carefully arranged cliches. The Wild Robot proves to be one of the best animated features to emerge from the American studios post-pandemic and even approaches Miyazki's (alleged) swansong, The Boy and the Heron, in blending artistry with entertainment value.

© 2024 James Berardinelli

Speak No Evil
Back in the 1980s and 1990s, there was a popular thriller trope in which a character (or group of characters) would form a connection with a stranger (or strangers) but, over time, the actions and motivations of one character would turn murderous. These movies, which had titles like The Hand that Rocks the Cradle and Single White Female, became popular destinations for movie-goers who liked their Friday night multiplex fixes predictable albeit spicy. Every once-in-a-while, a movie of this sort pops up, as if to remind us that this subgenre has never really gone away. Speak No Evil is one; it's also better-made than most of what Hollywood churned out on a regular basis 30 years ago.

Speak No Evil is a remake of a Danish film from all the way back in 2022. Although not qualifying as an obscure film (it's easy streamed on Shudder), it will likely be new material to the average non-subtitle-reading viewer. The main story has been transferred seamlessly from the Netherlands to rural England ("The West Country") with the nationalities of the participants shifting from Danish/Dutch to American/British. There are two notable differences between the original and the Blumhouse-funded remake: all sex and nudity has been removed (although is still R-rated) and the third act has been radically changed to avoid the box office poison that would have resulted had the earlier production's ending been retained. (I won't argue that either is "better" although they result in very different movies when considered in retrospect.)

Speak No Evil opens in Italy with a meeting between two vacationing families. The Daltons - father Ben (Scoot McNairy), mother Louise (Mackenzie Davis), and daughter Agnes (Alix West Lefler) - are Americans living in London. Paddy (James McAvoy), Ciara (Aisling Franciosi), and their mute son, Ant (Dan Hough), are friendly British travelers. When Paddy and Ciara invite Ben, Louise, and Agnes to spend a week at their farm, the Americans agree, hoping a week in the country will help heal their marriage and revive their spirits. It soon becomes clear, however, that Paddy and his family don't live by "conventional" rules. Almost immediately, Louise begins regretting accepting the invitation, especially when she notes that the bedding appears to be soiled and Paddy doesn't respect her request for a vegetarian meal. After a couple of days (and nights), Louise has had enough and demands that they leave immediately, but it quickly becomes clear there are more obstacles to escaping the farm than merely navigating the long, winding roads.

Director James Watkins, known best for The Woman in Black, recognizes how to get the best out of a limited budget. Over the course of the film's first hour, he gradually ratchets up the creepiness factor, transforming a seemingly idyllic vacation spot into a fraught and uncomfortable trap. When it comes time to diverge from the original, Watkins does so with flair. The final half-hour makes the leap from slow-burn horror to action-oriented thriller without losing a step. In the end, we're in "refrigerator movie" territory (a film that holds together in the moment but falls apart upon later reflection), but it's fun while sitting in a theater watching the story unfold. There is an ugly surprise that generates an expected reaction.

One wonders whether Watkins cast James McAvoy after seeing him in M. Night Shyamalan's Split. McAvoy is a joy to watch as his seemingly normal, jovial portrayal of Paddy shifts into something darker and more sinister. The change is gradual - the glimpses we see of the man's underlying personality don't emerge all at once. In fact, at one point, Ben seems to fall under Paddy's spell even as Louise's distrust mounts. McAvoy's performance so captivates the camera that everyone else struggles to be noticed. Mackenzie Davis does her best to provide a foil for Paddy but Scoot McNairy, saddled with an emasculated role, comes across as whiny and a little annoying.

Questions of logic are reasonable but, although the movie doesn't provide sufficient backstory to answer most of them, it overcomes many such objections by amplifying the sense of dread. One might argue that the film's trailers give away too much - and they are more spoiler-laden that many - but, having seen them, I didn't feel that they limited my enjoyment of the proceedings. Even without knowing, there's a sense from the beginning that something is "off" about Paddy and the film's biggest twist is kept hidden. Overall, although this version of Speak No Evil doesn't leave as deep or lasting an impact as its predecessor, it represents another in the seemingly-endless Blumhouse stable of low-budget films to warrant a recommendation for those who appreciate the genre.

© 2024 James Berardinelli

The Killer’s Game
Stunt coordinator-turned-director J.J. Perry, making his sophomore feature, knows what he wants from his movie and understands the B-movie aesthetic necessary to get it. And there are times when The Killer's Game works on that level. The stunts and fights, influenced by the John Wick movies (Perry worked on the first two chapters), are done mostly with real people rather than on computers. Much of the humor is either intentional or intentionally unintentional. At its best, The Killer's Game can be enjoyable in an undemanding sort of way. At its worst, it's damn near unwatchable.

The problem is immediately evident. Although lead actor Dave Bautista has dipped his toes into dramatic parts in the past, he is generally unsuited for them. Here, he seems to be channeling Steven Seagal, who looked good in fights but did a passable imitation of a plank of wood otherwise. The screenplay contains far too many "dramatic" scenes that would require an actor of some range and ability for them to work as intended. There's also minimal chemistry between Bautista and co-star/love interest Sofia Boutella, but the awkwardness of their romantic interaction isn't sufficient to make these scenes enjoyable on a campy level. They're just bad.

The movie introduces Joe Flood (Bautista) as one of the world's most prolific assassins, although he only kills bad guys (as determined by his handler, Zvi, played by Ben Kingsley). But Joe has a problem - a recent bout of severe headaches and double vision represent symptoms of a degenerative brain disease that will reduce him to a bedridden, blind, incontinent mess before killing him. Unwilling to endure such a humiliating and debilitating end, Joe decides to take himself out of the game. Since suicide would invalidate a life insurance policy he's leaving to his new girlfriend, rising ballet star Maize (Boutella), he opts to take out a contract on his own life. Marianna (Pom Klementieff), the woman he negotiates the deal with, is all too happy to oblige: she has a vendetta against Joe and puts some of her best teams on the job.

That's when Joe gets the "happy" news. The doctor calls. He is not, in fact, terminally ill. There was a mistake. The lab mixed up the vials of blood. Now Joe has a big problem since Marianna is unwilling to cancel the contract. In fact, she doubles down on the bounty, which attracts more candidates. In order to survive, Joe has to take them all out - a K-Pop group, a pair of bikers, two Highlander brothers (whose heavily accented English comes complete with amusing subtitles), a lesbian duo who go by the name of "Party Girls," a Spanish dancer, a team of mercenaries, and - most formidable of all - a grizzled veteran looking for a retirement nest egg (Terry Crews).

Although Bautista, who has been dubbed as a "poor man's Dwayne Johnson" in some quarters (due in part to their shared wrestling background), is the film's intended draw, he is only the second biggest name in the cast. Top honors in that department goes to Ben Kingsley, who seems to enjoy these sorts of low-effort, high paying jobs. He doesn't exactly phone it in but neither is he 100% invested. He is easily outshone by Alex Kingston, who plays Zvi's wife with a scene-stealing gusto. Also appearing is Bautista's Guardians of the Galaxy co-star, Pom Klementieff, but their reunion is limited to a single scene early in the proceedings. Terry Crews is underused.

It's a bit of a chore to get to the good stuff in The Killer's Game because the exposition-laden, action-lite first half hour requires the actors to things they aren't suited for. Then things pick up. Although the fights lack the verve of John Wick, they ramp up the energy level and keep things moving. The humor is hit-and-miss. The stuff with a dumb rapper sidekick and a bemused priest would have been better left out but there are instances of black comedy that are good enough to earn the Quentin Tarantino seal of approval. As for the last kill...it's perfectly executed and wonderfully brief.

Perhaps the most curious thing about The Killer's Game is why Lionsgate opted for a theatrical release. This doesn't seem like the kind of movie likely to pack-'em-in at the multiplexes. It looks and feels like a direct-to-streaming release if there ever was one. There's nothing about the generic choreography of the action scenes that demands a big screen and the inconsistent pacing of the first half-hour could be mitigated by at-home watching. The movie falls into the category of something a viewer is likely to stick with once sitting there but it lacks anything sufficiently unique or compelling that would make it worth seeking out.

© 2024 James Berardinelli

Beetlejuice Beetlejuice
Beetlejuice Beetlejuice is a worthy follow-up to its 1988 predecessor, Beetlejuice. For this much-delayed sequel, director Tim Burton has hewed close to the strengths of the original, repeating them when appropriate and acknowledging them when not. He has not attempted to re-invent the wheel, allowing the 2024 installment to echo the first movie without being a carbon copy; it neither abandons the delightful weirdness of Beetlejuice nor takes viewers much deeper down the proverbial rabbit hole. The film also recaptures key elements (including the title character's appearance) so effectively that it seems it could have been made much closer to the earlier installment than the actual span of 36 years that separates them.

Beetlejuice Beetlejuice brings back three actors from the first movie: Michael Keaton, Winona Ryder, and Catherine O'Hara. They reprise, respectively, Beetlejuice (or, more properly, Betelgeuse), middle-aged Lydia Deetz, and Lydia's stepmom, Delia. Charles Deetz, the family patriarch, now deceased, makes an appearance, albeit without the participation of Jeffrey Jones, who played the role in Beetlejuice. In the 2000s, Jones was hit with child porn charges and had to file as a sex offender - this has made him persona non grata for most Hollywood productions. Unwilling to risk box office contamination, Burton contrived a way to bring back Charles without requiring Jones' participation - he wanders through the afterlife without a head (it was bitten off by a shark after he survived a plane crash).

Charles' death instigates an uncomfortable reunion as his family gathers at the New England home Charles purchased decades ago. The original owners of the place, the ghostly Maitlands, have moved on (owing to a "loophole" they discovered), leaving the house free of haunts. Lydia, now the host of a cheesy TV show called "Ghost House with Lydia Deetz," arrives with her producer/soon-to-be-fiance, Rory (Justin Theroux), in tow. Also on hand is Lydia's estranged daughter, Astrid (Jenna Ortega), who believes her mother's "abilities" to see dead people are fake. While trying to find ways to avoid Lydia, she encounters Jeremy (Arthur Conti), an awkward-but-helpful young man who invites her over for a Halloween party. Meanwhile, in the afterlife, Beetlejuice, reading about Charles' death, begins to conjure a plan for a reunion with Lydia, but a more pressing need arises: escaping from his ex-wife, Delores (Monica Bellucci), who has been re-assembled in a way that makes her look a little like Sally from the Burton-produced The Nightmare Before Christmas.

As with the first film, Beetlejuice Beetlejuice feels more like a connected series of vignettes than a single, cohesive story. While Beetlejuice is doing his usual schtick (the decision was made to in no way neuter his politically incorrect persona), Lydia is trying to figure out where her life went wrong and Delia obsesses over how to create a performance piece around Charles' death. In the movie's most enjoyable episode, Astrid and Jeremy embark on a Burton-esque game of flirtation. No one does young romance quite like Burton, who mixes his gothic sensibilities with a John Hughes-inspired innocence. This gives Ortega something to do beyond hanging around at the house - a diversion that's welcome because she fits so well into this world. The actress, who has immersed herself in horror of all flavors, is familiar with Burton and writers Alfred Gough and Miles Millar, since they all collaborated on Wednesday.

Beetlejuice Beetlejuice offers small roles to familiar faces. Beetlejuice had Robert Goulet and Dick Cavett. The sequel brings on board Monica Bellucci, Danny Devito, and the suddenly ubiquitous Willem Dafoe. Dafoe in particular is noteworthy. He plays Wolf Jackson, a deceased action star (think a B-movie version of Clint Eastwood), who is now head of the afterlife's police force.

Where "Day-O" functioned as Beetlejuice's anthem, "MacArthur Park" fills that role in Beetlejuice Beetlejuice (although "Day-O" is accorded a cameo). Music is an important element. In addition to "MacArthur Park" (both the Richard Harris and the Donna Summer versions are used), Burton spotlights the theme for the TV show Soul Train as well as finding an innovative opportunity to use the BeeGees' "Tragedy."

After a few missteps and/or odd choices for the director (including Dumbo and Dark Shadows), Beetlejuice Beetlejuice puts Burton back in familiar territory and, surrounded by past collaborators and a sense of nostalgia, he thrives. Although it's hard to argue that the world needed another Beetlejuice movie, at least this one seems to have emerged more out of a place of legitimate creativity than cash considerations. In 2024, that seems like a win, which is what the movie delivers to fans who venture into theaters to become reacquainted with one of 1988's most deliciously depraved demons.

© 2024 James Berardinelli

Blink Twice
Blink Twice is a deliciously nasty "refrigerator film" - a psychological thriller that holds viewers spellbound while in the theater (even if certain plot elements fall apart upon later reflection - say, for example, when getting a snack from the refrigerator later that night). The assured debut of actor-turned-director Zoe Kravitz, the movie is unafraid of going places that caused distributor Amazon MGM to include a trigger warning. Although Blink Twice starts out seeming like a gauzy fantasy, it doesn't take long for it to begin travelling into nightmare territory.

Channing Tatum has a likeable screen presence and that's one key to the film's success. We want to believe his character, tech mogul Slater King, when he admits guilt to an abuse of power, steps away from his position, asks for forgiveness, and says he has become a changed man. Is it any wonder that cocktail waitress Frida (Naomi Ackie) finds herself infatuated with him when she works his swanky charity dinner party? The attraction is apparently mutual because, after spending parts of the evening with her, Slater impulsively invites Frida and her best friend, Jess (Alia Shawkat), to attend an exclusive party on his personal island. The invitees include three other women - Sarah (Adria Arjona), Camilla (Liz Caribel), and Heather (Trew Mullen) - and four other men - Vic (Christian Slater), Cody (Simon Rex), Tom (Haley Joel Osment), and Lucas (Levon Hawke). It's all about eating, drinking, lounging in the sun, taking drugs, and (presumably) sex, although there seems to be surprisingly little in the way of overt physicality. (Anyone else get a Midsommer vibe?) Or is there? Memories become fuzzy. Stains on clothing mysteriously vanish. Unexplained bruises materialize. Then, when Jess senses something is "wrong" with the island and/or the guests, she disappears. But no one else remembers her being there in the first place. Is Frida being gaslit or is there something more invidious going on?

Movies like this typically follow an easily recognizable template and, although there are plenty of familiar tropes to be found in Blink Twice, the screenplay, co-credited to Kravitz an E.T. Feigenbaum, isn't afraid to venture a little off the beaten path and throw in a twist or two. The movie also goes into some pretty dark, demented places, making it understandable why Amazon MGM elected to put up the trigger warning. There is a feminist bent here but it's not overdone to the point of distracting from the narrative. The #MeToo echoes in the screenplay are kept in the subtext. This is first and foremost a thriller featuring a female protagonist and a male predator. When you think about it, that's not especially unusual in the genre.

Kravitz has assembled an eclectic cast replete with familiar names from the '80s and '90s to go along with fresher faces. Channing Tatum, with his charisma shining at full wattage, presents Slater as every woman's dream-man before gradually allowing viewers a peek into what lies beneath. His demented uttering of the refrain "I'm sorry" is as nutty as when Jack Nicholson parodied "Here's Johnny!" in Stanley Kubrick's The Shining. (As gossip columns have noted, Kravitz and Tatum fell in love during pre-production and were an item by the time filming was completed.) Tatum is joined by the likes of Christian Slater and Haley Joel Osment, with smaller roles given to Kyle MacLachlan and Geena Davis. Naomi Ackie, probably best known for playing the title role in Whitney Houston: I Wanna Dance with Somebody, effectively navigates a character whose mercurial nature is a key plot element. Adria Arjona, who was terrific as Glenn Powell's love interest/foil in Hit Man, adds another interesting role to an increasingly impressive filmography.

Blink Twice morphs its tone effortlessly without causing viewer whiplash. The mildly euphoric first act shifts to amplify mystery elements during the middle third. And, although aspects of the final 40 minutes don't necessarily play out as expected, Kravitz ratchets up the tension. The end result is a collage of Hitchcockian elements baked into a story with a more graphic approach than anything the Master of Suspense ever achieved. (Although, at the time, Psycho was deemed shocking.) Perhaps the most unimpressive thing about Blink Twice is the title (it was originally called Pussy Island but the MPA objected), which makes the movie sound like a second-rate horror film. And, although one could argue there are horror elements to be found, the production is anything but second-rate.

© 2024 James Berardinelli

The Crow
Director Rupert Sanders (Snow White and the Huntsman) has made it clear that, aside from sharing the same basic source material (James O'Barr's comic book series), his version of The Crow is not intended to be a remake of the Alex Proyas 1994 film of the same name. I believe him. Proyas' take on the story was a fast-paced, visceral interpretation - a revenge movie with a supernatural twist. Sanders, however, has taken a deep dive into the world of pretentious horror, where every killing has to be as stylized as it is gory. His characters have no humanity, his romance has no sizzle, and the whole thing turns into a slog where style overwhelms substance to such a degree that there's too little left of the latter to matter.

As a critic, I think this is where I'm supposed to note that the film looks great and is filled with a lot of nice, artsy shots and moments. And I guess I'll concede the point, although the visual elements are a little too dark to really see what's going on half the time and the use of opera music in a key scene feels like the worst kind of cliché. Still, since that's the closest The Crow gets to high-energy, I'll admit that it works. I just wish Sanders had managed to put aside his pretentions as an auteur for long enough to find some suspense. There's none of that. The whole movie feels like an exercise. Eric Draven (Bill Skarsgard) can't be killed so where's the tension? Proyas found it, so why can't Sanders? This feels like the bad answer to the fanboy question that no one has ever asked: What if they remade Death Wish with Wolverine?

At least The Crow taught me a few things. Bill Skarsgard is a really tall guy. I mean, his co-star, singer/actress FKA Twigs, comes up to just below his shoulder. (Maybe she's short.) Speaking of Twigs, she's pretty bad in this. Acting does not seem to be her forte, at least based on this. Not only that but she and Skarsgard share zero chemistry. Not that Skarsgard is a conventional romantic lead by any means but, for The Crow to work, we have to be invested in the romance between Eric and Shelly and it never catches fire. Sanders has a hand in this too - the way he presents their interaction is artificial (kissing through a gauzy curtain) and the sex scene has all the heat of PG-13 lovemaking. (The movie is rated R for its violence and gore.)

The Crow takes an inordinate amount of time cranking the engine and getting things going. We go through the meet-cute between Eric and Shelly in a mental institution. Then they hang out together, escape, fall in love, and go on the run from a gang of mysterious assassins determined to kill Shelly because of a cell phone video she has. The ringleader of all this is Vincent Roeg (go-to typecast bad guy Danny Huston), an guy who has made a deal with the devil and possesses demonic powers. His right-hand henchwoman is Marion (Laura Birn), a steely woman who isn't afraid to get her hands dirty and never cracks a smile.

Fate eventually catches up with Shelly. The killers do what they're paid to do and Eric is collateral damage. It takes the movie almost half its running time to get to this signature point. It might have been worth it if the previous 45 minutes had done something competent in the character development department, but that doesn't happen. After dying, Eric awakens in a limbo that looks like a swampy, disused train station where he is informed by the place's lone denizen (Sami Bouajila) that for him to save Shelly's soul, he must return to his body (now invincible) and prove his true love by eviscerating everyone who shared responsibility for her death. Thus is born The Crow. (He adds the eyeliner later.)

I usually enjoy revenge thrillers in which a wronged person kills their way up the chain of command - stuff like the Charles Bronson Death Wish, the Mel Gibson Payback, or even John Wick. But The Crow takes all the fun out of the game. Sure, the killings are suitably gory (although not as inventive as in some slasher movies) but there's something rote about how they're carried out. The only enjoyable scene in the movie is the aforementioned operatic slaughter and even the most patient viewer may fall asleep waiting for it.

I'm not sure why anyone thought a remake of The Crow was a good idea but, based on Lionsgate's dismissive marketing and the general lack of interest evident at the showing I intended, it's not going to reinvigorate the moribund franchise (the original had a number of sequels). It's questionable whether a well-made effort might have achieved that aim but this one is so lifeless that, even as a streaming option, it's worth neither the time nor effort. If you feel like eating crow, seek out the Proyas version and pretend this one doesn't exist, which it probably shouldn't.

© 2024 James Berardinelli

Alien: Romulus
(Contains spoilers about a certain cameo.)

A case could be made that Fede Alvarez's Alien: Romulus is the third-best film of the nine movies to feature the infamous xenomorphs (with the prequel Prometheus being the only one not to name-check them in the title). Romulus, which is positioned as a "side-quel" set in between Alien and Aliens, eschews some of the more ambitious plotting that characterized the least-popular franchise entries in favor of a straightforward narrative. Alvarez, obviously an Alien devotee, opts for an Alien/Aliens "greatest hits" approach replete with Easter Eggs and instances of fan service. It mostly works although the tension never quite escalates to the levels reached by Ridley Scott's original and James Cameron's even-better direct follow-up.

The time-frame is 20 years after the xenomorph rampaged through the Nostromo before being blown out the airlock by Ripley. (This event is explicitly referenced although Ripley is not named.) The body of the alien is retrieved and brought on board the space station Romulus/Remus for experimentation. Shortly thereafter, we are introduced to several workers toiling away terraforming a rather inhospitable planet. Rain (Cailee Spaeny), who has been harboring dreams of escaping the dreary world for someplace where the sun shines, discovers that the Wayland-Yutani Corporation has unilaterally changed her quota, pushing back her date-of-freedom for at least a half-dozen years. Following this betrayal, she and her synthetic surrogate brother Andy (David Jonsson) decide to join a small group of friends - her ex-boyfriend Tyler (Archie Renaux), his sister Kay (Isabela Merced), her cousin Bjorn (Spike Fern), and Bjorn's girlfriend Navarro (Aileen Wu) - in an audacious scheme to free themselves of Wayland-Yutani's yoke.

Tyler and Bjorn have discovered the derelict Romulus/Remus in high orbit above the planet and intend to take a small spacecraft to the space station to salvage the cryostasis chambers that will allow them to travel to a distant colony. Initially, things go as planned but, once the group boards the station, it becomes clear that things did not go well for the previous crew. The only "survivor" is the partially destroyed synthetic, Rook (which uses the voice and image likeness of Ian Holm), who serves the Prime Directive dictated by the Company. When an accident triggers the revival of a group of facehuggers from their stasis pods, the stage is set for an impregnation and, as always happens in an Alien movie, the subsequent "birth" results in a fight-or-flight struggle for life between disadvantaged humans and the "perfect" killing machine. In this case, as in Aliens, there's more than one.

Some of the best bits of Romulus are direct references to the beloved first two Alien films (although Alvarez also provides more obscure callbacks to Prometheus, Alien: Covenant, and even the two other sequels). Alvarez, a horror director by trade (having previously made Don't Breathe and the Evil Dead remake), knows how to set up a tensely creepy scene (there are several of these, some involving facehuggers and/or the mature alien) but isn't as good when it comes to character development. One area where both Alien and Aliens succeeded was in fleshing-out secondary characters that would eventually become xenomorph-fodder. In Romulus, the four supporting humans are paper-thin with one or two recognizable traits each. Only Rain and Andy (and the relationship between them) seem worth the screenplay's time.

Set design establishes the divided space station Romulus/Remus as another consistent module in the universe established by Scott and embellished by Cameron. Everything here feels "lived-in" and borrows its aesthetic not only from the previous Alien films but from the TV science fiction series The Expanse. Creature appearance is faithful to that of H.R. Giger's original monsters with one new design. The decision to use Ian Holm's likeness (made with the agreement and cooperation of the actor's family) is a mixed bag. The way it's used, for a half-destroyed android, diminishes some of the downfalls of a CGI image recreation but it remains a distraction.

Cailee Spaeny, the young actress blazing a trail through Hollywood (recent credits include Civil War and the title role in Priscilla), fashions a character who's more than a "poor man's Ripley" but less than a force of nature. It's impossible not to compare her to Sigourney Weaver but that feels unfair. (Ripley, for example, received most of her development in Aliens - for the majority of Alien, she was part of the ensemble.) Spaeny does what she needs to do in providing viewers with a port of entry into this world. Her relationship with Andy, a glitchy synthetic refurbished by her father, is more touching than any of the human/human pairings in Romulus.

Is Alien: Romulus the Alien film fans have been craving since Ripley, Hicks, and Newt entered their cryo-sleep in 1986? Perhaps. It contains most of the requisite elements and, if it doesn't measure up to the high standard established by Scott (who has a producer credit) and Cameron (who provided suggestions to Alvarez), that's only to be expected. It's a good showcase for the xenomorph in its various permutations and a solid horror/suspense movie in its own right. The open question is whether it will reinvigorate the franchise after numerous misfires and cash-grabs. Only time (and the box office) will tell.

© 2024 James Berardinelli

Skincare
Skincare takes its inspiration from the real-life case of Dawn DaLuise, a West Hollywood aesthetician whose dubious business tactics, which may have included hiring a hitman to eliminate a rival, made headlines in the L.A. era back in the mid-2010s. (No one else in the country cared much about what amounted to a sordid local story.) With actress Elizabeth Banks on board to play Hope Goldman, a fictionalized version of DaLuise, director/co-writer Austin Peters played fast-and-loose with the facts to give the movie a more "Hollywood" feel (ironic considering that the setting is Hollywood). The result isn't great. Skincare feels like it wants to be a screwball caper movie but the comedy gets lost along the way. The thriller elements are rather pedestrian and the mystery is neither interesting nor compelling. And, although Banks' performance is fine, the character is so unlikable that spending 90 minutes in her company isn't the most rewarding of experiences.

Skincare's central character is Hope. When we're introduced to her, she seems to be at a career peak. Her salon is doing well and she's about to launch her own cosmetics line, which she is heavily promoting. She appears to be stretched thin financially; her landlord is dropping reminders of when the rent is due. Everything starts to go south with the arrival of Angel Vergara (Luis Gerardo Mendez), who opens a competing business only a stone's throw away. Suddenly, Hope is yesterday's news. Her fortunes begin to tumble and, to make matters work, she has attracted a stalker. Not content merely to watch her, he begins to sabotage her life and business, posting fake ads on sex sites making it seem that she'll participate in rape fantasies and engage in other degrading acts. Her clientele starts to abandon her; a local TV personality, Brett Wright (Nathan Fillion), pulls a pre-recorded interview from his morning show; and her financial woes mount. She blames everything, including slashed car tires, on Angel. In desperation, she turns to a new acquaintance/lover, Jordan (Lewis Pullman), who claims to be an influencer/marketing guru. Then, in even greater desperation, she engages the services of Armen (Erik Palladino), who offers a permanent solution.

Had Peters leaned more heavily into the absurdity of the situation - sort of like what Gus Van Sant did with the 1995 Nicole Kidman-led dark comedy, To Die For - Skincare might have worked. But it makes the fatal error of taking the material too seriously. The tone never stabilizes and any mystery about the identity of Hope's harassers is artificial. Watching the movie, there are times when I was confused not about the story but about the filmmakers' intentions. And, whether or not this was calculated, I developed an intense dislike for Hope.

The parts of Skincare that work the best are the ones that stick closest to what happened in real life. When the narrative slips (either in part or wholly) into fiction, the contrivances mount. The character of Armen never makes sense, in large part because he didn't exist (he's very loosely based on an ex-NFL player named Chris Geile) and the writers aren't able to craft a credible motion picture facsimile given the details of the real-life person. Another problematic story element relates to the Brett Wright character, who seems like a sleazy post-#metoo stereotype. Instead of being predatory and chilling, he comes across as a buffoon.

IFC is giving Skincare a limited theatrical release but this feels like a direct-to-streaming offering if ever there was one. Put into a Netflix or Prime Video library and given a little pre-release publicity, it might attract an audience. It's hard to see many viewers tracking this one down in a multiplex or art house. Narratively, it lacks definition. The acting is at best adequate - Banks is easily the best thing in the movie and this is far from a career-best for her. And, despite a relatively brisk running time, it overstays its welcome. Problems with the trailer are indicative of problems with the movie. After watching the two-minute clip-show, it's hard to determine the nature or direction of the storyline or why the film should be worth seeing. After watching the entire thing, the latter question remains.

© 2024 James Berardinelli

Borderlands
Let me start with a confession: Although I have experience with a variety of computer/video games, I have never played Borderlands. That makes my perspective of the movie free of any game-related baggage. Perhaps those familiar with Borderlands will find enough in the way of fan service to somehow redeem this unfocused abortion of a motion picture. Perhaps those who have enjoyed the interactive experience will be able to overlook the complete idiocy masquerading as a screenplay. And perhaps those who are avowed Borderlands fans will find something to applaud about this dumpster fire of a game-to-film translation. At a time when streaming series like The Last of Us and Fallout have illustrated how video games can provide the structure for non-interactive narratives, Borderlands recalls the bad old days when video game movies were (justifiably) sloughed off as messy, derivative, and pointless.

It would be easy to blame writer/director Eli Roth, whose resume doesn't inspire confidence. In this case, however, Roth may not be entirely to blame. He submitted his cut of Borderlands to Lionsgate in early 2022 before moving on to other things. Meanwhile, in a classic case of studio interference, the suit-wearing bean-counters ordered reshoots (which Roth couldn't supervise because he was already working on another project) and re-edits to tone down the violence from Roth's hard-R version to something more palatable to a PG-13 audience.

As for why Cate Blanchett accepted the lead role of Lilith the Bounty Hunter, this seems to be a lingering aftereffect of the pandemic. Blanchett, eager to play almost any role that would get her away from home, apparently jumped at the chance. But the movie Blanchett agreed to headline seems to have been considerably different from the one that has reached the screen. It's hard to say whether Roth's "vision" was more coherent than the cobbled-together reworking co-credited to "Joe Crombie" (allegedly author Joe Abercrombie, who has written some damn good fantasy novels) and it doesn't matter. We have what we're given and it is damn near unwatchable.

The movie's scattershot pacing and uneven presentation disallow viewer engagement with any of the two-dimensional types functioning as characters. For the most part, the actors are phoning it in and that includes some pretty big names: Blanchett, Kevin Hart, Edgar Ramirez, and Jamie Lee Curtis. All the special effects and action appear to have one purpose: obscure the lack of a meaningful story. I guess if one was to boil this down to a basic genre category, it would be "superhero origin tale," as if we didn't have enough of those already.

The story transpires on the distant planet of Pandora (no relationship to the world in Avatar - both are named after the woman whose box caused a great deal of trouble) where the rogue soldier Roland (Kevin Hart) and his compatriot Krieg (Florian Munteanu) have traveled with their charge, Tiny Tina (Ariana Greenblatt), who is the "daughter" of one of the most powerful men in the universe, Atlas (Edgar Ramirez). Wanting his daughter back for reasons other than fatherly love, Atlas hires bounty hunter Lilith (Blanchett) to revisit to her home world of Pandora and, aided by the incessantly talky robot sidekick Claptrap (Jack Black), locate Tina and bring her home. After Lilith tracks down the girl, however, she discovers there's more to the job than meets the eye and she ends up joining Roland and Krieg in their mission to protect Tina from Atlas

This is ultimately Lilith's story, illustrating her evolution from a crimson-haired mercenary into a superhero called "Firehawk." The transformation, which occurs suddenly and with minimal build-up, is one of the film's least impressive instances. Firehawk's battles are dull and predictable affairs; their progression gives the movie a strongly anticlimactic flavor - it would be a stretch to argue that Borderlands comes close to "building" to anything except the end credits, which don't arrive soon enough.

Roth has made his "name" in horror; he is not known as an action director, yet Borderlands is chock full of action scenes. They are, for the most part, incomprehensible. It's difficult to say whether the primary fault lies with how they were choreographed, shot, or edited. Whatever the case, viewing the various special effects-soaked conflicts results in a mixture of boredom and confusion.

It's always a surprise to discover a blasted crater in place of movie when such a strong cast is involved. Blanchett exists in a pantheon of actors occupied by only a few other multiple-Oscar winners, Hart is a (mostly) beloved figure, and Jamie Lee Curtis has become arguably as well-known (and respected) as her parents. But a cursory review of the film's troubled production history, coupled with Roth's inexperience working in the genre, offers some clues as to what went wrong. Regardless of the reason, Borderlands arrives as a legitimate contender not only for worst film of 2024 but one of the worst videogame movies ever released.

© 2024 James Berardinelli