This week on the Richard Crouse Show Podcast we meet Dr. Jen Gunter. She has been called Twitter’s resident gynecologist, the Internet’s OB/GYN. She is an OB/GYN and a pain medicine physician. She is Gwyneth Paltrow’s nemesis, a fierce advocate for women’s health and has devoted her professional life to caring for women. She also writes about sex, science, and social media and is the author of The Vagina Bible and her newest book “The Menopause Manifesto,” which is in stores now.
Then, Emma Brodie, a Brooklyn, New York-based writer and editor stops by. As an editor, she’s published best selling authors like Awkwafina, Anna Drezen, Nathan W. Pyle and Marlee Grace. She is currently an Executive Editor at Little Brown. She joins me to day to talk about her debut novel, “Songs in Ursa Major,” a love story set in 1969 at the crossroads of rock and folk; where a young musical prodigy falls in love with a hard-partying folk legend.
Each week on the nationally syndicated Richard Crouse Show, Canada’s most recognized movie critic brings together some of the most interesting and opinionated people from the movies, television and music to put a fresh spin on news from the world of lifestyle and pop-culture. Tune into this show to hear in-depth interviews with actors and directors, to find out what’s going on behind the scenes of your favourite shows and movies and get a new take on current trends. Recent guests include Ethan Hawke, director Brad Bird, comedian Gilbert Gottfried, Eric Roberts, Brian Henson, Jonathan Goldsmith a.k.a. “The most interesting man in the world,” and best selling author Linwood Barclay.
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Fifteen years ago, a documentary called Who Killed the Electric Car? ended with a shot of a Tesla coming over a hill. It was a hopeful note for fans of battery electric vehicles, but director Chris Paine admits, he didn’t foresee the complete turnaround on the marketability of electric cars.
“This never happens in environmental battles,” he says. “Usually you’re like, ‘I’m sorry, that’s the last blue whale. You filmed it. I’m really sorry. They were beautiful.’ So, it’s really encouraging…”
I write about the fifteenth anniversary of the film “Who Killed the Electric Car?” in today’s Toronto Star. Read it HERE!
In recent years we’ve seen Liam Neeson morph from dramatic actor to action star. He’s battled everything from human traffickers and Mexican cartels to hijackers and murderous drug dealers. His latest, “The Ice Road” sees him up against his most daunting adversary yet—a long stretch of frozen ocean.
Neeson is Mike, a grizzled big rig driver who cares for his Iraq war veteran brother Gurty (Marcus Thomas). Gurty is a master mechanic but his PTSD has made it difficult for the brothers to stay employment. When a diamond mine in Northern Canada collapses, they accept a job offer from Goldenrod (Laurence Fishburne) to be part of a convoy delivering lifesaving equipment to the remote mine location.
The brothers team with Goldenrod and Tantoo (Amber Midthunder), a fearless young woman whose brother is trapped in the mine, to navigate three 65,000 pound vehicles over “ice roads,” frozen lakes, rivers and oceans to deliver life-saving equipment.
There’s more but I can’t describe the plot’s main thrust without a major spoiler. Suffice to say, there is a villain so dastardly all that’s missing is a giant moustache to twirl.
The drama in “The Ice Road” quickly melts away like ice before a fire, leaving behind a residue of clichés, long, drawn out action and fight scenes and dialogue borrowed from a hundred other, better action movies.
Director Jonathan Hensleigh, writer of the screenplays for “Jumanji,” “Armageddon” and “Die Hard with a Vengeance,” struggles to bring the popcorn thrills of his best-known work to this movie.
Even the death of one of the major players (NO SPOILERS HERE) is so abrupt and undramatic, it’s as if the actor had a doctor’s appointment and had to leave the set suddenly.
It’s too bad because there’s lots to work with. Start with Man-against-nature. Move along to a pantomime villain and throw in some of Neeson’s trademarked grimaces and growls and you could have an enjoyable b-movie but the hackneyed relationships and threadbare special effects sink the whole thing.
“The Ice Road” is a long (why did this have to be 103 minutes long?) winding road to nowhere; all build up and no pay off.
I wonder if the number in the titles of the “Fast & Furious” movies is a scale of how implausible the movie will be. Do the producers think, “Well, it’s the ninth movie so it has to be nine times wilder than the last one.” I mean, why simply have a Pontiac Fiero when you can have a Pontiac Fiero with a rocket engine strapped to the roof?
Trust me, I’m on to something here.
I was not a fan of the first batch of “F&F” films but as they’ve incrementally amped up the action, shifting into a higher gear each and every time, with no regard for sentient storytelling or the laws of gravity, I’ve developed a soft spot for Dom and the Gang.
The movies stopped making sense some time ago. How is it, exactly, that a group of gearheads became a highly trained squad of international warriors, equally at home with ignition coils and international intrigue? These movies redefine the word excessive, and yet the franchise’s commitment to auto anarchy and Vin Diesel’s raspy way with a catchphrase has caught me in its speed trap.
The latest entry, “F9,” now playing in theatres and Drive-Ins, is less a movie and more a spectacle. A loud-and-proud exercise in far-fetchery, cliches and twisted metal, it uses on the usual “F&F” staples —family, friends, fast cars and flashbacks—as a backdrop to the over-the-top action to tell a story of international espionage, an evil mastermind named Cipher (Charlize Theron) and the broken relationship between brothers Dom (Diesel) and Jakob (John Cena).
There’s more, but fans don’t go to these movies for the storytelling. They go because director Justin Lin has eliminated most of the boring bits—i.e. when the characters speak—to distill the movie down to its sweaty essence. When the characters do talk, they don’t converse exactly, they exchange clichés, and when they aren’t speaking in a low rumble, they yell.
The result is a Kabuki car show, the latest entry in a franchise that knows no speed limit.
Spago chef Wolfgang Puck says he doesn’t like thinking about his past because it takes time away from focusing on the future. It’s a nice sentiment, but it may be why “Wolfgang,” a new documentary about his life, now streaming on Disney+, is short on contemplation.
The light and breezy 78-minute doc begins with the usual kind of praise that gets lobbed at luminaries like Puck. He revolutionized the way Americans eat. He was the first celebrity chef. Etc. Etc. All mostly true, (Jeremiah Tower or Alice Waters may have some thoughts on both these points) but all ground covered later on in some depth.
Beyond the platitudes though, is a compelling portrait of a man driven by the trauma of childhood with an abusive step-father. Born into poverty in Austria, Puck was drawn to the kitchen, and loved spending time with his mother as she prepared modest Sunday dinners. “As a kid, the kitchen was the only place I felt safe,” he says.
A mashed potato incident at his first hotel kitchen job got him fired, but he showed up the next day anyway, asked for his job back and was on his way to cooking serious food, studying in France and shutting out his family for the next year-and-a-half.
It’s in these details, and not the flashily edited montages of a young Punk on “Good Morning America” or footage of him waving to the famous clientele from the open kitchen of his legendary Hollywood restaurant Spago, that we begin to understand what makes Wolfgang run.
His professional rise through the ranks, from France to Hollywood’s Ma Maison restaurant and beyond, is certainly worth essaying but it feels like much of the important stuff is swept along in a flurry of friendly talking heads and the glow of rave reviews. Better is the awkward look on Puck’s face as his sister scolds him for not being ion touch when their grandmother passed away. Those moments feel authentic, providing some soul in a documentary that more often than not relies on anecdotes about Joan Collins and Puck’s famous smoked salmon and goat cheese pizza (“You don’t want to make Joan Collins mad!”) or well-worn adages.
“Wolfgang” is a slickly made documentary but plays a like a greatest hits version of Puck’s life. When it peels back the layers of the onion to reveal how the chef’s need for his stepfather’s approval propelled his career, it resonates. When it goes for inspiration over introspection, however, it feels less flavorful.
Richard joins Ryan Doyle and Jay Michaels of the NewsTalk 1010 afternoon show to talk about the history of the Ernest Hemingway Daiquiri, how Rotten Tomatoes works and whether “Luca” on Disney+ is worth your time.
“The Hitman’s Wife’s Bodyguard,” the odd couple buddy flick starring Ryan Reynolds and Samuel L. Jackson and now playing in theatres, is a story about finding your logical, not biological family, disguised as violent shoot ‘em up comedy.
As the movie begins Michael Bryce (Reynolds) is “like a belly dancer without a torso.” He’s lost his bodyguard license and is in therapy. Tormented by bad dreams, he’s fixated on a customer who was killed by hitman Darius Kincaid (Jackson) while on his watch. On sabbatical in Capri (“like the pants”) Italy, he imagines a world without bodyguards or guns.
But his newfound inner peace doesn’t last long. Just as he is shaking off his old life he is drawn back into the game, hunted down by Sonia Kincaid (Salma Hayek), who uses fire power and moxy to lure him out of semi-retirement to rescue her husband, Darius. That’s right, the guy who has been haunting Michael’s dreams.
As the bodies pile up in the wake of their rescue attempt, it turns out Darius actually said, “Get me anyone BUT Michael Bryce!” Nonetheless, this mismatched trio work together to prevent a madman (Antonio Banderas) from destroying Europe and throwing the world into chaos.
“The Hitman’s Wife’s Bodyguard” is a sequel to the equally noisy 2017 film “The Hitman’s Bodyguard” but despite the appealing leads and the addition of Hayek, Banderas and Morgan Freeman, doesn’t have the same silly charm. The first movie was an over-the-top mish mash of exotic locations, violence, jokes and romance. The sequel contains all those elements, but is somehow less than the sum of its parts.
Given the talent involved, this should be more fun.
Reynolds works his way with a line like a master tradesman, recalling the kind of goofy smart aleck characters he played early in his career. Jackson makes use of his expertise with swearwords and is only upstaged by Hayek, whose entertaining use of salty language would make a sailor blush. But, take away those sweary flourishes, and you’re left with is a few quick laughs, casual video game violence, a body count that rivals the “Lord of the Rings” franchise and an unconvincing attempt at sentimentality.
Between the gun battles is a thinly sketched subplot about finding family wherever you can, but it is played for laughs and gets lost in the ballet of bullets and explosions.
“The Hitman’s Wife’s Bodyguard” is pure escapism, a loud, brash movie that mixes well with popcorn, but leaves a funny aftertaste in your mouth.
In “Censor,” a new psychological horror film on VOD, Niamh Algar plays Enid, a stern young woman who brings childhood trauma to her job as an English film censor.
Set in Margaret Thatcher’s Britain, “Censor” makes it clear that Enid sees her job as an essential service. Her profession, as she sees it, is to protect the public by cutting out eye gouges, intestinal tug of wars and other ghastly staples from the “video nasties” she screens before they are released. Convinced those bloody exploitation films feed anti-social behavior, she’s snip happy. Her co-workers mockingly call her “Little Miss Perfect” but she has a dark side.
When she reviews a gorefest called “Don’t Go in the Church,” it brings back long suppressed memories of the disappearance of her sister Nina. Delving deeper into the work of the movie’s notorious director Frederick North, she comes across Alice Lee (Sophia La Porta), an actress who looks exactly like her late sister. Searching for answers Enid visits the set of North’s new film, and her descent into madness begins. “People think I create the horror,” North says. “But I don’t. Horror is already out there, in all of us.”
“Censor” works on several levels. It has elements of the video nasties Enid tries to suppress, but as fact and fiction intertwine, it is her efforts to edit her memories that resonates. She is driven in her work by trauma in her life, and vice versa. As “Censor” drifts from tribute to the video nasties that fuel the early part of the story to a psychological portrait of Enid’s problems, it is clear she can no longer tell what is real and what is not. Driven by guilt, she is unable to move past grief to acceptance. That is the root of her problems, not the outside influence of art, no matter how grotesque.
The Welsh-born director Prano Bailey-Bond doesn’t have quite enough steam to keep the intriguing premise going straight through to the end but she does fill the screen with compelling images, some inspired by the lurid video nasty period VHS horror aesthetic, others reflecting the dull grey of 1980s England. It adds up to a movie that stylishly explores the relationship between art and real-life.
Set on the Italian Riviera, “Luca,” the new film from animation giants Pixar and now streaming on Disney+, is a fantasy story about sea monsters with a beating, human heart.
Jacob Tremblay is 13-year-old Luca Paguro, a shy sea monster with a typical teenager’s curiosity. When he discovers items that have floated down from the surface he wonders what the world outside the sea has to offer. Despite the stories his parents, Daniela (Maya Rudolph) and Lorenzo (Jim Gaffigan), have told him of fisherman and the horrors of dry land, his free-spirited best friend Alberto Scorfano (Jack Dylan Grazer) has been above the water line and convinces the shy Luca to check out the terra firma,
On land, Luca and Alberto, who look like a cross between the Creature from the Black Lagoon and Sigmund Ooze of 1970s Saturday morning television fame, transform from underwater creatures to human form. Blending in, they explore the seaside town of Portorosso, discovering the pleasures of pasta, gelato and most of all, the Vespa. The town bully Ercole Visconti (Saverio Raimondo) sets his sights on them but a young girl, Giulia Marcovaldo (Emma Berman) befriends them and has an idea that may help them get their very own Vespa.
“Luca” is a fanciful coming of age story. The very specific story of sea monsters who aspire for more in their lives, has universal messages about find commonalities not differences, anti-bullying and never giving up. The morals are a bit on the nose—”Some people will never accept him, and never will, but he seems to be able to find the good ones.”—but they are kept afloat with imaginative animation and a simple story that zips along.
At its cold-blooded little heart though, “Luca” is about friendship. The kind of bond that happens between kids who are just figuring out the world and its possibilities. Director Enrico Casarosa, who directed Pixar’s 2011 Oscar nominated short “La Luna,” aided by fun voice work from Tremblay and Grazer, captures the youthful exuberance needed to make the story work.
“Luca” doesn’t have the emotional resonance of classic era Pixar—think “Up,” “WALL-E” and “Ratatouille”—but what it lacks in gut punch sentiment, it makes up for in imagination, action and the good-natured look at finding a place to belong, above and below sea level.
This week on the Richard Crouse Show Podcast we meet Dr. Jen Gunter. She has been called Twitter’s resident gynecologist, the Internet’s OB/GYN. She is an OB/GYN and a pain medicine physician. She is Gwyneth Paltrow’s nemesis, a fierce advocate for women’s health and has devoted her professional life to caring for women. She also writes about sex, science, and social media and is the author of The Vagina Bible and her newest book “The Menopause Manifesto,” which is in stores now.
