In “Morbius,” a new shared universe of films inspired by Spider-Man characters, and now playing in theatres, Jared Leto plays a doctor who takes the old phrase, “Physician, heal thyself,” a little too far.
Jared Leto is Dr. Michael Morbius, Nobel Prize-worthy biologist with a medical degree in hematology. His field of work is personal to him. Since childhood he and his best friend Milo (a preening Matt Smith) have battled a rare blood disease that drains him of his energy. As an adult Michael searches for a cure.
“I should have died years ago,” he says. “Why am I still here if not to fix this?”
He devises a cure, but it is it a cure or a curse? He will live, and maybe even thrive, but his life will be forever changed.
“I went from dying to being more alive than ever,” he says after going “batty.”
The cure has transforms him into a transgenic vampire, a being with superhuman strength and speed, heightened senses, accelerated healing “and some form of bat radar,” but none of the usual weaknesses associated with vampires. Bring on the garlic and crosses. But, like traditional vampires, he now must drink blood to survive.
“I have powers that can only be described as superhuman,” he says. “But there’s a cost. Now I face a choice, to hunt and consume blood or die.”
He chooses life, but his tolerance for artificial blood is lowering and soon he’ll have to break everything he believes in and drink real human blood, a choice he loathes.
Milo, on the other hand, chooses a darker path, pitting friend against friend. “All our lives we’ve lived with death hanging over us,” Milo says. “Why shouldn’t we enjoy life for a change.”
It can only be said one way. “Morbius” sucks… more than just blood. Likely undone by a PG-13 rating that must have shaved off some of, what could have been, effective horror elements, it’s a defanged vampire movie with no bite.
A generic story and dated special effects—the bullet time gag was fresh when we first saw it in “The Matrix,” but that was then and this is now—and the whole turgid affair culminates in a murky CGI climax that is visually hard to follow. You know where this story is headed, you just can’t tell what, exactly, is happening on screen.
Leto is the above-the-title star, but his bland work is over-shadowed by Smith who at least seems to be having fun as the bloodthirsty Milo.
There are two after credit scenes in “Moribus” that promise more stories with the batty doctor, but the franchise needs a serious transfusion before continuing the story.
Marvel has familiarized fans with the concept of the multiverse, a metaphysical theory that sees a collection of parallel universes with alternate realities collide with our own. Marvel superhero superstars Doctor Strange and Spider-Man have both tripped the light fantastic in recent films. Joining them on a cinematic full tilt boogie trip into other worlds is Michelle Yeoh, star of the full tilt boogie sci fi mindbender “Everything Everywhere All At Once,” now playing in theatres.
The action begins in a suburban Southern California laundromat run by Evelyn Wang (Yeoh) and husband Waymond (Ke Huy Quan). The couple have a meeting with the IRS and the situation is dire. “You may only see a pile of receipts,” says bureaucrat Dierdre Beaubeirdra (Jamie Lee Curtis), “but I see a story. I can see where this story is going, and it does not look good.”
The meeting takes a weird twist when Waymond shoves Evelyn into a broom closet, sending her off to another dimension to battle an evil spirit called Jobu Tupaki, armed only with a Bluetooth headset.
“I’m not your husband,” he explains. I’m another version from another universe. I’m here because I need your help. Across the multiverse I’ve seen thousands of Evelyns. You can access all their memories, their emotions, even their skills. There’s a great evil spreading throughout the many verses. And you may be our only chance of stopping it.”
And away she goes, off on an adventure involving multiple Evelyns as a chef, a martial arts expert and movie star. As she verse-jumps, she must absorb the powers of all her alternate personalities and bring them back to the IRS offices.
“Everything Everywhere All At Once” is the most aptly titled movie of the year. A frenetic assault on the senses, it is a wild and woolly adventure where the quirk factor is turned up to 11 and literally anything could happen. A universe where everyone has hotdogs for fingers? Check. A heartfelt conversation between two sentient rocks? Check. A bagel that contains the secrets of the universe? Check.
You can say a lot of things about “Everything Everywhere All At Once” but you can’t say you’ve ever seen anything quite like it before. An eye-popping reflection on the power of kindness and love to heal the world’s problems, it is simultaneously exhilarating and exhausting. The directors, Daniel Kwan and Daniel Scheinert, known collectively as The Daniels, mix and match everything from family drama and tax problems to martial-arts and metaphysics into a whimsical story that moves at the speed of light. The result is a singular film that milks intentionality out of its madness.
“Nitam,” a dramatization of the events leading up to the 1996 massacre at Port Arthur, Tasmania, that killed 35 people and wounded 23 others, mines the nihilism of its title character in an attempt to shed light on a senseless act.
In his telling of the story, Australian director Justin Kurzel has made a deeply unsettling film but not a violent one. He replaces the violence of the tragic real-life event with the uneasy trajectory of a killer in the making.
Known as Nitram—the movie never uses his real name—Caleb Landry Jones plays the title character as a twenty-something, impulsive, detached loner who lashes out at the slightest provocation. His mother (Judy Davis) is worn down after years of dealing with his antisocial and unpredictable behavior, but his father (Anthony LaPaglia) attempts to find a coping mechanism in compassion.
They are given a reprieve of sorts when wealthy recluse Helen (Essie Davis) hires him to cut her lawn and invites him to move in. She treats him kindly and becomes a stabilizing force in his life. When she passes away suddenly, followed by the death of his father weeks later, Nitam is cut loose with a large inheritance courtesy of Helen’s largess.
Nitram’s childhood fascination with fireworks translates into a love of firearms as an adult. In the film’s most chilling scene he purchases powerful automatic weapons from a gun shop owner only too happy to make a sale.
It is the first tangible step toward infamy.
The events of April 1996 are not portrayed in the film. In fact, there is very little violence on display. Instead, Kurzel has crafted a bleak but effective portrait of mundane evil. Jones embodies the character, playing him as a cypher with a deep well of rage. It isn’t a showy performance. It’s dark, hard to read and even harder to understand. Alienated, he is devoid of empathy or compassion, a ticking bomb ready to explode. It’s disturbing character work, so carefully rendered that, knowing how the story ends, will make your skin crawl.
There is little that is sensational or exploitive in “Nitram’s” storytelling but I had to wonder why a movie, even one that doesn’t name the killer by name, exists.
It’s one thing not to utter his name, it’s another to make a movie about a real-life man who became a monster, shattering dozens of families in the process. “Nitram” in no way glorifies him, but neither does it shed that much light on the hows and whys of his unspeakable acts. It is a well-made film that prefers to hammer home its indelible message of gun control but in its very existence provides an uncomfortable notoriety to someone best forgotten.
A few years ago I took Andrea on my David Bowie Walking Tour of London which ends at the Ship pub, just a few steps from Trident Studio where the Ziggy Stardust album was recorded. I’ve whiled away quite a few hours at that bar over the years, but this visit was special.
A guy came in, sat next to us and we began talking. Turns out, he was doing the same thing, a self-styled rock ‘n roll tour of the city. We traded stories and drank some beers.
He was so enthusiastic and cool and when I told him I’ve spent years trying to master my favourite drum lick, Woody Woodmansey‘s brilliant work on “Five Years,” he showed me how to play it, pounding out the beat with his feet on the bar rail and hands on the bar and on his knee. It was the coolest. He had just played for 20,000 Foo Fighter’s fans the night before, and here he was playing for us, making it look easy.
I’m thinking of Taylor Hawkins today and the afternoon we spent together. A nice, talented guy gone far too soon. #RestInPower
“The Lost City,” a new action adventure now playing in theatres, pairs up goofy, good looking actors Sandra Bullock and Channing Tatum in a new movie about a romance writer, a kidnapping and a secret treasure is a satire of romance stories that actually is a romance.
Bullock plays Loretta Sage, burned-out author of twenty romance novels featuring a Fabio-esque hero named Dash McMahon. Still grieving the loss of her husband, she took years to deliver the manuscript for “The Lost City of D,” an epic adventure that mixes her true loves, archeology and history, with an exploitive romance angle that she has come to hate.
On the front of all the novels Dash is “played” by the world’s sexiest cover model Alan Caprison (Tatum), a sweet-natured hunk with flowing hair and a sculpted torso, who will accompany Loretta on an upcoming promotional tour. He’s dumb-as-a-stump, more Chippendales than Chaucer, but under the long, blonde flowing wig he wears in public is a good guy.
When the author is kidnapped by billionaire Abigail (“It’s a gender-neutral name,” he says.) Fairfax (Daniel Radcliffe), who believes Loretta’s books contain real life clues as to the existence of the legendary Crown of Fire, Alan springs into action. “I’m going to rescue her,” he says. “I want her to think of me as more than just a cover model.”
He enlists the help of Jack Trainer (Brad Pitt), a mercenary with a special set of skills, to breach Fairfax’s secret island compound. “Why are you so handsome,” Loretta asks him. “My dad was a weatherman.” Jack is the real deal, the kind of hero Loretta always imagined Dash would be, but this isn’t the Loretta and Jack story, it’s all about the author and her goofy cover model. “This is so much better than your books,” says Alan about their real-life adventure.
Not funny enough to be a comedy with some action and not action packed enough to be an action comedy, “The Lost City” is somewhere in the mushy middle. The likeable cast is game, and we get the rare chance to see Radcliffe in villain mode, but the movie never quite gels. Too many jokes go south, and, other than the leads, no character really makes much of an impression.
The romance angle is slightly more successful. Big hearted lug Alan loves Loretta. The chemistry between Bullock and Tatum is warm, witty and welcoming, but it’s not enough to rescue a movie that tries hard but feels slipshod.
Brad Pitt slips in for an extended cameo that contains some actual action adventure and a few laughs, but this isn’t his movie. He’s just an added bonus.
“The Lost City” doesn’t take itself seriously, and neither should you. It aims to entertain, but, despite a few laughs, just misses the mark.
On the surface “Run Woman Run,” a new dramedy starring Dakota Ray Hebert and now playing in theatres, is about running but it succeeds because of larger themes examining dissatisfaction, respect, ambition and family.
Hebert stars as Beck, an Indigenous single mom at a crossroad. Ambitionless, when she isn’t binge eating, she’s hopping in the car to check the mail… from the mailbox at the end of her driveway.
She is at odds with her sister and son, but when she falls into a diabetic coma her life comes into focus. She finds motivation in conversations with Tom Longboat (Asivak Koostachin), an Iroquois icon and long-distance runner who won the Boston marathon in 1907, and died fifty years before Beck was born.
Whether Longboat is a spirit or a hallucination, he provides her with the inspiration she needs to change her life and try something new, like marathon running.
“Run Woman Run” does a great job of blending the comedy and drama, the spiritual and the physical, in a story that is specific in its setting but universal in its themes of embracing change, and making better life choices.
Director Zoe Leigh Hopkins creates a vivid small-town world for her characters. It’s a place where Beck’s dreams have gone to die, but it’s also a community that will ultimately support her when she begins a new chapter in life.
Filled with heart and hope, “Run Woman Run” may not have worked so well if the actors weren’t so strong. Hebert is relatable and wonderful and brings Beck’s arc to life. I don’t know anyone who would drive to the end of the driveway to get the mail, but she made me believe people like that are out there.
“Run Woman Run” is a lighthearted film with serious messages of recovery from residential school trauma, self-discovery and the erasure of Indigenous languages. It doesn’t shy away from the big topics, but at its heart it is an underdog story about overcoming obstacles and belief in one’s self.
In “Learn To Swim,” a new film about memories and music, and now playing in theatres, first time feature filmmaker Thyrone Tommy tells the story as though he was creating a jazz riff. The love story may be familiar but he bends the notes just enough to create something new.
The story of gifted sax player Dezi (Thomas Antony Olajide) is told on a broken timeline. His past affair with singer Selma (Emma Ferreira) is shot in warm, welcoming colors as the two create music and fall in love. Interspersed are colder, harder scenes from Dezi’s present day. Bitter and alone, he is isolated from the world, unable to play music because of a jaw infection.
It is a study of Dezi’s relationships, with Selma, others around him and his connection to music. Like real life, those relationships are often messy and chaotic, but even as the disparate parts of Dezi’s story threaten to become obtuse, Tommy brings the story back into focus as the sax player’s pain becomes a common thread between the two timelines.
“Learn To Swim” is a simple story told in a way that adds depth and complexity. Dezi is an interesting character, talented and troubled, yet still, often sympathetic. Olajide brings him to life in a quietly powerful performance that emphasizes not only the character’s talent but the love and loss that shaped his creativity.
Ferreira is an effective foil, but never loses sight of what makes Selma tick.
The real star here, however, is Tommy. He and co-writer Marni Van Dyk create a story palette to paint a portrait of love, loss and beautiful music. It is a very promising feature debut, one that expertly balances performance and feel, just like the best jazz.
Is the third time a charm for “Cheaper by the Dozen,” the story of a “big family, full of big dreamers”?
Based on the 2003 Steve Martin film, which was based on the 1950 Myrna Loy movie, which was based on the autobiographical book of the same name, the new version, now on Disney+, stars Gabrielle Union and Zach Braff as Zoe and Paul Baker, parents of a large, adorable Brady Bunch style blended family of 10 kids and two dogs, Joe Bitin’ and Bark Obama. “As hectic as our life can get,” says Paul, “it always seems just right.”
In addition to raising the kids, Paul and Zoe run an all-day breakfast restaurant but are running slightly behind on the rent. Their hopes for the future are pinned on Paul’s new invention, Paul’s Hot, Sweet and Savory Sauce. If they can make a go of it, and realize his dream of being bigger (and richer) than Chef Boyardee, they can finally get square with the landlord, put together school tuition and get a bigger house so the kids won’t have to share rooms anymore.
But they soon discover that a big family is one thing, but in business, bigger isn’t always better.
“Cheaper by the Dozen” is formulaic and sweet enough to give you a toothache but has just enough edge in its storytelling to give it, well, an edge over the earlier, even more saccharine versions.
It’s a good-natured story about the importance of family that tap dances around issues of racism, privilege—”A few times in your life you felt like you didn’t belong,” Zoe says to Paul. “I feel like that all the time.”—and teenage rebellion. Ultimately, however, whatever problems they have will be solved by a love and a goofy-yet-heartfelt speech from Paul. It is the kind of movie about an “perfectly imperfect family” that you know will end with a pop song and smiles.
Braff, Union and the army of precocious kids are likeable, if a little bland. Your tolerance of “Cheaper by the Dozen” will be directly linked to your appreciation of movies that can only be described wholesome.
