The smart, funny and insightful, “American Fiction,” winner of this year’s Toronto Film Festival People’s Choice Award, is a satire that sees Jeffrey Wright as an exasperated novelist who confronts racial stereotypes by writing a book that forces him to balance hypocrisy with selling out.
An adaptation of Percival Everett’s 2001 novel “Erasure,” the film stars Wright as Thelonious “Monk” Ellison, an author and English Lit professor frustrated that his publisher rejects his latest work as not being “Black enough,” while another book, “We Lives in da Ghetto” by Sintara Golden (Issa Rae), is heralded by critics as a modern masterpiece.
As Monk struggles personally—his brother Cliff (an excellent Sterling K. Brown) is experiencing a massive life shift while his mother Agnes (Leslie Uggams) is in decline, and will soon need a care home, which the family cannot afford—his professional life turns upside down.
“Monk,” says his agent Arthur (John Ortiz), “your books are good, but they’re not popular. Editors want a Black book.”
“They have a Black book,” says Monk. “I’m Black and it’s my book.”
Angry, on a whim he bangs out “My Pafology,” a satire of Golden’s book under the pseudonym Stagg R. Leigh. Filled with tired and reductive stereotypes of gang violence and broken homes, his gag novel becomes a publishing sensation, receiving an offer of a $750,000 advance and huge marketing campaign.
Monk is the only person, it seems, who gets the joke. “It’s the most lucrative joke you’ve ever told,” says Arthur.
It may have started as a joke, but Monk needs the money. If he accepts the offer, however, does that mean he’s perpetuating tropes that play into what he regards as “Black trauma porn”?
“American Fiction” finds sharp humor in identity politics, perception and culture wars. Serious in its message but playful in tone, it can cut to the quick. In one scene, Monk and Golden, the only two Black jurors on a literary panel, are castigated to by the white judges to “hear Black voices.” It is one of the film’s funniest scenes, but the performative nature of the sentiment is all too realistic.
As Monk, we see Wright in a different sort of role. Given the chance to flex his rarely-used comedy muscles, he excels, playing up his curmudgeonly character’s conundrum to maximum effect. It’s bittersweet. As he watches the fictious Stagg R. Leigh’s book become successful. It confirms his feelings about the biases of the publishing industry. He reacts with a mix of outrage and humor. It’s a bravura work that hopefully means it won’t take thirty years to give Wright another leading role in a theatrical release.
Giving Wright a run for his money is Brown who steals every scene he’s in. His character Cliff is a mess, pushing personal boundaries as a man coming out of the closet and building a new life. Like Wright, Sterling creates a character that gets laughs, but the laughs aren’t shallow, they come from a deep well of pain and Cliff’s lived experience.
Director Cord Jefferson’s “American Fiction” asks why stereotypes of Black trauma are so prevalent in entertainment by not so subtly satirizing the process and the people who create the limited view of Black life in books and on screens. It is insightful but never forgets to entertain.
In 2019’s “Shazam!,” teenager Billy Batson’s (Asher Angel) life took a metaphysical turn when an ancient wizard Djimon Hounsou), protector of the realms from the Seven Deadly Sins and keeper of the Rock of Eternity, plucked him from obscurity to transform into superhero Shazam, the adult champion of the world.
In the new film, “Shazam!: Fury of the Gods,” set two years after the events of the first movie, Billy still grapples with his superhero alter ego (Zachary Levi). “I’m an idiot,” he says. “I don’t deserve these powers, if I’m being honest. Like, what am I even contributing? There’s already a superhero with a red suit with a lightening bolt on it. Aquaman is literally huge, and he’s so manly. And Batman, he’s so cool. I feel like a fraud.”
This new adventure sees Batson, and his foster siblings, who also transform into superheroes by saying the magic word “Shazam!,” pitted against their most ferocious foe yet, the Daughters of Atlas.
“We are at war,” says Hespera (Helen Mirren). “We will annihilate everything. The champions of this realm can do nothing to stop us.”
The Daughters of Atlas want to strip the Shazam gang of their powers but as they do that the fate of the world hangs in the balance. “You are very menacing,” Shazam says to Hespera. “I just want you to know that.”
At its heart “Shazam!: Fury of the Gods” is a coming-of-age story. Billy begins the movie insecure, a victim of imposter syndrome. Unfortunately, as his confidence grows, so does the movie’s tendency to clutter up the screen with busy CGI, heaping helpings of mythology and not-so-subtle product placement. (They even manage to find a way to work in the Skittles “taste the rainbow” slogan.)
The best elements of the first film are present. The focus on family—finding your logical, if not biological family—the humour and Levy’s manchild performance as the title character, provide the film’s heart but the effort to make the sequel bigger-and-better overshadow the more organic, pleasing parts of the story.
It is a blast to see Helen Mirren channel her inner Shakespearean villain as Hespera, and some of the Ray Harryhausen-inspired creatures have a cool, “Famous Monsters of Filmland” retro appeal but, in general, when it comes to “Shazam!: Fury of the Gods,” bigger is not better.
Did you ever wonder what happened to teenage crime busters the Hardy Boys or Nancy Drew when they grew up? “The Kid Detective,” a new dark comedy starring Adam Brody and now playing in theatres, provides some clues to the mystery of what happens when kid crime busters grow up.
“I used to be a kid detective,” says Abe Applebaum (Brody as an adult, Jesse Noah Gruman as the precocious kid). When he was thirteen-years-old he solved the case of the missing find raiser money and was paid in free treats after he solved figured out who robbed the Mr. Henderson’s Ice Cream Shoppe. When his original “office”—actually a treehouse—was chopped down by a disgruntled criminal he opened a real office on Main Street and paid his secretary (Kaitlyn Chalmers-Rizzato) with soda pop. “Sometimes I would lie awake all night and wonder if I was the smartest person in the world,” he says.
He was loved but when his secretary went missing and he failed to crack the case, the bloom was off the rose. He grew up, or, at least got bigger. Now, almost at the big Four-O he’s living off past glories—“I’m Abe Applebaum! I solved the Case of the Missing Time Capsule when I was twelve years old. The mayor gave me the key to the city!”—while sharing a dingy apartment with a roommate and working out of an even dingier office.
He gets the chance to prove himself when high-schooler Caroline (Sophie Nélisse) asks him to solve the murder of her boyfriend Patrick, who died from stabbed seventeen wounds. This is another level from sleuthing the case of the Missing Basketball Magazines. This is the real deal.
“In this line of work you learn one thing quickly,” he tells her. “Everybody has secrets. No matter how simple a case may seem, it is always shocking what you find. I just want you to be prepared.”
From there the case takes dark twists and turns that you might not expect from a movie with the Disney-fied title of “The Kid Detective.”
Director Evan Morgan, in his feature debut, blends the crime solving of “Mystery Team” and the
noir of “Brick” with the world weariness of “The Big Sleep.” It’s a movie that derives humour from Abe’s relative failure as an adult and grown-up detective but never feels like it’s poking fun at him. Thanks to Brody’s performance we see that Abe is a sad sack who once tasted greatness and wants another sip. “It’s difficult to accept who you are in your head,” he says, “and who you are in the world.”
His feeling of being uncertain of how to reclaim his glory days permeates every minute of his work. The story here is very specific but the themes of nostalgia for a happier time and the need for dignity are universal. “I was so far ahead of the game,” he says. “And then one day I woke up and I was… behind.” Brody pulls this off with equal parts vulnerability and (often misplaced) confidence.
“The Kid Detective” is a low-key movie with a high concept that is a little too in love with its own subtleties. The deliberate pacing, however, pays off with a climax brings the story together as both a detective thriller and character study in an interesting and satisfying way.
“Ready or Not” puts a darkly humorous spin on a childhood game but it isn’t the first horror film to use hide n’ seek as a plot device. The inventively titled short film “Hide & Shriek” sees a masked killer ruining the fun while “Emelie” features an evil babysitter who keeps the kids busy with a dangerous version of the game. The new film is a bloody satire with sly commentary about the lengths the 1% will do to keep their cash.
Upon marrying Alex (Mark O’Brien) Grace (Samara Weaving) becomes the newest member of the wealthy but weird Le Domas family. “You don’t belong in this family,” says drunk brother-in-law Daniel (Adam Brody). “I mean that as a complement.”
Her new in-laws, including disdainful father-in-law Tony (Henry Czerny), angry mother-in-law Becky (Andie MacDowell), coke-head sister-in-law sister Emilie (Melanie Scrofano) and her husband Fitch Bradley (Kristian Bruun), all heirs to a board game fortune, tell her the marriage won’t be complete until she partakes in a family ritual, a randomly selected midnight game. “It’s just something we do when someone new joins the family,” explains Alex.
The last time this tradition was carried out it took the form of a game of Old Maid. Unfortunately for Grace this time around the family chooses hide n’ seek. “You pulled up a bad card,” says Alex. “The truth is If they don’t kill you something very bad will happen.”
What begins as a lark turns lethal when Grace realizes that to ‘win’ she must first learn to navigate the Le Domas’s rambling old mansion, complete with trap doors and secret passageways. “When you marry into this family you have to play the game or you die. I know it sounds crazy but it’s true.”
“Ready or Not” is a well-executed lo-fi thriller with an unusual premise and lots of creepy characters straight out of a game of “Clue.” For the most part Weaving plays it straight, even as she uses her wedding dress as a tourniquet, while the Le Domas family amps up the antics with broad performances driven by the belief that something terrible will happen if they don’t find Grace by first light. They’re a motley bunch, pseudo-aristocrats with an interest in the occult who don’t appear to have much in common except for the bond of family and a desire to stay alive. As old-money members of the 1% they believe they are above the law, able to indulge in their game (even if they’re not very good at it) because of some old family legend. In other words, as Daniel says, “It’s true what they say. The rich really are different.”
The surprisingly nasty third act gives “Ready or Not” the feel of a future cult classic, a crowd-pleaser with some laughs and a giddily gory climax.
Becoming a new parent is scary, filled with unknowns. Will the baby be healthy and happy? What kind of parent will I be? A new film called “Isabelle,” starring Amanda Crew and Adam Brody, imagines the unimaginable, the unknowable psychological torment that follows a miscarriage.
Larissa (Crew) and Matt (Brody) are a happy young couple. Expecting a baby, they move to a new house to start their new life as parents. Next door is a stately old home, occupied by the schoolmarm-ish Ann Pelway (Sheila McCarthy) and eerie daughter Isabelle (Zoë Belkin), who is usually only seen peering through a second story window. After an encounter with Ann on the street Larissa is rushed to the hospital. Though clinically dead for a minute Larissa survives. Sadly, the child does not. Once at home Larissa is plagued by guilt and depression. She hears her dead child crying in the other room and is tormented by Isabelle’s seemingly unbreaking gaze.
After a brief set up director Rob Heydon sets a fast pace for the brisk 80-minute movie, diving right into the psychological terror. Much of the horror is subtle but effective as we learn about why Ann and Isabelle seem so otherworldly and follow Larissa on her terrifying journey. Midway through, however, “Isabelle” becomes cluttered with plot devices; there’s a hospital priest (Dayo Ade), demonic possession, a spiritual healer (Michael Miranda), Devil worship and more. More is sometimes less, and in this case the film feels rushed, over-stuffed with every trope out of the Supernatural Drama Handbook.
“Isabelle” does have its pleasures. McCarthy is a standout as Ann, a pious woman tormented by the past, and Brody and Crew who humanize the horror of the aftermath of a tragedy.
CHIPs: It’s a remake, a comedy and an action film and yet it doesn’t quite measure up to any of those descriptors. It’s a remake in the sense that writer-director-star Dax Shepard has lifted the title, character names and general situation from the classic TV show but they are simply pegs to hang his crude jokes on.
The Circle: While it is a pleasure to see Bill Paxton in his last big screen performance, “The Circle” often feels like an Exposition-A-Thon, a message in search of a story.
The Fate of the Furious: Preposterous is not a word most filmmakers would like to have applied to their work but in the case of the “Fast and Furious” franchise I think it is what they are going for. Somewhere along the way the down-‘n’-dirty car chase flicks veered from sublimely silly to simply silly. “The Fate of the Furious” is fast, furious but it’s not much fun. It’s an unholy mash-up of James Bond and the Marvel Universe, a movie bogged down by outrageous stunts and too many characters. Someone really should tell Vin Diesel and Company that more is not always more.
Fifty Shades Darker: Depending on your point of view “Fifty Shades of Grey” either made you want to gag or want to wear a gag. It’s a softcore look at hardcore BDSM (bondage, discipline, sadism and masochism) that spanked the competition on its opening weekend in 2015. Question is, will audiences still care about Grey’s proclivities and Ana’s misgivings or is it time to use our collective safeword? “Fifty Shades Darker” is a cold shower of a movie. “It’s all wrong,” Ana says at one point. “All of this is wrong.” Truer words have never been spoken.
The Mountain Between Us: Mountain survival movies usually end up with someone eating someone else to stay alive. “The Mountain Between Us” features the usual mountain survival tropes—there’s a plane crash, a showdown with a cougar and broken bones—but luckily for fans of stars Idris Elba and Kate Winslet cannibalism is not on the menu. Days pass and then weeks pass and soon they begin their trek to safety. “Where are we going?” she asks. “We’re alive,” he says. “That’s where were going.” There will be no spoilers here but I will say the crash and story of survival changes them in ways that couldn’t imagine… but ways the audience will see coming 100 miles away. It’s all a bit silly—three weeks in and unwashed they still are a fetching couple—but at least there’s no cannibalism and no, they don’t eat the dog.
The Mummy: As a horror film it’s a meh action film. As an action film it’s little more than a formulaic excuse to trot out some brand names in the kind of film Hollywood mistakenly thinks is a crowd pleaser.
The Shack: Bad things in life may be God’s will but I lay the blame for this bad movie directly on the shoulders of director Stuart Hazeldine who infuses this story with all the depth and insight of a “Davey and Goliath” cartoon.
The Snowman: We’ve seen this Nordic Noir before and better. Mix a curious lack of Oslo accents—the real mystery here is why these Norwegians speak as though they just graduated RADA—Val Kilmer in a Razzie worthy performance and you’re left with a movie that left me as cold as the snowman‘s grin.
Valerian and the City of a Thousand Planets: Movies like the high gloss crime thriller “La Femme Nikita,” the assassin mentor flick “Léon: The Professional” and outré sci fi opera “The Fifth Element” have come to define director Luc Besson’s outrageous style. Kinetic blasts of energy, his films are turbo charged fantasies that make eyeballs dance even if they don’t always engage the brain. His latest, “Valerian and the City of a Thousand Planets,” not only has one of the longest titles of the year but is also one of the most over-the-top, retina-frying movies of the year. Your eyes will beg for mercy.
Wonder Wheel: At the beginning of the film Mickey (Justin Timberlake) warns us that what we are about to see will be filtered through his playwright’s point of view. Keeping that promise, writer, director Woody Allen uses every amount of artifice at his disposal—including cinematographer Vittorio Storaro’s admittedly sumptuous photography—to create a film that is not only unreal but also unpleasant. “Oh God,” Ginny (Kate Winslet) cries out at one point. “Spare me the bad drama.” Amen to that.
THE UGLY
Song to Song: I think it’s time Terrence Malick and I called it quits. I used to look forward to his infrequent visits. Sure, sometimes he was a little obtuse and over stayed his welcome, but more often than not he was alluringly enigmatic. Then he started coming around more often and, well, maybe the old saying about familiarity breeding contempt is true. In “Song to Song” there’s a quick shot of a tattoo that sums up my feelings toward my relationship with Malick. Written in flowery script, the words “Empty Promises” fill the screen, reminding us of the promise of the director’s early work and amplifying the disappointment we feel today. This is the straw that broke the camel’s back, the Terrence Malick movie that put me off Terrence Malick movies. I’ll be nice though and say, it’s not him, it’s me.
EXTRA! EXTRRA! MOST COUNFOUNDING
mother!: Your interest in seeing “mother!,” the psychological thriller from “Black Swan” director Darren Aronofsky, may be judged on your keenness to watch American sweetheart Jenifer Lawrence flush a beating heart down a toilet. Aronofsky’s story of uninvited guests disrupting the serene lives of a poet and his wife refuses to cater to audience expectations. “mother!” is an uncomfortable watch, an off-kilter experience that revels in its own madness. As the weight of the weirdness and religious symbolism begins to feel crushing, you may wonder what the hell is going on. Are these people guilty of being the worst houseguests ever or is there something bigger, something biblical going on?
Aronofsky is generous with the biblical allusions—the house is a paradise, the stranger’s sons are clearly echoes of Cain and Abel, and there is a long sequence that can only be described as the Home-style Revelation—and builds toward a crescendo of wild action that has to be seen to be believed, but his characters are ciphers. Charismatic and appealing to a member, they feel like puppets in the director’s apocalyptic roadshow rather than characters we care about. Visually and thematically he doesn’t push button so much as he pokes the audience daring them to take the trip with him, it’s just too bad we didn’t have better company for the journey.
“mother!” is a deliberately opaque movie. Like looking into a self-reflective mirror you will take away whatever you put into it. The only thing sure about it is that it is most confounding studio movie of the year.
From 1977 to 1983 California Highway Patrol officers Jon Baker and “Ponch” Poncherello kept the highways and byways of Los Angeles safe with a mix of motorcycles, Brut cologne and wholesome machismo. “CHiPS” was a big TV hit and is now a big screen movie starring Michael Peña and Dax Shepard as unorthodox motorcycles cops. The Brut and the wholesomeness are gone in this raunchy update but the motorcycles and machismo survived.
Shepard, who also wrote and directed, stars as Jon Baker, a free spirited ex-motorcycle daredevil. His marriage is on the rocks, but he hopes if he becomes a police officer his wife will fall back in love with him.
Baker is teamed up with a seasoned FBI agent working undercover as Frank ‘Ponch’ Poncherello (Peña). Seems the feds needed two outsiders to infiltrate the California Highway Patrol and bust some dirty cops who robbed 12 million dollars in a daring daylight robbery.
The unlikely duo don’t hit it off right away, but Baker’s skills on the hog and Ponch’s experience make them an effective, if untraditional team. Cue the chase scenes and sex jokes.
In Shepard’s hands “CHIPS” is a mix of motorcycles and masturbation, homophobic jokes and gratuitous nudity. It’s hard to know exactly how to categorize “CHIPS.” It is a remake of a TV show although Erik Estrada, star of the original series and who also appears in the film, took to twitter to blast the remake as “demeaning” to long time “CHiPS” fans.
It could also be filed under the comedy category although I’d suggest the action sequences are more successful than the attempts at humour.
To recap: It’s a remake, a comedy and an action film and yet it doesn’t quite measure up to any of those descriptors. It’s a remake in the sense that Shepard has lifted the title, character names and general situation but they are simply pegs to hang his crude jokes on.
It’s a comedy—there is a paparazzi joke that made me laugh hard—but it’s a lowest common denominator comedy. I like a poop joke as much as anyone, but there have to be peaks and valleys. Shepard aims low, then goes lower. If you like a certain amount of shame with your cheap laughs then “CHIPS” is for you.
When the movie isn’t commenting on Ponch’s bathroom habits it is laying rubber. The crime story isn’t terribly complicated or interesting but the guys tear up the pavement with a handful of pretty good chase scenes. They are frenetic and it’s not always possible to tell exactly who is who, but the scenes add some zip to the story.
“CHIPS” is not your father’s “CHiPS.” It’s a kinda-sorta action comedy that revels in its rudeness at the expense of paying tribute to the source material.
