SYNOPSIS: Based on a true story, “Dead Man’s Wire” stars Bill Skarsgård as a man who takes matters into his own hands when he becomes convinced his bank schemed to financially ruin his life. “This loan company’s done me wrong,” he says.
CAST: Bill Skarsgård, Dacre Montgomery, Cary Elwes, Myha’la, Colman Domingo, and Al Pacino. Directed by Gus Van Sant.
REVIEW: Echoes of gritty 1970s cinema flow through “Dead Man’s Wire,” bringing back memories of classic character driven crime dramas like “Dog Day Afternoon.”
Set in 1977 Indianapolis, the story unfolds as Tony Kiritsis (Bill Skarsgård) shows up at the Meridian Mortgage Company demanding a meeting with its president M.L. Hall (Al Pacino). A regular visitor, he’s welcomed in by Hall’s son, mortgage broker Richard (Dacre Montgomery), who agrees to the meeting in his father’s absence.
In Hall’s office Kiritsis reveals the real reason for his visit. “This loan company’s done me wrong,” he says. “They set me up and schemed to ruin my life.” Kiritsis claimed his plan to develop a 17-acre piece of land into a shopping center was sabotaged by M.L. Hall, leaving him unable to pay back a $130,000 loan. Now, he’s demanding restitution in the amount of $5 million and an apology.
Rasing the stakes, Kiritsis takes Richard hostage, with a sawed-off shotgun wired with a “dead man’s wire” from the trigger, a booby-trap designed to fire and kill the hostage if Kiritsis is shot or released pressure.
A mix of social commentary and crime, “Dead Man’s Wire” is an urgent, tautly told story of desperation and anti-capitalism. Although set in 1977, in the post Luigi Mangione world the distrust of institutions feels timely. Strip away the wide collars and bell-bottomed jeans and replace with contemporary fashion, the story would feel very much of the moment.
The no-frills pleasure of this retelling of the tale allows Skarsgård to pull focus as the jittery Kiritsis. He manages something remarkable within the performance, lacing unlikely humor into his portrayal of a desperate man making unreasonable demands, but more than that, he makes Kiritsis sympathetic. That’s tough to do when the person he shares most of his scenes with has a shotgun strapped to his head, but Skarsgård plays him not as a bad man, but a man who has run out of options. A guy who just wants respect and is willing to go to extremes to earn it. He’s part everyman, part goofy anti-hero and part folk hero to anyone who has ever felt like they’ve received unfair treatment from any large entity.
It’s no coincidence that Al Pacino, star of “Dog Day Afternoon,” is in the cast of “Dead Man’s Wire” as echoes of Sonny Wortzik, the character he played in that film, reverberate throughout Skarsgård’s performance.
“Dead Man’s Wire” is an entertaining film, with a charismatic lead performance and a stranger-than-fiction story that moves like a rocket, stopping only to showcase the desperation and heartache that inspired Kiritsis’s outrageous actions.
I join the CTV NewsChannel to talk about the big movies from the weekend, including Edgar Wright’s “The Running Man,” rhe magical thieves of “Now You See Me: Now You Don’t,” the Oscar worthy “Sentimental Value” and the animated “In Your Dreams.”
SYNOPSIS: Based on the novel “The Running Man” by Stephen King, which was published under the pseudonym Richard Bachman, the movie of the same name sees the unemployed Ben Richards (Glen Powell), desperate for cash to save his sick daughter, sign up for a “Squid Game” style show in which contestants must stay alive for 30 days while being pursued by “hunters” hired to kill them.
CAST: Glen Powell, William H. Macy, Lee Pace, Michael Cera, Emilia Jones, Daniel Ezra, Jayme Lawson, Colman Domingo, and Josh Brolin. Directed by Edgar Wright.
REVIEW: A survival thriller that puts a human face on the story’s themes of economic coercion, personal sacrifice and class Inequality, “The Running Man” is slick, high-energy satire with grim messages about media manipulation, exploitation and the chasm between the haves and the have nots.
Set in the near future where the reality show features Runners hunted by Hunters, “The Running Man” sees Ben Richards (Glen Powell), a desperate father convinced by the show’s cartoonishly evil producer Dan Killian (Josh Brolin) to enter the game to win a cash jackpot. “Rules are simple,” says Killian. “Survive thirty days with the entire nation hunting you down and get your family out of slum-side for good.”
Like a bloodthirsty episode of “Survivor,” the chaotic show within the movie is television’s highest rated program, but instead of getting voted off the island, you get voted off the mortal coil. “HUNT. HIM. DOWN!” shouts show host Bobby Thompson (Colman Domingo).
With a mix of paternal love and sheer will, Richards becomes a fan favorite; a viral star turned folk hero.
“The Running Man” begins with a strong premise; a father pushed to extremes to do what’s best for his family. Richards is an everyman—except that most desperate dads don’t have Powell’s charisma, and a six-pack that would make Adonis envious—thrust into a life-or-death situation. The situation is extreme, but the motivation is relatable, grounding the movie in an all-too-real world of an under-employed family unable to afford medical attention.
It’s a potent starting point, a dystopian nightmare with real world resonance. It’s when the movie puts Richards at the end of a gun barrel, on the run for his life, that “The Running Man” loses its grounding by succumbing to bombast. As the title suggests, the film does laps around the movie’s motifs, for the most part preferring to entertain the eye with high octane visuals than engage the brain, before circling back to the sociopolitical issues that inspired the story in the movie’s rushed finale.
It’s frenetic and frantic but lacks the verve that Wright usually brings to his films.
Woven into the film’s fabric are some interesting diversions. As anti-government activist Elton, Michael Cera brings a sense of anarchy and awkwardness that gives “The Running Man” a jolt in the film’s mid-section. It’s an exhilarating segment that provides the mix of comedy and action we expect from Wright’s caffeinated filmmaking.
Less successful is the introduction of one percenter Amelia Williams (Emilia Jones). An avatar of wealth and privilege more than an actual character, she’s a living metaphor of elite detachment, and becomes the blunt instrument Wright uses to hammer home his commentary on the economic divide in the film’s final section.
When Stephen King wrote “The Running Man” in 1982 his musings on corporate control, media manipulation and the economic gap felt dystopian. Times have changed, and now the most upsettingly dystopian thing about the movie might be how it depicts the future popularity of reality television.
I join Shane Hewitt on his Bell Media Radio Network show to talk about Maya Rudolph returning to “Saturday Night Live” to play Kamala Harris in the show’s upcoming, landmark 50th season, the impact of pop stars like Ariana Grande on the upcoming American election and why Hollywood now says, “Our movies are for everyone!”
Then, I returned to the show for “Boozwe and Reviews.” This week we talk about the up-lifting prison set movie “Sing Sing” and learn how to make “toilet wine.”
SYNOPSIS: Based on real events, “Sing Sing,” a new drama starring Colman Domingo, and now playing in theatres, sees a group of Sing Sing Correctional Facility prisoners, members of the Rehabilitation Through the Arts program, stage their own original play, the time travelling comedy “Breakin’ The Mummy’s Code.”
CAST: Colman Domingo, Clarence “Divine Eye” Maclin, Sean San José, Paul Raci, David “Dap” Giraudy, Patrick “Preme” Griffin, Jon-Adrian Velazquez, Sean “Dino” Johnson
REVIEW: The unusual story of a group of prisoners who discover the power of art as a vehicle to break the self-imposed stereotypes that have shaped their lives, is a powerful, moving one. Dripping with empathy, “Sing Sing” has a theatre kid vibe, in an unconventional setting, that is infectious.
“Oz,” this ain’t.
Leading the charge is Domingo, hot off an Academy Award nomination for “Rustin.” His John “Divine G” Whitfield is an erudite character. In prison for murder, he writes plays, always has words of encouragement for fellow inmates and believes in the power of art to build community. But under a serene façade is boiling resentment and anger, disguised by a broad smile or studious look. It’s a lovely performance, filled with heart and hope, but also a hint of anguish for a life spent behind bars.
The rest of the cast, almost entirely made up of former Sing Sing Correctional Facility convicts, adds not only authenticity, but proof that the Rehabilitation Through the Arts program works. Their natural, committed performances show the inmates in a different light than we’re used to seeing in prison films. These are people who have made mistakes, no question, but who are much more than their mistakes and intimidating face tattoos. They are real people, who, as one of them says are in the group “to become human again and enjoy things that are not in our reality.”
The uplift and empathy on display is such a departure from prison set movies, it would be easy to be cynical about a movie like “Sing Sing.” But in its specificity the story becomes a universal story of the redemptive power of art and community. It’s a crowd-pleaser, and if you are prepared to give yourself to it, you may want to bring along some Kleenex.
Set in 1999, “Drive-Away Dolls,” a new LGBTQ2+ b-movie wannabe from director Ethan Coen in his first solo outing, feels like it emerged, untouched from the time before Y2K.
A loving throwback to the kind of independent, verging on experimental, filmmaking that made the Coen brothers famous, “Drive-Away Dolls” is a queer caper film whose action, after a brief but memorable prologue, begins when the uninhibited Jamie (Margaret Qualley) cheats on girlfriend Sukie (Beanie Feldstein) and gets thrown out of their apartment.
“I’ve had it with love,” Jamie says. “It might be alright for the bards and the troubadours, but I don’t think it works for the twentieth, soon to be twenty-first, century lesbian.”
Looking for a change of pace, Jamie decides to hit the road, along with Marian (Geraldine Viswanathan), a reserved friend who is bored of her job and her life. They acquire a drive-away car (a vehicle that needs to be delivered from one city to another) and head off for a fresh start in Tallahassee.
Trouble is, the car they were given contains very valuable cargo that kingpin Chief (Colman Domingo) and his dopey henchmen Arliss (Joey Slotnick) and Flint (C. J. Wilson) need to get their hands on.
“Drive-Away Dolls” has many of the trademarks of the kind of 90s indie cinema the Coens and Tarantino left in their wake. There’s smart-alecky dialogue, over-the-top, bickering bad guys, a mysterious briefcase, a preposterous crime and “not your garden variety decapitation,” all wrapped in a tidy 84-minute package.
Unfortunately, it’s not an entirely welcome u-turn to 90s form for Coen. For all the free-wheeling vibes the movie emits, it’s a bit of a slog, even at its abbreviated runtime. Choppy storytelling, low stakes and an emphasis on quirky caricatures over real characters slow the roll of what could have been a fun road trip romp. The pitch perfect sweet spot between serious and silly, Coen achieved (with brother Joel) in “O Brother, Where Art Thou?” and “The Big Lebowski” is sadly missing here.
The performances are amiable. Qualley’s intermittent Texas accent is distracting, but Viswanathan brings the nerdy charm to Marion. The great Bill Camp steals scenes as Curlie, the crusty drive-away clerk, and Pedro Pascal has a memorable cameo.
“Drive-Away Dolls,” written by Coen and his wife, and long-time editor, Tricia Cooke is about hitting the road and cutting loose but never puts the pedal to the metal.
The glitzy new musical version of “The Color Purple” maintains the talking points of Alice Walker’s Pulitzer Prize-winning novel and Stephen Spielberg’s Oscar-nominated film adaptation, but adds in a touch of old Hollywood glamor and rousing gospel, blues and jazz songs.
Set in Jim Crow era rural Georgia, Fantasia Barrino reprises her role from the Broadway stage to play Celie Harris, a timid young woman whose life is marred abuse and separation from loved ones. Impregnated by her father when she was just a teen, her baby is given away. Later, when she is shipped off to live with the abusive Albert Johnson (Colman Domingo), a man she is forced to call “Mister,” she is disconnected from her beloved sister Nettie (Ciara).
The cruel and overbearing Mister tells his terrified wife she’ll never see her sister again and blocks any communication between the two. “Whatever I say, go,” he tells her.
Isolated from everything she has ever known, she perseveres through strength of will, the power of imagination and the friendship of the indomitable Sofia (Danielle Brooks) and flamboyant blues chanteuse Shug Avery (Taraji P. Henson).
Reimagined as a period drama with a healthy dose of magic realism, the new “The Color Purple” is a journey of self-discovery and triumph over adversity as Celie opts to take agency over her life and not be a docile victim. Despite her trauma, she has an eye to the future, hope and, above all, resilience.
Barrino plays Celie as soft-spoken, allowing the songs, like the moving “Superpower,” to stand out, fuelled by cathartic, powerhouse performances. The role is a weighty one, a stand-in for the evolution of many marginalized people, but this version of “The Color Purple” is an emotional Broadway-style crowd pleaser that turns Celie’s ordeal into a journey of empowerment.
The addition of musical weaves joy into the story.
Director Blitz Bazawule allows Celie’s flights of imagination to temper the story’s built-in oppressive tone. The film’s opening scene, featuring Mister playing banjo, while his horse’s hoof clomps keep time, is subtle, while a scene in which Shug, (a terrific Henson), takes Celie to the movies, becomes a luscious Art Deco fantasy reimagination of the song “What About Love?” It is lavish and lovely.
In terms of staging, one show stopping scene sees Celie sing to Shug while perched atop of spinning gramophone record. It’s a blast of old-school Hollywood glamour that cleverly demonstrates Celie’s use of imagination as a coping mechanism.
This isn’t the “The Color Purple” of old. Boldly stylized, it embraces humor, music, imagination and leaves some space for Mister’s redemption and a slightly more explicit depiction of the relationship between Celie and Shug than in the previous film version. More than anything, though, it is a tuneful, joyful journey from powerless to empowered, from heartbroken to healed that is sure to entertain and inspire in equal measure.
In “Rustin,” a new reverential historical drama now streaming on Netflix, Emmy Award winner Colman Domingo plays Bayard Rustin, a gay Black man whose vision and tenacity had an outsized effect on the Civil Rights Movement. He’s been largely forgotten by history but “Rustin,” produced by Barack and Michelle Obama’s production company Higher Ground, serves as a potent reminder of his activist legacy.
The story of the run-up to 1963’s March on Washington for Jobs and Freedom and the famous “I Have a Dream” speech, “Rustin” sets the stage with harrowing images of 1950s segregation.
Cut to 1960 and a plan between Rustin and Reverend Martin Luther King Jr’s. (Aml Ameen) to launch a protest march on the Democratic National Convention. The plan is thwarted by U.S. Congressman Adam Clayton Powell Jr’s. (Jeffrey Wright) threat of a misinformation campaign, linking the two men romantically. Powell’s allegation, while untrue, causes a rift between the two men that sees Rustin kicked to the curb.
Three years later Rustin hatches another plan, a massive, non-violent march on Washington to pressure the Kennedy administration to initiate a strong federal civil rights bill in Congress.
With little to no support from DC’s power base, due to racism, his former communist membership and his sexuality—“When it comes to the old guard,” he says, “I’m considered a pariah.”—Rustin seeks support from his estranged friend King. “Do this Dr. King,” he says. “Own your power.”
The next eight tumultuous weeks find Rustin balancing his personal life—an affair with married preacher Elias (Johnny Ramey)—and his work with King and their band of “angelic troublemakers” as they arrange one of the largest political rallies for human rights in United States history. “On August 28,” he says, “Black, white, young, old, rich, working-class, poor will descend on Washington, DC.”
“Rustin” tells the story of a landmark moment in the battle for Civil Rights, but this isn’t just a history lesson. It’s really is a character study of the charming, driven man who made it happen.
The movie itself is stagey and straightforward, prone to grandstanding with an over-reliance on exposition, but it comes alive whenever the charismatic Domingo is on screen.
As portrayed in the film, Rustin is a powerhouse, a man predisposed to challenging authority, to giving voice to hard truths, to never backing down. Domingo inhabits him, embracing the strength to never apologize for who he is or his quest for justice and equality. “On the day I was born Black, I was also born homosexual. They either believe in justice and freedom for all, or they do not,” he rails against his detractors. It’s a muscular, timely performance that makes up for the film’s other shortcomings.
By times, “Rustin” feels rushed. Several scenes end prematurely and without explanation, giving the film an odd rhythm. But, the final moments as the march comes to life, are moving, empowering and pack an emotional punch, as does the portrait of a behind the scenes trailblazer and hero.
“Ruby Gillman, Teenage Kraken,” a new animated coming-of-age story from Dreamworks, now playing in theatres, flips the usual idea of the tentacled sea creature from fearsome to heroic.
The Kraken-out-of-water tale isn’t a franchise—although it may be the beginning of one—but it does owe a debt to recent Pixar films “Turning Red” and “Luca,” movies about the transformation of body and expectations.
Years after leaving the sea to live on land and raise their family, ocean creatures Agatha (Toni Collette) and Peter Gillman (Colman Domingo) are secretive about their past. “We’re from Canada,” they say to explain away their blue skin, gills and lack of spines.
Fifteen-year-old daughter Ruby (Lana Condor) goes along with the lie, and admits to “barely pulling off this human thing.” At school, she feels different and has a hard time fitting in outside of her squad, a small group of BFFs.
“I just want to be Ruby Gillman, normal teenager,” she says.
Despite her mother’s strict rule of never going near the water, days before the prom, when her high school, skater-boy crush Connor (Jaboukie Young-White) almost drowns, Ruby dives into the ocean to rescue him. Contact with salt water releases out her true self, a giant luminescent, kraken. “I’m already a little weird,” she says, “but I can’t hide this.”
In short order Ruby learns of her heritage, and that her grandmother, Grandmahmah (Jane Fonda) is a warrior queen, the Ultimate Lordess of and ruler of the Seven Seas, and charged with keeping the undersea world safe from the main maritime threat—evil mermaids.
“But people love mermaids,” says Ruby.
“Of course they do,” says Grandmahmah. “People are stupid.”
Grandmahmah wants Ruby to become her successor and possibly settle an age-old score.
Themes of self-acceptance, family love and overcoming insecurity are common in films for kids and young adults, and “Ruby Gillman, Teenage Kraken” is no different. But what it lacks in originality—“Turning Red” got to the transformation as a metaphor for coming out of your shell first—it makes up for with good humor, fun voice work, particularly from Jane Fonda and Annie Murphy as a mermaid, and an engaging lead character.
Ruby is a sweet-natured math nerd wrapped up in a blanket of insecurity. As she attempts to navigate high school and her newfound kraken alter-ego, she never loses the teen aura that makes her so relatable. She may be able to morph into a giant, but the biggest things in her life remain her family and friends. It’s heartfelt, and somehow, not as sappy as it sounds.
“Ruby Gillman, Teenage Kraken” may not break new ground, or part the oceans, but it tells its story with panache, finding a way to merge a kid-friendly story with some decidedly adult jokes.
