LOGLINE: In this absurdist comedy, three adult children (Ewan McGregor, Rhys Ifans and Lara Flynn Boyle) must figure out why their mother, played by Ellen Burstyn, refuses to leave a green couch on the second floor of a rundown furniture store. With the help of the store managers (Taylor Russell and F. Murray Abraham) the siblings go on a voyage of self-discovery as they work on getting their couch potato mother out of the store.
CAST: Ewan McGregor, Rhys Ifans, Taylor Russell, Lara Flynn Boyle, Lake Bell, F. Murray Abraham, Ellen Burstyn. Written and directed by Niclas Larsson.
REVIEW: A mystery with no real solution, “Mother, Couch” is a family drama that examines themes of parenting and toxic relationships through a dreamlike lens. It offers loads of existential atmosphere, but no easy answers. Writer/director Niclas Larsson, adapting the novel “Mamma i sofa” by Jerker Virdborg, presents a strange mix of surrealism and sentimentality that never quite gels.
It’s a shame because the actor’s ensemble, led by McGregor, hand in solid, earthbound performances that keep this flight of fancy from spinning completely out of control. Standouts include McGregor, who plays the genuine befuddlement of the situation, allowing his long-suppressed emotions to overflow as things grow weirder and weirder, and Boyle, whose bitterness hangs over the situation like a shroud.
Drenched in metaphor and allegory, the dark comedy “Mother, Couch” breathes the same air as Charlie Kaufman and Ari Aster, but Larsson allows the metaphysical aspects of the movie to overwhelm the story’s true emotion.
LOGLINE: Told on a broken timeline, “I Used to be Funny” toggles between past and present to present a vivid portrait of Sam (Rachel Sennott), a stand-up comic struggling with PTSD. As she reckons with her old life, she must also consider joining the search for Brooke (Olga Petsa), a missing teenager she used to nanny.
CAST: Rachel Sennott, Sabrina Jalees, Caleb Hearon, Jason Jones, Dani Kind, Ennis Esmer, Dan Beirne, Stephen Alexander, Hoodo Hersi, Miguel Rivas. Directed by Ally Pankiw.
REVIEW: A mix of humor and heartbreak, “I Used to be Funny” is a bittersweet movie that effectively captures the inner workings of a traumatized mind. (MILD SPOILER ALERT) Because of the film’s flash- forward-and-backwards structure, it takes time for the portrait to come into focus, but director Pankiw handles the time shifts gracefully, fitting the story shards together to form a complicated but thoughtful movie that doesn’t tip its hand until the third act.
At the heart of it all is Sennott, whose honest, sensitive work depicts the numbness, hopelessness and isolation that survivors of sexual assault experience.
It’s a heavy subject, given a respectful treatment, but it’s not without its lighter moments. The relationship between Sam and Brooke bubbles with warmth and, despite the title, humor, which amplifies the disconnection Sam feels in the present-day sequences. In their totality, the flashbacks placed against the present-day scenes makes for a fulsome portrait of the harsh aftereffects of sexual assault and Sam’s healing journey.
“I Used to be Funny” is a showcase for Sennott’s dramatic side, and a stirring and authentic look at PTSD and the road to recovery.
LOGLINE: Bobby Cannavale plays Max Brandel, a stand-up comedian struggling to co-parent his autistic 10-year-old son Ezra (William Fitzgerald) with ex-wife Jenna (Rose Byrne). Since the divorce Max has spiraled, his once thriving career is in tatters. When he isn’t on stage oversharing about his personal life, he’s living with father Stan (Robert De Niro), a plain-spoken man, nicknamed Pop Pop, who Max barely tolerates. “Pop Pop,” says Max, “that’s appropriate. He’s like two gunshots, one to the head, one to the heart.”
When a doctor suggests treating Ezra’s impulsive behavior with medication and special schooling, Max uses an audition for a spot on “Jimmy Kimmel Live!” as an excuse to take Ezra, without Janna’s permission, on a cross-country road trip from New York to Los Angeles.
“I don’t want him in his own world,” Max says. “I want him in this world!”
CAST: Bobby Cannavale, Rose Byrne, Robert De Niro, Rainn Wilson, Vera Farmiga, Whoopi Goldberg, Jimmy Kimmel, Tony Goldwyn (who also directs).
REVIEW: This fractured family story, while episodic in nature, is bolstered by two stand-out lead performances and a strong supporting cast. Fitzgerald, who is neurodivergent, delivers natural work without the precociousness that sometimes mars the performances of younger actors.
As Max, a jittery comic with a short fuse and a big heart, Cannavale hands in career best work that both captures the cadences of a seasoned stand-up and the desperation of a loving father who makes bad decisions.
Together, their work feels honest and raw, a perfect match with the film’s weather-beaten tone.
Outside the main performances, the movie thrives off the small details. The way Vera Farmiga, as Max’s childhood friend, greets him after not seeing him for years, is all warmth and cuddles. Byrne’s gentle interactions with Ezra provide welcome tender moments, even when she is faced with the difficult decisions surrounding the institutionalization of her son.
Less effective is the story’s tendency toward emotional exploitation. The film’s road trip may be its liveliest portion, but as it winds through to its conclusion in Kimmel’s studio, screenwriter Tony Spiridakis and director Goldwyn, unleash a cascade of emotionality that threatens to wash away the more interesting, perceptive family drama that came before.
The result is a somewhat manipulative, but heartfelt look at the extremes parents will go to get the best for their children.
“Suze,” a new film featuring “Tiny Beautiful Things” star Michaela Watkins, and now playing in theatres, is an empty nest dramedy about a mother who takes an unusual path to combat the loneliness she feels when her daughter leaves town for university.
After discovering her husband cheating with their golf pro, Suze (Watkins) is once again confronted by abandonment when daughter Brooke (Sara Waisglass) announces she is moving to Montreal to attend McGill University. Although she is assured by a colleague that she’ll find time for herself in her daughter’s absence—“You’re finally free!”—she instead feels alone and adrift. “I am terrified of losing her,” she says.
And she’s not the only one.
Brooke’s heart-broken, Spicoli-wannabe ex-boyfriend Gage (Charles Gillespie), who plays guitar in a band called The Emotional Morons, falls to pieces and lands in the hospital. “It hurts in places I didn’t even know could hurt,” he says.
Gage’s father (Aaron Ashmore) isn’t available to help him recuperate, so Suze reluctantly allows him to stay with her for a couple weeks. “It’s kinda funny Suze,” Gage says, “how we both got left by the same person.”
Over time, they work through their heartbreak, finding strength in other’s company as they really get to know one another.
“Suze” is a never-judge-a-book-by-its-cover story, with a few laughs, some earned heartfelt moments and heaps of compassion. The daughter is a McGuffin, more a plot device to put the odd couple story in motion than anything else. The important and appealing part of the story is the relationship between Suze and Gage, everything else is set dressing.
There is a great chemistry between Watkins and Gillespie.
Suze moves from mistrustful to maternal as Gage’s innocent, natural charm becomes obvious, but Watkins avoids sentimentality in her approach to the burgeoning relationship. She has an edge, born of anger, experience and frustration that can be heartfelt, dramatic or comedic depending on the situation.
Gillespie brings the off-kilter energy of a guy who has been misunderstood his entire life. His performance is a winning mix of guilelessness and charisma, one that easily could have been a caricature but emerges fully formed.
What binds them both is their natural approach to kindness and compassion.
The key to “Suze’s” success is the way it presents a platonic relationship based on mutual respect and how they give one another a reason to embrace the battle scars that formed them, and move ahead toward happiness.
The alliteration in the title of “Good Grief,” Dan Levy’s feature film debut for Netflix, extends into the storytelling. Mawkish and moving, romantic and realist, it’s a story of loss, lamentation and life that allows Levy to stretch his wings as a writer, director and performer.
Levy plays Marc, an artist who put his career on semi-hold as his superstar writer husband Oliver’s (Luke Evans) sci fi fantasy novels topped the best-seller lists. Tragedy strikes as Marc hosts a holiday party in their beautifully appointed London apartment before Oliver jets off to Paris for a book signing at the Louvre.
Minutes after Oliver leaves the warm, fuzzy celebration, sirens fill the air and Marc’s worst fears are realized. Oliver has been killed in a car accident, just a block from their flat.
Shattered by the loss, and the recent death of his mother, Marc withdraws, save for the company of his two closest friends, ex-boyfriend Thomas (Himesh Patel) and loose-cannon Sophie (Ruth Negga).
“For such a meticulous person,” Marc says of Oliver, “he left behind one hell of a mess.”
With the American publishing company demanding a return on Oliver’s unfinished book advances, a careful study of the couple’s expenses reveal the writer kept a secret pied-à-terre in Paris. Curious, Marc invites Thomas and Sophie for a weekend visit to Paris as a thank you for helping him through a very difficult year. “This is where people come to have sex,” Sophie yowls as they lay eyes on Oliver’s secret getaway.
As the City of Lights twinkles appealingly in the background, the trio confront the ragged truths of messy relationships and forge a path forward.
“Good Grief” is a study in the good, the bad and the ugly of relationships, romantic and platonic. This isn’t like a sad episode of Levy’s sitcom “Schitt’s Creek” and it’s not a ten Kleenex weepie. It’s somewhere in between. There are funny moments (see Kaitlyn Dever’s inappropriate eulogy at Oliver’s funeral for example) and humorous lines, but they are tempered by the central trio’s journey to understand the melancholic messes they have made of their lives.
It’s a mix-and-match of love and sadness with subtle shadings of romantic and road trip comedy, but it never dims the stark light it shines on the realities of friendship. Hard questions are asked and addressed, but at the end it suggests these characters don’t have their acts together, because, really, who does?
It may not be the most original thought, but this is a promising feature film directorial debut that works best when it plays it simple. A scene of the three of them on a Ferris Wheel is revealing, sweet and funny, and Marc’s scenes with Theo (Arnaud Valois), a French man he meets at an art installation, despite some clunky dialogue (“Isn’t art kind of a commemoration of pain?”) are among the film’s best.
“Good Grief” is an open-hearted, amiable film that displays Levy’s abilities as a director. It’s a handsomely mounted movie with a keen eye for casting. Luke Evans is particularly well suited to play the movie’s McGuffin, and capitalizes on his modest screentime. Patel and Negga make the most of their sidekick roles and Paris looks beautiful. Most of all, however, it’s unafraid to defy the expectations we might have had for Levy’s follow-up to the success of his award winning “Schitt’s Creek.”
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.
“The Holdovers,” a new drama starring Paul Giamatti and now playing in theatres, does such a good job of transporting the audience back to when a pint of Jim Bean only set you back $2 and it was still OK to smoke a pipe at a movie theatre, you’ll swear it’s a long-lost artefact from the Nixon era.
The setting is Barton Academy, a New England old-money stop over for wealthy boys on their way to the Ivy League school of their choice. They are the future, or, as Ancient Civilizations professor Paul Hunham (Giamatti) calls them, “entitled little degenerates.”
Universally disliked by staff and students alike, Hunham is by-the-book, the kind of teacher who assigns heavy reading over the Christmas break, with the promise of an exam on the first day back. “Our one purpose,” he says, “is to produce young men of character.”
Every year there are a handful of students who stay on campus over the two-week Christmas holiday, which means a teacher has to stay behind as chaperone. This year the duty falls to Hunham, who plans an intensive fortnight of studying, physical fitness and discipline for five boys abandoned by their parents.
“You should go easy on them,” says the school’s cook Mary (Da’Vine Joy Randolph).
“Oh please,” Hunham snorts. “They’ve had it easy their whole lives.”
When four of the five get a last-minute invite courtesy of a rich dad with a helicopter, the impromptu Breakfast Club is narrowed down to one, Angus Tully (Dominic Sessa), a smart but troubled young man whose mom chose Christmas break to run off on a honeymoon with her new husband.
As the days pass, and Christmas approaches, the odd couple find common ground, and discover they aren’t as different as they thought.
“The Holdovers” has a fairly simple set-up—a Scroogey character discovers his humanity by making a connection with a younger person, just in time for Christmas—but it’s the film’s warmth, once you scratch through its icy facade, that’ll win you over.
When he is referring to his students as “hormonal vulgarians,” Giamatti is at his curmudgeonly best but there is more to him than fancy insults (although his put-down, “you are penis cancer in human form” is rather memorable) and walleyed glare. He’s a man deeply damaged by life, who now finds himself waging class warfare on the privileged kids he teaches at what is, essentially, a depository for rich boys.
A man out of time—“The world doesn’t make sense anymore,” he says.—he’s quick to anger, with a bubbling rage roiling just under the surface at all times, and even when he tries to be charming, he comes off as awkward at best. His idea of light, Christmas party conversation? “Aeneas carried mistletoe when he went into Hades,” he says to blank stares.
Giamatti keeps him watchable by making sure to access the character’s brokenness. His bluster is a mask for his heartache, and as he gradually makes connections with Angus and Mary, his defenses lower, revealing his true self. It’s a touching and warm, and Oscar worthy, performance hidden beneath an inch or two of insolence.
He is ably supported by newcomer Sessa, whose character’s actions lead to emotional growth as he forms an unlikely family as one third of a trio of misfits. It’s a touching performance, part swagger, part shattered, that hints at more great thing to come from the young actor.
As Mary, a woman traumatized by the death of her only son in Vietnam, Randolph, who displays her comedic chops on “Only Murders in the Building,” brings a poignant edge to the story as the glue that binds this impromptu family together.
“The Holdovers” is a warmhearted coming-of-all-ages movie, but never succumbs to cheap melodrama or saccharine sentimentality. It’s an uplifting tale of, as Armistead Maupin put it, embracing your logical family instead of your biological one, that avoids the pitfalls of so many other movies about broken people.
Cry nepotism all you like, but “You Are So Not Invited to My Bat Mitzvah,” now streaming on Netflix, transcends its Sandler family affair roots. What was clearly meant to be a showcase for comedian Adam Sandler’s youngest daughter Sunny, is, in fact, strengthened by the alleged nepotism.
A funny and heartwarming look at growing pains and friendship, the movie is made more relatable by its family vibe and a breakout performance from the so-called “nepo-baby.”
Adapted from Fiona Rosenbloom’s 2005 young adult novel of the same name, “You Are So Not Invited to My Bat Mitzvah,” stars Sunny Sandler and Samantha Lorraine as Stacy Friedman and Lydia Rodriguez, 12-year-old best friends navigating school, first crushes and their impending Bat Mitzvahs. Stacy spends her time practicing her Torah readings and prayers, planning her elaborate Bat Mitzvah (she wants a virgin mojito bar) and thinking about her secret, but all-consuming crush, on Hebrew school tween heartthrob Andy (Dylan Hoffman).
“Do you realize that one day he will be mine and you’ll have a cool boyfriend too,” Stacy says to Lydia, “and then we’ll have a joint wedding and move to adjoining lofts in Tribeca?”
“In Taylor Swift’s building!” adds Lydia excitedly.
Their girl-power bond is strained when Lydia’s reaction to Stacy’s failed attempt at impressing Andy only makes the humiliating situation worse. Their lifelong friendship is further tested when Lydia begins hanging out with the cool crowd and is cleaved into pieces when Stacy catches Lydia playing kissyface with Andy at a party. The lip-lock changes everything, including their long-held plans for their Bat Mitzvahs.
“You Are So Not Invited to My Bat Mitzvah” is a charming coming-of-age story that breathes the same air as “Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret.” Like Judy Blume and John Hughes, director Sammi Cohen avoids any hint of nostalgia. This is a timeless, yet of the moment look at the all-or-nothing anxiety of adolescence, a time of heightened emotions, tight-yet-tenuous friendships and hard life lessons.
The film’s biggest strength are the leads, Sandler and Lorraine. Both hand in natural, effortless performances that capture the depth of their character’s friendship and fall-out. It’s often very funny and sometimes over-the-top, but every eye-roll and heartfelt moment feels authentic. It’s a breakout role for Sandler, who, after some small roles in her father’s films, proves she is capable of carrying a movie. Stacy changes over the course of the story, morphing from selfish preteen, to selfless friend. It’s not a new arc in young adult film, but Sandler pulls it off with humor and relatability.
The movie doesn’t break much new ground, the break-up-and-make-up story beats are somewhat predictable, but the sweet and sassy performances (including great supporting work by Sarah Sherman as the rambunctious Rabbi Rebecca) and genuine family vibe make “You Are So Not Invited to My Bat Mitzvah” a welcome addition to the Sandler Family catalogue.
The anti-rom com “Shortcomings,” a new film directed by Randall “Fresh Off the Boat” Park and now playing in theatres, is brave enough to center its story around an annoying twerp whose pretentiousness is matched only by his negativity and the ignorant remarks that fall so effortlessly from his lips.
Based on the 2007 graphic novel by Adrian Tomine (who wrote the script), Justin H. Min plays the antisocial Ben, a wannabe filmmaker and Berkeley arthouse theater manager. He has lots of personality, all of it bad. He says in school he was discriminated against, but not because he is Asian.
“It was because of your inherent bad personality,” says his BFF Alice (Sherry Cola).
“Exactly,” he says.
When his long-suffering girlfriend Miko (Ally Maki) accepts a temporary internship across the country in New York, he uses their “break” to selfishly dip his toe back into the dating pool. He pursues Autumn (Tavi Gevinson), a young performance artist who works at his theatre, and strikes up a relationship with Sasha (Debby Ryan), a friend of Alice who just broke up with her girlfriend.
When he realizes that he didn’t know what he had until it was gone, it’s may be too late. “Is this your rock bottom,” asks Alice. “High school was my rock bottom,” he replies unconvincingly.
“Shortcomings” does a great job of making, and keeping, its main character as toxic as possible. Director Park and Min make no attempt to shave down Ben’s rough edges, or make him more agreeable. But as unlikable as the self-loathing character is, he is compelling in his toxicity. Min is fearless in his portrayal of Ben’s foibles and flaws, and yet you feel empathy for him because he is so lost. As Alice says, “change is hard for assholes like us,” and it’s up in the air if Ben has it in him to put in the effort to embrace the change that will make his life better. It’s an unbending character you don’t normally find in movies with a romantic edge.
Clocking in at just under ninety minutes, Park’s economical film is stacked with ideas.
“Shortcomings” delivers laughs—Ben and Alice are a playful odd couple—and examines cultural expectations, but it really succeeds because of its uncompromising character study.
