A study in friendship, family and community, “We Grown Now,” a new drama now playing in theatres, combines reality and fantasy, hope and joy, to create a moving coming-of-age story that gently tugs at the heartstrings.
Set in 1992, against a backdrop of gang warfare in Chicago’s violent Cabrini-Green Homes housing project, “We Grown Now” tells the story of tweens Malik (Blake Cameron James) and Eric (Gian Knight Ramirez), best friends who grew up in Cabrini-Green. Malik lives with his mother Dolores (Jurnee Smollett) and grandmother Anita (S. Epatha Merkerson), while Eric lives with his dad (Lil Rel Howery) across the way.
“Me and Eric have done everything together since we were born,” says Malik. “We grew up together. Our place is the people. This is where we’re from.”
They’re good kids who do the things kids do. They tell bad jokes—“How do you make a tissue dance? You put a little ‘boogie’ into it.”—get lost in their imaginations and even when they play hooky, do it so they can check out the Art Institute of Chicago.
But trouble is closing in on their neighborhood.
As drugs, gangs and violence are slowly taking over Cabrini-Green, Dolores looks to get a new job, hours away in Peoria. It’s better money and, most importantly, hours away from the neighborhood’s trouble.
Trouble is, Eric is being left behind.
“How do you say goodbye to somebody?” Malik asks his mom.
“I don’t know that you ever do,” she says. “You carry them in your hearty wherever you go.”
A mixture of nostalgia and hard-edged reality, of bittersweet poetry and heartfelt relationships, “We Grown Now” is a nuanced look at the ties that bind and their importance, even when those ties begin to fray. The story is told against a bleak backdrop, but the veneer of social decay infused into the neighborhood does not extinguish the light emanating from the characters.
James and Ramirez hand in lovely, natural performances, despite a script that sometimes gives them an emotional intelligence that seems far beyond their tween years. Even then, the two are never less than charming, funny, and sometimes, a little heartbreaking. Both are gifted with expressive faces, and director Minhal Baig understands how to make their small, quiet interactions into big emotional moments.
“We Grown Now” is a stylized, haunting portrait of childhood, and the power of dreams to provide hope in an ever-changing world.
A vivid portrait of an urban dystopia, “The Kitchen,” now streaming on Netflix, is sci fi that sets up a troubling vision of the future, while finding room to emphasize the humanity at the core of the story.
Set in the near future, the story takes place in a dystopian, “Blade Runner-esque” London. The divide between the 1% and everybody else has widened, with the effects of rising home prices, an AI workforce and a dismantled Welfare State turning the city into a playground for the rich, with no regard for people living in poverty.
The last remaining block of social housing, The Kitchen, is a dilapidated set of North London towers and home to hundreds of Black and brown residents. Scheduled to be demolished by the authoritarian government, its inhabitants live in constant fear of their power and water being shut off, or worse, being evicted in a violent police raid.
Izi (Kane Robinson), a funeral home worker whose company, Life After Life, composts the bodies of those who cannot afford a traditional burial, lives in The Kitchen, but has no plans of waiting around to be forced out of his home. Tired of lining up at the communal shower, and uncertainty of life at the crumbling estate, he has an eye on getting out. Saving his cash, he hopes to move into Buena Vida, a glitzy new development far away from The Kitchen.
His life is changed when he meets Benji (Jedaiah Bannerman), a youngster left to his own devices in the wake of his mother’s death. Izi knew the mother, and may, or may not, be the boy’s father. After a rough start, the two bond as Izi offers him a place to stay and steers him away from bad influences that live with the housing project.
As the two become close, Izi asks Benji to move in with him at Buena Vida, but doing so means he will have to reapply for a double occupancy apartment. That means waiting, and spending even more time wrapped in the uncertain embrace of The Kitchen.
“The Kitchen,” written by Daniel Kaluuya (the actor best known for “Get Out,” “Black Panther” and “Judas & The Black Messiah”) and Joe Murtagh, and directed by Kaluuya and Kibwe Tavares, is set in 2040, but feels vital and timely. In an increasingly besieged world, the gap between rich and poor, the breakdown of community and the pressure marginalized communities feel under the thumb of an authoritarian state, as presented in the film, doesn’t feel like sci fiction. It feels more like a humanistic portrait of a community under fire.
It’s not all doom and gloom. The co-directors inject moments of joy with scenes set in a roller disco and a pirate radio voice named Lord Kitchener, played by former Arsenal-and-England footballer Ian Wright, who maintains morale in The Kitchen with music and spiritual advice.
Ultimately, for all its elaborate world building, “The Kitchen” is a personal story. Like most speculative fiction, the background sets the scene, but the meat of the story is anything but speculative. In this case, it is a father and son story that details the pressure and responsibility Izi feels to do the right thing for himself and Benji.
Robinson is effective in portraying Izi’s worldview. The character is aspirational but tethered to his reality, made more complicated by his relationship with Benji. It’s the storyline that grounds the film, and provides the most interesting moments.
“The Kitchen” brims with ideas, but they are sometimes muted by an episodic presentation. Kaluuya and company juggle a great many storylines, but the film works best when it gets up-close-and-personal with Izi and Benji.
The suspenseful “The Integrity of Joseph Chambers,” now on VOD, is a dark twist on the “Green Acres” idea of leaving the city behind for a quiet life in the country.
Clayne Crawford plays Joseph Chambers, an insurance salesman tired of the hustle and bustle of big business and big city life. Relocating, with his two kids, to his wife Tess’s (Jordana Brewster) hometown of Pell City in rural Alabama, he embraces country life. The chores. The fresh air. Good bye city life.
When he gets it in his head to go hunting, solo, in the nearby woods, Tess tries to talk him out of it. They have enough money for groceries, she argues, and anyway, he doesn’t know how to shoot and doesn’t own a gun. But old Joe has already trimmed his beard, leaving behind a patch under his nose he dubs his “hunter’s moustache.”
He wants to fit in, prove his manliness, but more importantly, wants to be able to provide for his family if and when the world falls apart. “If things get worse,” he says, “we may need to know how to do this stuff.”
With ideas of doomsday clouding his mind, he borrows a gun and a truck, slips into his hunting gear, including an orange puffer vest, and heads out. Hours later, when he finally spots a deer, he reacts quickly and fires. His bullet finds its target, but it’s not a deer, it’s another hunter.
The story burns slowly, setting up Joseph as a decent but naïve suburbanite desperate to prove his macho bone fides. He brims with bravado—quoting old Westerns like “The Outlaw Josey Wales” and imagining crowds cheering for him on his quest for a ten-point buck—but those affectations are a cover for a deep core of insecurity. The quest here isn’t really for a buck, it’s actually a search for masculinity.
Joseph feels he has much to prove to himself and his family, so “The Integrity of Joseph Chambers” isn’t really the story of the fatal shot, but of his reaction to it. Questions of responsibility vs. consequences flood his mind as the open expanse of the forest envelopes him.
Danish sound designer Peter Albrechtsen embellishes these scenes with unsettling sounds that sonically give life to Joseph’s inner feelings.
Crawford occupies the vast bulk of the movie, and holds focus. His take on Joseph is equal parts ridiculous—he playfully sings “I’m the moustache man!”—and repentant. It’s a raw-edged performance, aided in its grittiness by screenwriter and director Robert Machoian’s refusal to offer easy answers.
“The Integrity of Joseph Chambers” isn’t an easy film to digest. It is very slow and a bit repetitive. It asks more questions than it answers, and will likely frustrate those wanting a pat ending, but it raises interesting questions about the real meaning of masculinity.
On this August 12, 2023 edition of the Richard Crouse Show we get to know American film director, production designer, and screenwriter Catherine Hardwicke. Her directorial work includes “Thirteen,” ”Lords of Dogtown,” the megahit “Twilight,” “Miss Bala” and “mafia Momma” among many others. Today she’s here to talk about her latest film, “Prisoner’s Daughter,” a family drama starring “Succession’s” Brian Cox as a father hoping to reconnect with his estranged daughter and her son.
We’ll also meet author Wayne Ng. Wayne is an an award-winning short story and travel writer who was recently nominated for the Guernica Prize for his latest book, a family drama called THE FAMILY CODE, which was, in part, inspired by his 30 year career as a social worker.
Finally, we meet Phil Dellio. His new book, “Happy for a While: “American Pie,” 1972, and the Awkward, Confusing Now,” is a look at the famous Don McLean song and how to approach great art made by people whose personal transgressions become a matter of public record.
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 Chris Pratt, Elvis Costello, Baz Luhrmann, Martin Freeman, David Cronenberg, Mayim Bialik, The Kids in the Hall and many more!
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“North of Normal,” a new coming-of-age movie now playing in theatres, tells the unlikely, but true story of Cea Sunrise Person from her off-the-grid beginnings in the wilderness of Alberta and British Columbia to the runways of the fashion world.
Based on Person’s 2014 memoir, “North of Normal: A Memoir of My Wilderness Childhood, My Counterculture Family, and How I Survived Both,” the movie jumps in time between Cea’s upbringing in the flower power 1970s and her reunion, after a long break, with her free-spirited mother Michelle (Sarah Gadon) in the 1980s.
The story begins in Kootenay Plains, Alberta on a commune run by Micelle’s father “Papa Dick” (Robert Carlyle). Convinced that the “wilderness would solve all their problems,” the older man is a messianic figure firm in his rejection of the outside world. Michelle is 15 years-old- and pregnant with Cea, later played by River Price-Maenpaa as a child.
Cea’s (played as an adolescent and teen by Amanda Fix) life changes when Michelle, after an endless stream of boyfriends, moves them to the city to be with her latest beau. Thrown into a strange new world, Cea relies on Papa Dick’s philosophy—“Never give in to fear.”—and forges a new life, and security, for herself on the high fashion runways of New York and Paris.
“I’m not going to hang around and wait for the world to give me a good life,” she says. “I have a good face, and I’m going to use it.”
The long, strange trip of Person’s unconventional life is brought to life in a heartfelt, yet somewhat conventional film. Gadon embraces her character’s warmth, but also her unpredictability. Michelle isn’t a good mother, but she is Cea’s only support system, and their thorny bond is nicely wrought—warts and all.
“North of Normal” is a simple movie about a complicated relationship. It avoids most of the melodrama that could have flavored the story, although a hair cutting scene comes close, instead, choosing to allow the fine acting to reveal the hidden emotional scars of mother and daughter.
“Prisoner’s Daughter,” a new drama starring Kate Beckinsale and Brian Cox, and now on VOD, is a story of a father, a daughter and second chances.
When we first meet one-time Las Vegas showgirl Maxine (Beckinsale) she is a broke single mom, with a deadbeat ex-husband named Tyler (Tyson Ritter) and Ezra (Christopher Convery), her sweet-natured teenage son. Despite never having paid alimony, Tyler, an abusive addict, wants more control over Ezra’s life. Ezra, meanwhile, is bullied at school, and in need of epilepsy medication Maxine can barely afford.
Maxine’s father Max (Cox) has, by his own admission, been in jail “more times than I care to remember,” but has left his violent ways in the past. “I’m not that guy anymore.”
Max is about to be released from prison on compassionate grounds, after a twelve-year stretch. Diagnosed with terminal pancreatic cancer, he will be discharged if, and only if, he lives with Maxine and Ezra in their small home.
Maxine, still stung by her father’s abandonment years ago, reluctantly agrees but on one condition. “You pay me rent,” she says. “You’re a tenant, that’s it.” She wants nothing to do with her dad. For her, this is a business deal that will help her pay mounting bills.
As Max settles in, he putters around the place, doing some long-needed repairs, teaching Ezra how to handle himself on the playground and calling in favors from his shady friends. With just months left to live, he is searching for reconciliation and redemption. “I know none of this will make up for who I was, or what I did,” he says to Maxine, “but let me be your father for once.”
“Prisoner’s Daughter” has many predictable elements as the ex-con father and his extended family find a new way to be a family, but Hardwicke’s delicate world building, as she presents the stark realities of Maxine’s life, and her efforts to atone for the mistakes of her past and point Ezra on the right track, bring great humanity to the tale.
Audiences expecting Cox to reprise his “Succession” role may be disappointed. Cox does let the old bull run free, bringing an air of menace to Max, but here the performance is tempered by tenderness. He’s a man plagued with regret, trying to unravel the tangled knots in his relationship with Maxine. The connection he builds with Ezra, even when he is teaching the youngster how to fight, is also shrouded in warmth.
Max is tough, but Maxine has a different kind of resolve. Beckinsale gives the character a backstory, a history of abuse that has toughened Maxine, and given her a sense of determination to survive at all costs. She does so with a steely brand of humor, and a great deal of sincerity.
It is the two lead characters, and the attention paid to the little details that form their relationship, that give “Prisoner’s Daughter” its gruff charm. The story is, more or less, predictable, and its anti-violence message is thwarted by a third reel punch-up, but despite the story misfires, it remains a compelling, if somewhat misguided, portrait of redemption.
It’s a movie that wonders if there are best before dates on amends, or if blood is truly thicker than water. Not a game changer story wise, but strong performances and interesting filmmaking earn it a recommend.
“Bones of Crows,” a new period drama now playing in theatres, covers decades of history, but is tied to recent, horrifying events.
Jumping through time, from the 1800s to the 2020s, the story of the intergenerational trauma caused by the Canadian residential school system, focusses on the family of Aline Spears (Grace Dove). A Cree woman born to a large, happy family in 1930s Manitoba, everything changes when Aline and her siblings are forcibly taken from their parents who are told they will be thrown in prison if they don’t sign over their children to the residential school system.
Abused, physically and emotionally—“I could kill you and bury you out back and nobody would care,” a priest snarls at the headstrong Aline.—the priests and nuns systematically attempt to strip the siblings of their Indigenous heritage, religion and identity, forcing them to assimilate them into the dominant Canadian culture. It is, as one character says, “a lesson in unrelenting cruelty.”
During World War II Aline escapes the horrors of the school by enlisting in the Canadian Army.
“The only way we can make sure they don’t send you back to that school is to send you to war.” During her raining to become part of an elite squad of code talkers who used the Cree language to disguise military intelligence, she meets and marries Adam (Phillip Lewitski).
Returning home from war to raise their family, Adam suffers PTSD, while Aline is haunted by the abuse she suffered at the hands of her sadistic teachers.
As the movie skips through time, we learn more about the residential school, Aline’s life after the war, her sister’s legal woes and the next generation, the children that carry the trauma in their DNA.
The process of healing is ever present, however, as Aline remembers the words her mother said to her as she enlisted in the army. “You be everything you are meant to be. Don’t let the darkness win. Don’t let them win.”
Métis-Dene writer and director Marie Clements covers a great deal of ground, much of it hard going. The cruelty and attempts to dehumanize Indigenous youth are brought to horrific life, and the depictions of residential schools; child abuse, sexual and psychological abuse and racism may be very unsettling for many viewers.
But even though the film chronicles a century of generational trauma, it is also a celebration of Cree resilience and tradition. There are eye-opening depictions of atrocities, necessary to tell the story, but as Aline confronts the past, there is also a sense of justice.
It is a story of hard truths, told with skill—despite its sprawling nature, it doesn’t feel bloated—and emotion that gets to the heart of how generational trauma forever altered the lives of the characters.
For better and for worse, “A Good Person,” the new drama, written and directed by Zach Braff, starring Florence Pugh and Morgan Freeman, and now playing in theatres, is a portrait of the messiness of addiction.
Pharmaceutical rep—and part time jazz singer—Allison’s (Pugh) happy, carefree life falls apart when the car she is driving veers off the road, leaving two relatives dead, her future sister-in-law Molly (Nichelle Hines), and Molly’s husband Jesse (Toby Onwumere). Allison survives, but to combat residual pain, is prescribed OxyContin painkillers.
Now, a year later, consumed with guilt, she is unemployed, living at home with her mother Diane (Molly Shannon), estranged from fiancé Nathan (Chinaza Uche) and addicted to the opioids.
Allison’s life shifts when she bumps into Daniel (Morgan), the father of her ex-fiancé and Molly, who perished in the crash, at an AA meeting. The stern, ex-cop—who leans into pronouncements like, “Better to be half-an-hour early, than one minute late.”—blames Allison for the accident, but attempts to find common ground with her and possibly chart a course through their shared grief.
“Neither of us chose this fate,” he says, “but perhaps we can find a way to love it.”
“A Good Person” features fine performances from Pugh and Freeman, but, despite its heavy subject matter, defaults to a feel-good vibe in scene after scene.
Pugh, even with her movie star glow, convinces as a person drained of the will to live and Morgan’s mix of grandpa and Dirty Harry is entertaining and occasionally moving, but they are undone by a script laced with platitudes. Written by Braff, the story brushes up against the edges of the emotionality required to give us all the feels, but every time it begins to feel authentic, it takes a turn to the artificial. Braff never met a manipulative moment he couldn’t exploit, and it blunts the effectiveness of the storytelling.
“A Good Person’s” set-up suggests a deep dive into survivor’s guilt, addiction and, ultimately, forgiveness, but the lack of jagged edges and grit feels more Hallmark than harrowing.
“You Can Live Forever,” a new queer romance set against the backdrop of a Jehovah’s Witness community, is a restrained, poignant look at teenage love.
Set in the early 1990s, the story focusses on transplanted Thunder Bay teenager Jaime (Anwen O’Driscoll). She’s a typical teen of the time, with a taste for getting high, movies, Siouxie and the Banshees T-shirts and playing video games. She’s also gay, but hasn’t told anyone in her family.
Following her father’s sudden heart attack and her distraught mother’s subsequent nervous breakdown, she’s sent to live with her Aunt Beth (Liane Balaban) and Uncle Jean-Francois (Antoine Yared) at a Jehovah’s Witness community in Quebec’s Saguenay region.
Suffering claustrophobia within the tightly-knit community, Jamie feels repressed, like an outsider at the Kingdom Hall meetings she is forced to attend—”What am I supposed to do?” she asks. “Nobody wants me here.”—until she meets Marike (June Laporte).
There are several paths the low-key, deliberately-paced “You Can Live Forever” could have walked, but it chooses warmth and empathy over everything else. Co-directors Sarah Watts—who grew up in a Jehovah’s Witness community—and Mark Slutsky, take pains to paint a portrait of life inside the religious community, but from a thoughtful, not judgemental point of view. Ditto the relationship at the center of the movie. Their bond is taken seriously, not simply a high school fling.
It is not a complicated story but it is a delicate one, handled respectfully by Watts and Slutsky, who also wrote the script. The community’s beliefs are recognised in a story that sees Jamie disagree with her family’s dogmas, but still empathize with them as people. It is a tricky balance, and the way Jamie accepts Marike’s religious background is a tangible sign of the deep affection she has for her.
“You Can Live Forever” pays careful attention to the characters to avoid falling into stereotypes or hitting inauthentic notes. It is a little too methodical in its approach, but the emotional impact of this story of star-crossed lovers is hard to deny.
