Fast reviews for busy people! Watch as I review three movies in less time than it takes to do a high five! Have a look as I race against the clock to tell you about the Christmas actioner “Red One,” the drama “Magpie” and the stop motion animated “Memoirs of a Snail.”
Watch the whole thing HERE!
SYNOPSIS: The weird and wonderful stop-motion film “Memoir of a Snail” is the heartbreaking but somehow life-affirming story of Grace Pudel, voiced by “Succession’s” Sarah Snook. She’s a young girl in 1970s Melbourne, Australia who collects snails, to fill the void left by her inability to make connections with others. “If I saw something snail-y,” she says, “it had to be mine. I became a snail hoarder.”
CAST: Sarah Snook, Kodi Smit-McPhee, Eric Bana, Magda Szubanski, Dominique Pinon, Tony Armstrong, Paul Capsis, Nick Cave, and Jacki Weaver. Written, produced and directed by Adam Elliot.
REVIEW: An animated film for adults, “Memoir of a Sail” touches on alcoholism, loneliness, shame, grief and even “Prey the Gay Away.”
Grace, a clay figure with sad, watery eyes and a knit cap with snail antennae, is the kind of character who could have escaped from Edward Gorey’s “Gashlycrumb Tinies,” but as tragic as her life may be right from the start—her mother died giving birth to her and her twin brother Gilbert (voiced by Kody Smith-McPhee)—she perseveres, struggling as life lobs grenades at her. Sarah Snook’s lowkey, but empathetic voice work goes a long way to humanizing Grace and her journey.
Australian actor Jacki Weaver, as the elderly, former table dancer Grace befriends, also delivers knowck-out voice work. “For the first time in my life I feel older than I look, and I look like a testicle,” she says.
Grace’s lot in life is miserable, and yet despite all the grimy love, loss and heartache on display, writer-director Adam Elliot manages to mine humor, a sense of hope and courage from the mostly melancholy material.
The painstaking, frame-by-frame animation is gloomily beautiful with stunning details woven into the film’s fabric. That it is also 100% CGI free brings an organic, handmade feel that gives the images, and by extension the entire movie, a great deal of heart. “Life has bashed me around a bit,” Grace says near the end of the movie, “but the roses smell better, and I am finally becoming the person I always wanted.”
“Father Stu,” a new, inspirational Mark Wahlberg movie, now playing in theatres, is the unlikely, but true, story of a potty-mouthed, rough ‘n tumble boxer whose road to redemption begins with a detour into the Catholic Church.
When we first meet Stuart Long (Wahlberg), he’s an amateur boxer with visions of the big time. He’s good, but not good enough to go pro, as his mother (Jacki Weaver) likes to point out. “Don’t be careless with your life,” she says. “You’re the age when most people pack it in.”
He’s an angry guy. Angry at his deadbeat father (Mel Gibson). Angry at his little brother who died young. Angry at himself and the world.
He’s a nasty drunk with a hair trigger temper, but when a medical condition forces him to retire from the ring, he sets his eyes on Hollywood. “I’ll cash in on my face,” he says. “Not my fists.”
A smooth talker, he manages to get a job at a grocery store where he hopes to meet actors and directors who will give him a gig. Instead, he meets Carmen (Teresa Ruiz) a devote Catholic who reluctantly begins dating the unpolished Stu, but only if he gets baptized. She is, as a friend says, “as Catholic as the cross itself.”
His road to redemption begins as he helps Carmen teach Sunday School. His plain-spoken way is a hit with the kids, Carmen and even her strict father but it takes a drunken motorcycle accident for Stu to literally see the light and devote himself to the church. “God saved me to show there is a reason why I’m here,” he says as he tells Carmen of his intention to become a priest.
In a life filled with dramatic turns, there is one more in store for Stu. One that may prevent him from realizing his dream of becoming a priest. “God is all about fighting the odds,” he says, “of having the strength to endure a difficult life.”
“Father Stu” has inspiration to spare. It is a movie about religion’s power to heal and motivate, which will have many saying “Amen,” but the story’s execution resembles a movie of the week, with predictable plot points and an accelerated timeline that packs too much into too little time.
Even at two hours, the pacing is jagged as director and writer Rosalind Ross attempts to cover as many facets of Stu’s personality as possible. She takes the adage “everything happens for a reason” to an extreme and, as such, the movie feels rushed on some scenes, too leisurely in others, but rarely gives us the deep insight that would make Stu’s motivations resonate.
Wahlberg, who also produced the film after hearing Stu’s story during dinner with a group of priests, undergoes an extreme transformation to play the character—and I don’t mean his ridiculous moustache. His charisma shines through the weight and make-up and it is in these scenes that he elevates Stu from the cartoonish bad boy of the movie’s first half, into a compelling character. It’s too bad, that Ross attempts to tie up some of the loose story threads just as the personal story really finds its humanity.
“Father Stu” is being released around Easter, so given its subject matter and messages, it would appear to be a movie for the whole family, but be warned, Stu’s language is authentic, i.e. pretty raunchy throughout the film’s running time.
“Father Stu” is a movie about change, about overcoming obstacles and living with purpose. Good messages all, it’s just too bad they are tied up in a clumsy movie.
For the second time in less than ten years Naomi Watts is playing a woman injured while in Thailand. In “The Impossible” she was nominated for an Academy Award for playing a woman whose luxurious Thai holiday is turned to tragedy by the 2004 Boxing Day tsunami that claimed 230,000 lives.
Now she stars in “Penguin Bloom,” the based-on-a-true story of a woman paralyzed after a fall during a Thai family vacation.
“Penguin Bloom” has considerably less action than “The Impossible” but both are about a family’s ability to pull together in times of crisis.
Watts is Samantha Bloom, a once active mother and athlete, now confined to a wheelchair after a fall left the lower two-thirds of her body paralyzed. Back home in New South Wales she has trouble adjusting to her new normal, despite support from her immediate family, husband Cameron (“The Walking Dead’s” Andrew Lincoln), Jan (Jacki Weaver) and kids, Noah (Griffin Murray-Johnston) who asked for his mother to sightsee with him that fateful day and now feels responsible for her injury, Oli (Abe Clifford-Barr) and Rueben (Felix Cameron).
When Noah brings an injured magpie home, nicknamed Penguin because of her black and white coloring, Samantha doesn’t want the bird in the house. Soon, however, Penguin becomes a guardian angel of sorts, giving Sam companionship and inspiration. If the bird can heal herself, Sam reasons, so can I.
“Penguin Bloom” is a story of healing written in broad strokes. It is an unabashed feel-good movie that feels a bit too on-the-nose from time to time—”It must be weird to have wings, but not be able to fly,” they say about Penguin, but the dual meaning is not lost on anyone.—but warmth and nice performances ultimately win the day.
Weaver is a pleasure, as always, and the younger kids bring a spark of adolescent realism to the events, but the movie belongs to Watts, who effectively portrays the mix of anger, frustration and tenderness that make her character compelling and Murray-Johnston as Noah, in his debut performance. The young actor brings a heartbreaking mix of kindness and regret to the role as he struggles with his feelings of responsibility.
“Walking Dead” fans will be disappointed that Lincoln is given little to do, but it is a relief to see him play a role that doesn’t require him to be covered in viscera.
“Penguin Bloom’s” story of struggle and survival, both human and avian, is predictable but, just as Penguin learns to take to the skies through trial and error, the film takes some wrong steps but ultimately makes your spirit soar.
“Never Too Late,” story of four friends, separated by distance, experience and fifty years starring James Cromwell, is sweet and sentimental but has a serious message at its core. The four Vietnam vets chase their dreams to VOD this week.
After a daring escape from a Vietnamese POW camp, Jeremiah Caine (Dennis Waterman), Jack Bronson (Cromwell), Angus Wilson (Jack Thompson) and Bruce Wendell (Shane Jacobson) were called The Chain Breakers. Half a century later they’re reunited at the Hogan Hills Retirement Home for Returned Veterans when Bronson checks himself in under the guise of recovering from a serious stroke. He’s conned his way into the facility not to hang out with his old pals but to reconnect with the love of his life, former combat nurse Norma (Jacki Weaver). “Sometimes it takes a lifetime to find a happy ending,” she says. But soon after the meet she is transferred to another hospital for a three-month drug trial for Alzheimer’s Disease, leaving Bronson and Company behind.
Thrown together once again in a different sort of prison, Bronson rallies the troops for one last operation of daring do. “We’re the Chainbreakers,” he says. “We don’t sit around feeling sorry for ourselves, we get the job done. I’m going to finish this mission.” They’re not as young as they used to be, but Bronson devises a plan, a run to freedom and Norma.
It’s “The Great Escape,” senior’s style.
“Never Too Late’s” feels like a light, old-codger comedy but at its heart, right next to the pacemaker, is a commentary on how seniors—and in this case, veterans—are treated in long term care. Hogan Hills is essentially a jail with barbed-wired grounds, attendants who behave like guards and while there are no bars, there are more locked doors than Riker’s Island. It’s a timely social issue and is given a fair treatment here.
The engine that keeps “Never Too Late” moving forward, however, are the actors. The Australians, Waterman, Thompson and Jacobson, offer up broad comedic performances tempered by enough sentimentality to make their hijinks likable. Cromwell and Weaver, however, bring the humanity. Their relationship, and their shot at happiness after fifty years, is the is the soul of the film. A subplot involving an evil doctor (Renee Lim) looking for revenge feels wedged in and briefly disrupts the movie’s flow.
“Never Too Late’s” predictability—let’s face it, we all know where this is going—is blunted by the actors and the warmth of the characters who get one more shot at adventure and happiness.
“Widows” may be one of the most subversive heist films ever made. Based on a British mini-series from the 1980’s it stars Viola Davis, Elizabeth Debicki, Michelle Rodriguez and Cynthia Erivo as four women bonded by debts left to some very bad men by their late husbands. It is part caper flick and part survival story that makes strong statements on hot button topics like sexism, poverty, prejudice, power and police brutality.
Set in modern day Chicago, the action in the story begins when Harry (Liam Neeson) and his crew of robbers gunned down and blown up after a heist gone wrong. His widow, teachers’ union executive Veronica Rawlins (Viola Davis), is left with a $2 million debt to local crime boss Jamal Manning (Brian Tyree Henry). Manning is a tough guy attempting a stab at legitimacy by entering politics, running against corrupt local alderman, Jack Mulligan (Colin Farrell). Manning wants his money and, after mistreating Veronica’s dog, gives her just one month to come up with the cash. “That money was meant to buy me a new life,” snarls Jamal. “That money was about my life. Now it is about yours.” If she can’t come up with the cash she’ll have to deal with psychopathic strong arm Jatemme Manning (Daniel Kaluuya).
It is a dire situation but Veronica has a plan, or rather, a notebook and a plan. Harry left behind a handwritten book detailing every bribe he ever paid and blueprints for a future heist. Putting the widows of her late husband’s hoodlum crew to work (Debicki, Rodriguez, and non-widow Cynthia Erivo), she creates a gang of her own to steal $5 million cash and save their lives. “I’m the only thing standing between you and a bullet in your head,” says Veronica.
Co-written by McQueen and Gillian Flynn, the author and screenwriter of “Gone Girl,” “Widows” is a tightly constructed thriller that builds with each passing moment. McQueen takes his time with the material, allowing the audience to get to know the characters, to learn what’s at stake if this caper goes south.
First and foremost is Davis, fierce and formidable. Her evolution from executive and unsuspecting wife to criminal mastermind is emotional, logical and very motivated.
Opposite her is Debicki as a damaged woman whose own mother suggests prostitution as a career choice to make things meet. Her shift from abused woman to a person completely in control of her life and the way she is perceived—“It’s mine to be ashamed of or be proud of,” she says. “It’s my life.”—is one of the film’s true pleasures.
The cast is universally strong. Farrell could use a different accent coach but Kaluuya is evil personified, a psychopath with dead eyes and an attitude.
“Widows” is a stylish art house heist flick that pays tribute to the genre but layers in not only intrigue but also social commentary about racism, the cost of political power and the imbalance of power between some of the female characters and their male counterparts. The thrills will appeal both to your heart and head.
An aggressive but damaged comedic persona goes back to school. It worked well when Rodney Dangerfield did it in 1986 but will it work as well a second time? Melissa McCarthy hopes to find out with this week’s release of “Life of the Party.”
The “Bridesmaid” star plays enthusiastic domestic engineer Deanna, devoted wife of Dan (Matt Walsh), mother of senior year university student Maddie (Molly Gordon). When Dan unexpectedly dumps her, abruptly ending their twenty-three year marriage, she takes control of her destiny. “What am I going to do?” she asks. “Take spin classes? Oh no. I don’t want to start a blog.” Instead of any of that it’s back to school for Deanna for the first time since Counting Crows topped the charts.
Enrolled at the same university as her daughter, Deanna blossoms. Embracing life around the quad she discovers everything she missed during her marriage. Her journey of self-discovery includes hanging out with Maddie’s friends and getting friendly with the campus frat boys.
Like “Back to School,” “Life of the Party” isn’t a particularly good movie. The first half is brutal, with so few laughs its hardtop even label it a comedy. The second half is much better but still, scenes end when it feels like they are just getting started or at least like there is one better joke to come. When it really goes for laughs between beyond Seanna’s sentimentality, self-help platitudes and momisms, however, it earns them. A mediation scene is laugh-out-loud, the relationships gel and Maya Rudolph needs to make the jump from supporting roles to the above the title star.
Mostly though, the film features the relentless likability of Melissa McCarthy. I’m not sure she elevates the material (which she co-wrote with her director husband Ben Falcone) but she brings some heart to it and in this story of a mother and daughter, that’s enough.
THE GOOD (in alphabetical order)
Baby Driver: Although it contains more music than most tuneful of movies “Baby Driver,” the new film from director Edgar Wright, isn’t a musical in the “West Side Story,” “Sound of Music” sense. Wallpapered with 35 rock ‘n roll songs on the soundtrack it’s a hard driving heist flick that can best be called an action musical.
The Big Sick: Even when “The Big Sick” is making jokes about terrorism and the “X-Files” it is all heart, a crowd-pleaser that still feels personal and intimate.
Call Me By Your Name: This is a movie of small details that speak to larger truths. Director Luca Guadagnino keeps the story simple relying on the minutiae to add depth and beauty to the story. The idyllic countryside, the quaint town, the music of the Psychedelic Furs and the languid pace of a long Italian summer combine to create the sensual backdrop against which the romance between the two blossoms. Guadagnino’s camera captures it all, avoiding the pitfalls of melodrama to present a story that is pure emotion. It feels real and raw, haunted by the ghosts of loves gone by.
Darkest Hour: This is a historical drama with all the trappings of “Masterpiece Theatre.” You can expect photography, costumes and period details are sumptuous. What you may not expect is the light-hearted tone of much of the goings on. While this isn’t “Carry On Churchill,” it has a lighter touch that might be expected. Gary Oldman, not an actor known for his comedic flourishes, embraces the sly humour. When Churchill becomes Prime Minister his wife, Clementine (Kristin Scott Thomas) makes an impassioned speech about the importance of the work he is about to take on. He raises a glass and, cutting through the emotion of the moment, says, “Here’s to not buggering it up!” It shows a side of Churchill not often revealed in wartime biopics.
The Disaster Artist: The key to pulling off “The Disaster Artist” is not recreating “The Room” beat for beat, although they do that, it’s actually about treating Wiseau as a person and not an object of fun. He’s an outrageous character and Franco commits to it 100%. From the marble-mouthed speech pattern that’s part Valley Girl and part Beaker from The Muppets to the wild clothes and stringy hair, he’s equal parts creepy and lovable but underneath his bravado are real human frailties. Depending on your point of view he’s either delusional or aspirational but in Franco’s hands he’s never also never less than memorable. It’s a broad, strange performance but it may also be one of the actor’s best.
Dunkirk: This is an intense movie but it is not an overly emotional one. The cumulative effect of the vivid images and sounds will stir the soul but despite great performances the movie doesn’t necessarily make you feel for one character or another. Instead its strength is in how it displays the overwhelming sense of scope of the Dunkirk mission. With 400,000 men on the ground with more in the air and at sea, the sheer scope of the operation overpowers individuality, turning the focus on the collective. Director Christopher Nolan’s sweeping camera takes it all in, epic and intimate moments alike.
The Florida Project: This is, hands down, one of the best films of the year. Low-budget and naturalistic, it packs more punch than any superhero. Director Sean Baker defies expectations. He’s made a film about kids for adults that finds joy in rocky places. What could have been a bleak experience or an earnest message movie is brought to vivid life by characters that feel real. It’s a story about poverty that neither celebrates or condemns its characters. Mooney’s exploits are entertaining and yet an air of jeopardy hangs heavy over every minute of the movie. Baker knows that Halley and Moonie’s well being hangs by a thread but he also understands they exist in the real world and never allows their story to fall into cliché.
Get Out: This is the weirdest and most original mainstream psychodrama to come along since “The Babadook.” The basic premise harkens back to the Sidney Poitier’s classic “Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner.” In that film parents, played by Spencer Tracy and Katharine Hepburn, have their attitudes challenged when their daughter introduces them to her African American fiancé. The uncomfortable situation of meeting in-laws for the first time is universal. It’s the added layers of paranoia and skewered white liberalism that propels the main character’s (Daniel Kaluuya) situation into full-fledged horror. In this setting he is the other, the stranger and as his anxiety grows the social commentary regarding attitudes about race in America grows sharper and more focussed.
Lady Bird: Greta Gerwig’s skilful handling of the story of Lady Bird’s busy senior year works not just because it’s unvarnished and honest in its look at becoming an adult but also, in a large degree, to Saoirse Ronan’s performance. I have long called her ‘Lil Meryl. She’s an actor of unusual depth, a young person (born in 1994) with an old soul. Lady Bird is almost crushed by the weight of uncertainty that greets her with every turn—will her parents divorce, will there be money for school, will Kyle be the boy of her dreams, will she ever make enough cash to repay her parents for her upbringing?—but Ronan keeps her nimble, sidestepping teen ennui with a complicated mix of snappy one liners, hard earned wisdom and a well of emotion. It’s tremendous, Academy Award worthy work.
The Post: Steven Spielberg film is a fist-pump-in-the-air look at the integrity and importance of a free press. It’s a little heavy-handed but these are heavy-handed times. Director Spielberg and stars Tom Hanks and Meryl Streep are entertainers first and foremost, and they do entertain here, but they also shine a light on a historical era whose reverberations are being felt today stronger than ever.
The Shape of Water: A dreamy slice of pure cinema. Director Guillermo del Toro uses the stark Cold War as a canvas to draw warm and vivid portraits of his characters. It’s a beautiful creature feature ripe with romance, thrills and, above all, empathy for everyone. This is the kind of movie that reminds us of why we fell in love with movies in the first place.
Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri: The story of a mother’s unconventional war with the world is simple enough, it’s the complexity of the characters that elevates the it to the level of great art.
Wonder Woman: Equal parts Amazon sword and sandal epic, mad scientist flick, war movie and rom com, it’s a crowd pleaser that places the popular character front and centre. As played by Gal Gadot, Diana is charismatic and kick ass, a superhero who is both truly super and heroic. Like Superman she is firmly on the side of good, not a tortured soul à la Batman. Naïve to the ways of the world, she runs headfirst into trouble. Whether she’s throwing a German tank across a battlefield, defying gravity to leap to the top of a bell tower, tolerating Trevor’s occasional mansplaining or deflecting bullets with her indestructible Bracelets of Submission, she proves in scene after scene to be both a formidable warrior and a genuine, profoundly empathic character.
By Richard Crouse – Metro In Focus
The Disaster Artist details a filmmaker whose artistic ambitions outweigh his talent. Tommy Wiseau, the writer, director, producer and star of The Room, is the title character, a man who miraculously and unwittingly turns disaster into triumph.
The key to telling the story of the making of the worst film ever is not recreating The Room beat for beat — it’s actually about treating Wiseau as a person and not an object of fun. He’s an outrageous character and James Franco commits to it 100 per cent. From the marble-mouthed speech pattern that’s part Valley Girl and part Beaker from The Muppets, to the wild clothes and stringy hair, he’s equal parts creepy and lovable. But underneath his bravado are real human frailties. Depending on your point of view, he’s either delusional or aspirational, but in Franco’s hands he’s also never less than memorable.
Wiseau is undeniably a terrible filmmaker and actor. The Room is an incomprehensible mess, a movie so misguided it starts off bad, gets worse and keeps going, through sheer force of will to become enjoyable. It’s a film so awful audiences can’t take their eyes off it, like a car crash.
In that sense Wiseau reminds me of Ed D. Wood Jr., another filmmaker whose name has been synonymous with failure and ridicule. The 1980 book The Golden Turkey Awards singled out Wood’s movie Plan 9 from Outer Space in the Worst Movie Ever Made category while also hanging the title of Worst Director around his neck.
To be sure Mr. Wood was no Cecil B. DeMille, but he doesn’t deserve the critical sneers levelled at his work. Certainly movies like Glen or Glenda and Jail Bait were restricted by their über-low budgets and appear hopelessly amateurish, littered by ridiculous special effects and melodramatic acting, but they are entertaining and isn’t that what it’s all about? Many directors have spent a lot more money and not come close to delivering the same kind of giddy fun that The Sinister Urge pulsates with.
Take Michael Bay for instance. His movies make loads of money at the box office, but never fail to put me to sleep. Visually his films are spectacular feasts for the eyes. The former commercial director has a knack for making everything look shiny but having great taste doesn’t make a great film director any more than great taste makes a Snickers bar a gourmet meal.
To my mind the difference between awful auteurs Wiseau and Wood and Hollywood hit-maker Bay is simple. Wiseau and Wood’s films are inexpertly but lovingly made by someone desperate to share their vision. Bay’s big glitzy movies feel like cynical money grabs more concerned with the bottom line than personal expression. I’m quite sure that if Bay had to undergo the trials and tribulations Wood had to suffer to get his movies made he would run to the hills, or maybe just back to his big house in the Hollywood Hills.
The Disaster Artist is a love letter to the movies and how they are the stuff dreams are made of. As for the success of Wiseau’s dream? It’s like what Adam Scott says about The Room in one of the film’s celebrity testimonials, “Who watches the best picture from a decade ago? But people are still watching The Room.”
