SYNOPSIS: “The Room Next Door,” the first English-language feature film from Spanish maestro Pedro Almodóvar, now playing in theatres, sees Julianne Moore and Tilda Swinton play old friends brought together in a life-or-death situation.
CAST: Tilda Swinton, Julianne Moore, John Turturro, Alessandro Nivola. Directed by Pedro Almodóvar.
REVIEW: Adapted from the novel “What Are You Going Through” by Sigrid Nunez, “The Room Next Door” is the story of two friends who lost track of one another when they became successful. Now a bestselling author, Ingrid (Julianne Moore) first met war correspondent Martha (Tilda Swinton) when they worked at the same magazine in the 1980s. As they found acclaim their paths diverged, with Martha always off on assignment and Ingrid making her home in Paris.
Decades later Ingrid is in New York when she hears that her old friend is undergoing an experimental treatment for cervical cancer. They meet and it’s like no time has passed.
They talk about old times; secrets are shared and then the bombshell. (MILD SPOILER AHEAD) Martha is ready to die but would like Ingrid to be there when it happens. Ingrid, whose latest book is about the fear of death is trepidatious and heartbroken but agrees. “It feels unnatural to me,” she says. “I can’t accept that something alive has to die.”
Essentially a two hander, there are several other characters, but it is the complicated, loving relationship between Ingrid and Martha that will linger in the memory. As they rekindle their relationship the sense that the clock is ticking hangs heavy over their scenes, and they make the most of every second.
Their reminiscences take on a certain weight, as Martha grapples with her legacy, as a writer and a mother, and Ingrid contemplates the legality of her involvement with her friend’s plan to take her own life. Their scenes are a masterfully performed emotional jumble of guilt, humor and regret.
“The Room Next Door” acknowledges the morality of the situation with compassion. The story, while bleak, manages to find a life affirming vibe, based on the interaction of the leads, as the movie winds through to the inevitable end.
“Pinocchio,” the wooden boy with a lie detector for a nose and dreams of becoming a real boy bouncing around his sawdusty brain, is one of the most reimagined characters in children’s literature. Earlier this year Tom Hanks starred in a traditional remake of the 138 year-old-story that echoed the classic Disney film.
The Oscar winning director of “The Shape of Water” takes the story in his own direction in “Guillermo Del Toro’s Pinocchio,” a stop motion retelling, now playing in theatres and coming soon to Netflix. In what may be the only version of the story featuring a cameo by Mussolini, the movie travels a different, darker path than previous adaptations.
Del Toro keeps the original story’s Italian location, but places the action between World Wars I and II. Woodworker Geppetto (voiced by David Bradley) is a skilled artisan, lovingly teaching his young son Carlo the ropes of the craft while working on large crucifix at a local church. When Carlo is killed in a bombing raid, Geppetto spirals into despair and alcoholism.
While soothing his loss with booze, the heartbroken Geppetto cuts down an Italian pine tree near his late son’s grave and builds a roughhewn puppet as a replacement for his boy. Gangly, with a long nose, the puppet sits slumped in Geppetto’s workshop until a magical Wood Sprite (voice of Tilda Swinton) breathes life into him and appoints Sebastian J. Cricket (voice of Ewan McGregor), a mustachioed insect who lives inside the puppet, as his guide and conscience.
The rowdy newborn, dubbed Pinocchio (voice of Gregory Mann), doesn’t make a great first impression on Geppetto or the local townsfolk. But as Geppetto warms to him, the locals, including fascist government official Podestà (Ron Perlman), don’t quite know what to make of him.
“Everybody likes him,” says Pinocchio, pointing to the still under construction crucifix. “He’s made of wood too. Why do they like him and not me?”
As Pinocchio tries to figure out his place in the world, he soon discovers that not everyone has his best interests in mind.
This is not your parent’s “Pinocchio.” Del Toro sticks to the bones of author Carlo Collodi’s original plot, but expands the story with a deep dive into what it means to be human, mortality, the weight of expectation and the horrors of fascism. It doesn’t sound particularly family friendly, but while there are some intense, nightmarish images, this is a fairy tale in the Brothers Grimm tradition. It speaks to the issues surrounding growing up, whether you’re made of wood or flesh and blood, and should be fine for kids ten and up.
Visually spectacular, the stop motion animation gives the movie a more organic feel than it may have had if rendered in computer generated images. Rich in detail and imagination, the film’s style mixes and matches dreams with nightmares to create a palette that paints the fanciful and the earthbound in equal measure.
“Guillermo Del Toro’s Pinocchio” does something remarkable. Just as the Wood Sprite breathed new life into Geppetto’s puppet, Del Toro breathes new life into a very familiar and often-told story. He is buoyed by fine voice work and visuals, but it is the auteur’s allegorical stamp that really brings this wooden boy to life.
On some level Batman has always been escapist entertainment. The comics, TV shows and movies have always tackled big topics like morality, vengeance and the razor’s edge between anarchy and order but between Adam West’s grin, Michael Keaton’s gadgets and Christian Bale’s colorful foes, escapism is always part of the mix.
“The Batman,” starring Robert Pattison as the Caped Crusader, and now playing in theatres, is three hours of entertaining Bataction but the real-world themes of distrust in elected officials, our constitutions and each other, provide anything but escapism.
The story begins on Halloween night, as costumed criminals swarm Gotham City. As chaos reigns on the streets, the Bat-Signal illuminates the sky. “When the light hits the sky it’s not just a beacon,” says Batman (Pattison), “it’s a warning… to them. Fear is a tool.”
It’s a tool Batman uses effectively. His masked presence, his fists of fury and habit of snarling, “I’m vengeance,” have made him a fearsome presence in Gotham City. The rank-and-file police don’t know what to make of the Caped Crusader, but Detective James Gordon (Jeffrey Wright) sees him as an asset, particularly when high ranking city officials begin dying at the hands of The Riddler (Paul Dano), a psychopath whose costume suggests he is a fan of the Gimp from “Pulp Fiction.”
At each grisly murder the Riddler leaves behind a cutesy card for Batman, inscribed with a riddle, like “What does a liar do when he dies?” that could serve as a clue to solve the crime.
As the evidence, and the bodies, pile up, Batman’s investigation leads him to a wide-ranging conspiracy involving a local crime boss (John Turturro), his minion Oswald Cobblepot a.k.a. The Penguin (Colin Farrell doing a pretty good impression of James Gandolfini), a long-held Wayne family secret and nightclub worker and cat burglar Selina Kyle a.k.a. Catwoman (Zoë Kravitz).
“The Batman’s” almost three-hour running time may seem daunting, particularly in the wake of several overly long superhero movies that haven’t delivered the goods. I’m happy to report that director Matt Reeves has crafted a movie that flies by in the bat of an eye.
This is not an origin story, that tale has been told over and over. It is more of a coming-of-age tale. As played by Pattison, Bruce Wayne is a dour and sour hero who, when asked, “Are you hideously scarred?” replies “Yeah.” His scars, however, are all on the inside.
He is driven by a sense of vengeance to clean up the streets of the kind of people who killed his parents. That, he says, is his legacy, not the fabulously wealth of Wayne Enterprises. As the story progresses his mood doesn’t change—it’s as if Pattison’s perfect cheekbones would shatter if he ever cracks a smile—but his outlook does. Batman may be the face of vengeance, but by the time the end credits roll, he realizes hope trumps vengeance. “People need hope,” he says. “To know someone is out there for them. The city is angry. The city won’t change, but I have to try.”
After five “Twilight” movies Pattison understands how to brood on screen. He is comfortable with the stillness the character requires, which works well to emphasize the Batman’s loner status. The stillness of the character, when he isn’t running, jumping or jackhammering a bad guy, suggests a calm but that sense is betrayed by the simmering rage behind Pattison’s eyes. It is that anger that gives him an unspoken reason to exist.
This is a Batman who is still figuring things out, who is fueled by his single-minded need for revenge, but working to funnel his energies in a way that will benefit him, the people he loves and Gotham City. He doesn’t have superpowers, just a powerful drive and a handful of gadgets. He’s a one-man army, and Pattison does a good job of showing us, not telling us, the complexity of the character.
Director Reeves has stripped away much of the slickness of the Christopher Nolan and Zack Snyder films in favor of a grittier vision. Think 1970s movies like “Chinatown,” “The French Connection” or “Taxi Driver.” Reeves has made a boiled down detective noir that scales back the theatrics of previous versions to concentrate on the personal stuff.
But that doesn’t mean there isn’t action to spare. The new Batmobile, now a muscle car, makes its debut in a wild car chase and Pattison’s Batman doesn’t kill people, unlike Affleck’s take on the character, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t willing to pummel the heck out of his adversaries.
“The Batman” is an interesting new direction for the Caped Crusader movies. There have been better villains in other films and the sins of the father angle has been explored before, but this movie captures the zeitgeist in a very interesting way. It confronts hot button topics like the alt right, agents of chaos and lying politicians, issues ripped from the headlines, but is tempered with a message of hope, of rebuilding belief in the world around us.
I suppose every generation gets the Batman they deserve. Our hard knock world has delivered us a Batman with an edge; a troubled hero who almost succumbs to his worst tendencies, but, in the end, looks toward a horizon of hope. It’s a powerful message for our world gone mad, particularly when it comes from a guy in a mask.
“The Jesus Rolls,” John Turturro’s revisiting of his classic “Big Lebowski” bowling alley character Jesus Quintana, is a story of bad decisions made and acted on but one can’t help but wonder is the worst decision was to resurrect Quintana in the first place.
The ride begins with Quintana leaving Sing Sing prison where he served time for what he calls a misunderstanding about indecent exposure in a public bathroom. Hooking up with his best friend Petey (Bobby Cannavale), he struts and swaggers his way back into trouble starting with the theft of a vintage muscle car. When Petey is shot by the auto’s owner, a hairdresser played by Jon Hamm, they hit the road, putting some space between them and the law. Quintana already has two strikes, another arrest and he’s going to jail and never coming out. Along for the ride is Marie (Audrey Tautou), a shampooist and the hairdresser’s former girlfriend. Their adventures, both criminal and erotic, begin with a visit to Quintana’s prostitute mother (Sonia Braga). “She’s better than no mother at all,” he says.
“The Jesus Rolls” is not a “Big Lebowski” sequel. The Coen Brothers gave the OK to bring Jesus back to cinematic life but Turturro opted to base his story on the freewheeling 1974 French farce “Les Valseuses” (“Going Places”).
Sequel or not, tribute flick or not, “The Jesus Rolls” is a gutter ball. As a character Jesus is best seen in small does. He’s a standout in “The Big Lebowski” because he’s an oddball in a film that celebrates oddballs. His two scenes are memorable, blessed with quotable dialogue and quirky tics—he licks the bowling balls before launching them at the pins—but a little of him goes a long way. He’s like garlic. One or two cloves adds flavor; the whole head is overkill.
“The Jesus Rolls” may share a character with “The Big Lebowski” but it has none of its charm. Despite a poignant performance by Susan Sarandon as a woman fresh out of prison and a well-chosen soundtrack, Turturro’s film proves that in the case of Quintana, sometimes less is more.
It’ll take more than a few White Russians to wash “The Jesus Rolls” down.
“Gloria Bell,” a new film starring Julianne Moore, tells a story about one woman navigating between loneliness and love.
In the remake of his 2013 film “Gloria” Chilean director Sebastián Lelio casts Moore as the title character, a fifty-something divorcee looking for love. An office worker by day, she haunts the discos of suburban Los Angeles in the evening. One night she meets Arnold (John Turturro), a recently divorced man still tethered to his former wife by his ever-present cell phone. They hit it off; he serenades her with quirky, romantic poetry, teaches her how to play paintball and makes her laugh. He meets her family, including the ex-husband (Brad Garrett) and son (Michael Cera) and seems to be falling hard for Gloria. Except for that damn cell phone. Every time it rings it splits his attention between his dramatic former family and Gloria. The prospects for long-term love become more distant every time his phone rings.
“Gloria Bell” is a shot-for-shot remake of Lelio’s 2013 film. It’s a movie that doesn’t rely on conventional narrative but rather focuses on the characters to tell the tale. To that end Moore works wonders. In each episodic snippet Moore illuminates Gloria, giving us everything we need to know in the subtlest of ways. A turn of the head, a too-loud laugh or the way she sings along to the radio. Each of these flourishes breathes life into a character fighting against becoming invisible in a world that values youth.
It’s an astounding performance especially in its understated moments. When Gloria gearshifts from tears to laughter as the weight of a bad relationship lifts or finally dances to her own beat on the dance floor, Moore is vulnerable and jubilant, awkward and comfortable, and always relatable.
Theses days the word landline conjures up a specific retro feel. It harkens back to a time before everyone played Candy Crush on their mobile devices and when pay phones dotted the landscape. That’s the world where the new Jenny Slate dramedy “Landline” takes place.
It’s New York City, 1995. Dana Jacobs (Slate) is a layout artist at Paper Magazine when she isn’t at Blockbuster with her fiancée Ben (Jay Duplass) agonizing over what movie to rent. Younger sister Ali (Abby Quinn) is as free-spirited as her sibling is buttoned down.
“You’re like a piece of toilet paper stuck to my shoe,” Dana says to Ali. “You are the embodiment of constipation,” Ali snaps back.
Despite their differences the sisters bond when Ali discovers erotic poetry her father Alan (John Turturro) wrote for a woman who is not his wife Pat (Edie Falco). Their disgust for his actions brings them together, despite the fact that Dana has thrown off the shackles of engagement and embarked on a secret journey of self-discovery with Nate (Finn Wittrock). “I am flailing,” she says. “Trying to figure out if the life I have picked for myself is the one that I want.” “We are a family of cheaters!” Ali exclaims.
“Landline” uses infidelity as a backdrop for a study of partnership and family. Everyone’s relationship is teetering on the edge and yet this is a hopeful movie, a film that suggests monogamy is viable when given room to breathe.
“Obvious Child” director Gillian Robespierre brings a strong ensemble together, elevating the material with strong performances. Duplass is suitably milquetoast as Ben, the dull but lovable fiancée. Turturro and Falco breathe life into characters that in lesser hands might have been caricatures or worse, simply a plot device to support the sisters’ story.
The stars here, however, are Slate and Quinn. They look like sisters but their chemistry extends beyond the skin deep. Slate’s giggles and affectionate asides—“You’re a weird little bird.”—feel authentic, as though these two have a long shared history that predates anything we see on the screen. They bring humanity and sympathy to the film despite their foibles.
“Landline” is an engaging portrait of broken relationships in an analogue time. It’s a gently heart tugging story about the consequences of breaking relationship rules. There are jokes and there are tears but mainly “Landline” has a wistful tone that gets under your skin.
Familiar but fresh. If you are a Hollywood executive you probably say these words a hundred times a day. In pitch meetings and story conferences those f-words are a mantra in a town that never met an idea it couldn’t recycle.
Convinced that audiences will only respond to variations on brands they are already familiar with, this summer the studios are offering freshened up versions of The Mummy, Amityville Horror and Spider-Man among others. Hollywood, the Nation’s Blue Bin. The biggest and loudest of the bunch will likely be Transformers: The Last Knight, the fifth film based on the toys created by Hasbro and Tomy.
Once again directed by Michael Bay, the movie reportedly cost a budget-busting $260 million. The special effects-laden story of humans vs. Transformers and a mysterious artifact is on track to make multi-millions domestically and worldwide, one of the few aging tentpole films to beat audience blockbuster fatigue.
It’s familiar but fresh.
In the familiar department you have Mark Wahlberg as star, the return of heroic Autobot leader Optimus Prime and director Bay’s trademarked bombast. He makes action orgy movies for audiences who crave a rumbling theatre seat. His Transformers films engage three of the five senses — only smell and taste are exempt — that leave viewers with scorched eyes and ringing ears and his audience eat up his gladiatorial sense of spectacle.
Freshening up the story is the addition of screen legend (and Marvel Cinematic Universe actor) Anthony Hopkins as an astronomer and historian knowledgeable in the history of the Transformers on Earth and a healthy dose of Arthurian myth woven into the story.
It sounds like the perfect mix of familiar and fresh but there are no guarantees in the blockbuster business. Recently, despite the presence of Tom Cruise and two — count ’em, two — classic horror characters, critics, audiences and the box office met The Mummy with a collective yawn. Although it has done better business overseas one pundit suggested the movie’s poor showing “stems from being an antiquated property paired with an antiquated star.”
Now there’s a statement that’ll send the collective shivers that were so sorely missing from The Mummy down the backs of studio executives. Perhaps the revamped story of an ancient malevolent evil wasn’t familiar or fresh enough for audiences. Or perhaps it’s because potential moviegoers sensed the cynicism in The Mummy. Bundling Cruise and legendary monsters in the movie with a few laughs, some typical blockbuster action and a CGI climax that wouldn’t be out of place in an Avengers movie, felt like a carefully constructed exercise in marketing first and a movie second.
The blockbuster business is a big one with high risk and reward. It didn’t work for Cruise and Co.’s The Mummy or Dwayne Johnson’s raunchy Baywatch reboot, but the Autobots have been good producers for Hollywood. Transformers: The Last Knight, wedged into a summer packed to the gills with big-budget blockbusters, likely won’t make the coin of its predecessors but Michael Bay doesn’t seem worried.
Although The Last Knight will be his last Transformers as director, he says the film lays the groundwork and backstory for 14 upcoming movies. At the rate they’re going, that’s almost 30 more years of Bumblebee and Megatron. That’s a lot of bot battles, and a lot of freshening up.
Audiences complain that Hollywood has no new ideas, that everything is a rebrand, reboot or remake. “They don’t make ‘em like they used to!” they say.
The “Transformers” franchise should encapsulate everything that is wrong with summer blockbusters. It’s a story based on a line of toys, it values spectacle over story and the paper thin characters feel more like place holders for the action than real people and yet, here we are on episode five, with (according to director Michael Bay) fourteen more in the pipeline.
In fact, they do make ‘em like they used to. You could be forgiven for experiencing déjà vu while watching “Transformers: The Last Knight.” The “Transformers” movies are remarkably consistent. They are heavy metal filmmaking, all bluster and retina roasting visuals and people eat them up.
People go see “Transformers” for the robots—their transformation scenes remain the coolest thing about the series—and the new movie doesn’t disappoint, creating a new backstory for its mechanical stars. According to the new movie the Transformers were friendly with King Arthur and the Knights of the Roundtable and fought the Nazis during World War II.
A decade into Bay’s franchise good guy leader of the Autobots Optimus Prime has high tailed it back to his home planet Cybertron. Humans are at war with the Transformers—“Two species at war, one flesh, one metal.”—and the future of the world is at stake. As a short prologue with King Arthur suggests, the key to Earth’s survival lies in the secret history of the Transformers and a 1600-year-old secret artefact. To unlock this mystery enter Autobot ally, inventor and single father Cade Yeager (Mark Wahlberg), Transformers historian and English lord Sir Edmund Exposition (Anthony Hopkins)—he’s got some mansplainin’ to do!—Oxford University Professor of English Literature (and descendant of the most famous wizard of all time other than Harry Potter) Viviane Wembly (Laura Haddock) and Autobot Bumblebee (voice of Erik Aadahi).
Director Michael Bay has finally taken the Transformers where they always should’ve been, to the Realm of the Ridiculous. Any movie based on a line of toys is bound to be silly but this may be one of the silliest films ever made. From a prologue set in the Middle Ages and robots hanging out on Cuban beaches to a wisecracking Merlin the Magician and a 700-year-old opera singing robot, this is wacky stuff.
Is it good stuff, you may ask? It doesn’t take itself as seriously as some of the other entries in the series, so that’s good but like the other “Transformers” movies, it’s too long and gets lost in an orgy of action and gravity defying stunts.
Hopkins seems to be having fun cavorting with his sassy C-3PO wannabe Cogman (Jim Carter) but it’s a thankless job. He’s there mostly to provide the convoluted backstory. As a member of the secret society to protect the history of Transformers, which also includes suck luminaries as Harriet Tubman and Stephen Hawking among others, he’s the keeper of the info and boy, does he over share. He scrolls through hundreds of years of nonsensical Transformers history but at least he does says thing like, “It was alien power or as they knew it in those days, magic,” in his distinctive Hannibal Lecter voice.
It’s all a bit much. With a story this convoluted why bother with the story at all? Those who want to see the Transformers battle will not be disappointed. The chunks of metal are cooler and than ever before and when Hopkins isn’t explaining what’s going on the robots are going at it.
“Transformers: The Last Knight” is Bay’s farewell to the franchise as director (he’ll stay on as a producer) and he has not held back. It’s heavy metal filmmaking, loud and proud, like a drum solo that goes on for just a hair too long.
It would be easy to mistake “Fading Gigolo” for a Woody Allen film. First there’s the obvious stuff—it’s set in New York, has a jazz score, younger women flirt with older men and, of course, Woody is in the center of it all cracking wise.
But it’s not a Woody Allen film. It was written and directed by John Turturro, who is a formidably talented actor but as a director, suffers in comparison to his co-star and obvious inspiration.
Allen is Murray Schwartz, a New York bookseller—he sells “rare books for rare people”—is forced to close his store and let his single employee Fioravante (Turturro) go. Fioravante is a soulful jack-of-all trades, but master of none until he embarks in a new gig that suits him to a tee—gigolo. Murray becomes an unlikely pimp, setting Fioravante up with older, bored rich women (Sharon Stone and Sofía Vergara) who become smitten with his puppy dog eyes and sweltering sensuality. Trouble is, although his bank account is full, Fioravante finds the job personally unfulfilling. That changes when he falls for Avigal (Vanessa Paradis), the demure widow of a rabbi.
“Fading Gigolo” attempts to find the balance of humour, pathos and romance that seems to come so easily to Allen, but is more “The Curse of the Jade Scorpion” than “Annie Hall.” From the sexual shenanigans of the gigolo scenes to the more repressed romance of the Avigal storyline, the muddled story fails to generate any real heat. Add to that a subplot involving Liev Schreiber as a neighborhood ranger with feelings for the widow who reports Murray for breaking Jewish law and you have enough stories for two movies crammed into one.
Performance wise, Turturro is so stoic it’s as if he’s planning the next shot in his head while also trying to act in the film, but Stone, Vergara, Paradis and Schreiber each have a moment to shine. Stone, playing a doctor with a philandering husband, becomes more than a stereotype as she quietly cries, from trepidation and nervousness the first time Fioravante stops by to ply his trade. It’s a revealing moment in a movie that could have used a few more of them.
Since this is a de facto Woody Allen movie it shouldn’t come as a surprise that Allen walks away with the whole thing. There is a thrill that goes along when he describes Fioravante as “disgusting, but in a very positive way.” It’s a Woody-ism that provides a whiff of nostalgia that makes the audience long for the good Woody Allen movies, not imitations like this one.
SYNOPSIS: “The Room Next Door,” the first English-language feature film from Spanish maestro Pedro Almodóvar, now playing in theatres, sees Julianne Moore and Tilda Swinton play old friends brought together in a life-or-death situation.
