I join “CTV News Toronto at Five” with anchor Zuraidah Alman to talk about the absurdist environmental dramedy “Digger,” the suburban gothic “Verity” and the psychological thriller “Heel.”
Watch the whole thing HERE! (Starts at 13:15)
I join CTV Atlantic’s Bruce Frisko to talk about the absurdist environmental dramedy “Digger,” the suburban gothic “Verity” and the psychological thriller “Heel.”
Watch the whole thing HERE!
Watch the whole thing HERE!
CAST: Anne Hathaway, Dakota Johnson, Josh Hartnett, Ismael Cruz Córdova, Alex Cooper. Directed by Michael Showalter.
REVIEW: Although released in the fall, “Verity” is the equivalent of a summer beach read.
Based on Colleen Hoover’s novel of the same name, “Verity” sees Dakota Johnson as struggling writer Lowen Ashleigh. Broke and facing eviction, she is in bad need of a job.
The gig as a ghostwriter for Verity Crawford (Anne Hathaway), a bestselling author of thrillers who has been left immobilized and unresponsive after a terrible car accident, offers Lowen the chance to start anew at the author’s isolated Vermont estate.
At the house while sorting through Verity’s notes, Lowen uncovers what she thinks is an autobiography. The manuscript, however, is more than a straightforward look at Verity’s life. On the pages, in stark black and white, are what appear to be intimate details to the author’s culpability in her family’s tragedies. “A writer’s words should be honest and bloody and a little bit terrifying.”
In a quest for the truth, Lowen is drawn into a world of obsession where real life and fiction are tangled.
“Verity” breathes the same suburban Gothic air as “The Housemaid,” but has none of the delirious spirit that made the Amanda Seyfried/Sydney Sweeney movie a silly and steamy crowd pleaser.
There are twists and turns aplenty, but very few shocks in this talky, deliberately paced movie. Like Daphne du Maurier on quaaludes, it plods through the story of truth vs. fiction as though the set was filled with molasses. Fans of the novel may enjoy seeing Hoover’s famous “headboard sex scene” brought to life, (VERY MILD SPOILER AHEAD) but the core notion that a compelling narrative trumps facts feels forced and, by the time we get to it, morally ambiguous.
Of the top line cast only Hathaway dives in, providing a darkly theatrical turn. Seen mostly in flashbacks, she’s mean and menacing with a touch of camp.
When she is on screen, mouth bloodied after biting her lover or happily unplugging her children’s baby monitors, “Verity” comes alive, only then to be deadened by the surrounding turgid storytelling.
SYNOPSIS: In “Fight or Flight,” an adrenalized comedy thriller now playing in theatres, Josh Hartnett plays disgraced secret agent Lucas Reyes. In exile in Thailand for two years, he accepts a job escorting a cyber-terrorist named The Ghost on an international flight to the United States. “Deliver him to us alive,” says his CIA handler Katherine (“The Mandalorian’s” Katee Sackhoff), “and you get your life back.” Trouble is, there is a bounty on The Ghost’s head, and the flight is packed with assassins who want to collect. “Are you telling me that plane is full of killers?”
CAST: Josh Hartnett, Charithra Chandran, Marko Zaror, and Katee Sackhoff. Directed by James Madigan.
REVIEW: A check-your-disbelief at the Concession Stand kind of movie, “Fight or Flight” is an hour of all out action at 37,000 feet. You might wonder how the passengers—all killers of some sport—manage to smuggle weapons—everything from Uzis to chainsaws—on board. If so, this isn’t a movie for you. It’s a buy the ticket, take the ride action flick with a silly premise and a sense of fun. Nothing more, nothing less.
As familiar as the idea of one man against an army of hitpersons is, Reyes is no John Wick. Hartnett, with dyed blonde hair and perpetually hungover look, finds the sweet spot between world weariness, ruthless brutality and dark humor. The kills are fierce—champagne flute to the eye, anyone?—and nicely choreographed for the small space aboard the aircraft. It’s not as slick as “Bullet Train,” or as elegant as “John Wick,” but there’s a b-movie scrappiness to it that feels right. Especially after Reyes is hit with a dose of toad venom that changes his perspective on everything.
“Fight or Flight” is fun, high-concept nonsense fueled by brawn not brains.
SYNOPSIS: Set against the backdrop of a pop superstar’s concert, “Trap,” a psychological thriller from twist meister M. Night Shyamalan, and now playing in theatres, sees Josh Hartnett play Cooper, a father who takes his teen daughter to see her favorite musician only to discover it’s a trap set by police to catch a ruthless serial killer.
“You know the Butcher?” a vendor (Jonathan Langdon) asks Cooper. “That freakin’ nutjob that goes around just chopping people up? Well, the feds or whatever heard that he’s gonna be here today, so they set up a trap for him. This whole concert? It’s a trap. They’re watching all the exits, checking everyone that leaves. There’s no way to get out of here. It’s kinda dope, right?”
CAST: Josh Hartnett, Ariel Donoghue, Saleka Shyamalan, Hayley Mills, Alison Pill, Marnie McPhail, Vanessa Smythe, Kid Cudi. Directed by M. Night Shyamalan.
REVIEW: (SPOILERS FOR ANYONE WHO HASN’T SEEN THE TRAILER OR READ A SYNOPSIS) “Trap” is a pretty good thriller until it isn’t. The suspense isn’t about the identity of the serial killer. Shyamalan is upfront about that in the first ten minutes. The entertainment value comes from Cooper and how he will evade the long arm of the law.
We know Hartnett plays the baddie, and it is his performance that keeps “Trap” as entertaining as it is. As the serial killer who leaves his victims dismembered, or “deli-prepped” as they call it in the movie, he shines, using his good guy charm as a disguise for his murderous rage. The slow build toward his full-blown descent into madness is telegraphed by his stealthy looks at the increasing police presence in the concert arena. It’s an intentionally hilarious and menacing performance that provides the movie with much of its punch.
Harnett’s performance aside, the movie falters when it allows Cooper to escape detection in increasingly convenient, and unbelievable ways. Some suspension of disbelief will get you through the vast bulk of “Trap,” but when the point of view suddenly shifts to another character, the film becomes less interesting, and more of a run-of-the-mill cat-and-mouse game.
Hartnett ensures that “Trap” is a bit of over-the-top fun, but the conventional ending sucks much of the devious playfulness that came before it away.
“Oppenheimer,” the story of the father of the atomic bomb, isn’t exactly a biopic of scientist J. Robert Oppenheimer. In his twelfth film, director Christopher Nolan includes biographical details in the telling of the tale of the man who invented the first nuclear weapons but the movie is more about consequences than creation. “Just because we’re building it doesn’t mean we get to decide how it’s used,” he says of the Atomic Bomb.
Nolan divides the story into two sections. The brightly colored “Fission” portrays the prickly Oppenheimer’s (Cillian Murphy) life as a tortured genius who overcame anti-Semitism to rise through the ranks of the European and American scientific elite to be recruited by the gruff Lieutenant General Leslie Groves (Matt Damon) as the director of the Manhattan Project. Charged with beating the Nazis and the Russians in a race to build a weapon of mass destruction, he became, by his own words, “the destroyer of worlds.”
His close ties to the Communist Party, through his ex-girlfriend, psychiatrist Jean Tatlock (Florence Pugh) and brother Frank (Dylan Arnold), is just one element of the left-leaning beliefs that eventually got his security clearance revoked. His political views, and second-thoughts about the destructive power he unleashed on the world, pitted him against his military bosses and founding commissioner of the U.S. Atomic Energy Commission Lewis Strauss (Robert Downey Jr.). Those events provide fodder for the film’s other section, the austere black-and-white “Fusion.”
An adaptation of the Pulitzer Prize-winning book “American Prometheus: The Triumph and Tragedy of J. Robert Oppenheimer” by Martin Sherwin and Kai Bird, the three-hour “Oppenheimer” is as downbeat as its weekend competition “Barbie” is upbeat.
Nolan takes his time with the telling of the tale, weaving together the scientific, psychological and political story threads to create rich tapestry that transcends the talky nature of the script. He teases great drama and tension out of a story that is essentially, a retelling of two tribunals, punctuated by the big bang that would change history.
Much of the film’s success is owed to Murphy, who, despite reciting teams of dialogue, goes internal to portray Oppenheimer’s towering intellect. Cinematographer Hoyte Van Hoytema frames Murphy’s stoic face in wide screen close-ups that showcase the actor’s ability to expose not only the character’s great intelligence, but also the realization that the power he spearheaded wouldn’t be fully understood until it was too late.
The Trinity Test sequence, the depiction of first detonation of a nuclear weapon, is a masterclass of less is more filmmaking. Nolan expertly builds tension with a countdown clock and Ludwig Göransson’s anxiety inducing soundtrack, but it is the look of scientific accomplishment tempered by an accompanying moral reckoning that spreads across Murphy’s face the moment the bomb goes off that cuts to the film’s core theme of innovation vs. consequences.
Murphy is supported by an a-list cast, including Matt Damon, who exudes movie star charisma and Downey Jr, who erases memories of Tony Stark with a blustery performance that, Marvel aside, is his most interesting since “Zodiac.”
The real star, however, is Nolan. “Oppenheimer” is the director firing on all cylinders, delivering a personal story of responsibility made epic. The brainiest blockbuster of the season is a period piece about a man who moral conundrums regarding power and the way it is wielded, that resonates just as loudly today as they did when the events took place.
All the Guy Ritchie trademarks that made so many of his other films so much fun are visible in “Operation Fortune: Ruse de guerre,” a new action adventure now streaming on Amazon Prime. Jason Statham comes back for a fifth kick at the can with the director, bringing with him the gravelly voice and fisticuffs first made famous in Ritchie’s “Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels.” There’s also some comedy, outrageous crime, slick cameras moves and a bangin’ soundtrack.
Why then, does it feel been there done that? Is it that familiarity has bred a certain kind of contempt, or is Ritchie coasting on his merits?
All-round action man Orson Fortune (Statham), tech genius Sarah Fidel (Aubrey Plaza) and sniper J.J. Davies (Bugzy Malone) are members of a top-secret British government agency run by Nathan Jasmine (Cary Elwes). Their latest assignment involves retrieving something called “The Handle,” a gewgaw—we’re not really told—that could cause a rift in the world order.
“We don’t know what’s been stolen,” says Nathan. “That remains a mystery for you to solve. But we need to stop it from getting onto the open market. Threat’s imminent.”
Before it can be sold on the black market, the crew must infiltrate billionaire arms dealer Greg Simmonds’s (Hugh Grant) inner circle. Their ticket in? International movie star and Simmonds’s favorite actor Danny Francesco (Josh Hartnett).
“The best agents are stars,” says Orson, “and the best actors are movie stars.”
“Operation Fortune: Ruse de guerre” feels like a Xerox copy of the movies that made Ritchie and Statham famous. The world-ending stakes are a bit higher, and there is more lifestyle porn—like private jets and global locations—but the fast pace, the late movie reveal (we eventually find out what The Handle actually does) and the “colourful” characters that have populated his movies from the get go all return but the glow is a bit dimmer this time.
Hugh Grant’s Michael Caine impersonation is a blast, and Ritchie still knows how to move a camera during the action scenes, but because we are so familiar with so many of the elements in play here, “Operation Fortune: Ruse de guerre” almost feels like a sequel to a reboot of a sequel. It’s the law of diminishing returns. The further away you get from the source, the less effective the movie will be. In this case, the sum of all the parts is a bland espionage story that is, at best, serviceable.
A remake of Nicolas Boukhrief’s 2004 French film “Le Convoyeur,” “Wrath of Man,” now playing in theatres and coming soon to VOD, is a revenge/heist flick that sees director Guy Ritchie reunited with his trademarked tricky storytelling style, Jason Statham and the ruthless violence that made his early movies such eye poppers.
Statham plays “’H’, like in bomb,” a man of few words with a mysterious past. Big surprise there. They should call him Gazpacho because he is the coolest of cool cucumbers. No matter what, this guy’s pulse rate never rises above 50 beats per minute.
When we first meet him, he takes a job as a security guard for Fortico, a Los Angeles armored car company. A recent robbery left three people dead and made the surviving guards edgy and uneasy. “Do you have any idea how dangerous this job can be?” a coworker named Boy Sweat Dave (Josh Hartnett) asks him. “We ain’t the predator, we’re the prey.”
When some very bad people attempt to rob one of the company’s cash trucks “H” reveals a special set of skills to the shock and awe of his co-workers. “It doesn’t feel right,” says security guard Bullet (Holt McCallany). “It’s like he wants the trucks to get hit.”
As the bodies pile up “H’s” lethal past is exposed and it becomes clear that he didn’t take the gig at the armored car company simply because he needed a week to week pay cheque. “I can do in two weeks,” “H” says to the shadowy Agent King (Andy Garcia), “what you wish you could do in twenty years.”
Told on a broken timeline and sectioned-off into chapters with names like “Bad, Animals, Bad” and “Scorched Earth,” the movie’s plot can be boiled down to one line. “I do bear a grudge,” “H” says, summing up the film’s raison d’etre as bullets fly and bodies pile up. A nihilistic story about revenge decorated with a tense heist subplot, it’s a riff on Statham’s earlier work in which he usually played either Character #1, a “loner with a past who must protect a loved one,” or Character #2, the “loner with a past who must protect a youthful innocent.”
Here he shakes things up by showing a disregard for the lives of some while avenging the loss of a loved one. Gone is the jokey Statham of “Spy” and his over-the-top “Fast and Furious” work. This is a back-to-basics performance that sees him settle on one facial expression, as though his chiseled face is encased in amber, to convey the character’s one deadly motive. The taciturn thing has worked for him before and it works well here. “H” is no laughing matter. Danger follows him around, and Statham’s coiled spring performance, no matter how basic, suggests that ultra-violence could erupt at any moment. It gives the movie much of its edge as Ritchie navigates the grim but stylish goings-on.
Are there plot holes? Yes. I can’t go into them without giving the story away but let’s just say “H’s” resilience is impressive.
Somewhere buried deep in the gunplay there is an elegance to “Wrath of Man.” Ritchie’s tough-talking film is tautly crafted, and, for those expecting “Snatch” style editing tricks, quite restrained.
The editing, not the violence.
Shot through a hail of bullets, the movie builds to a tense “Heat” style climax that doesn’t waste time or ammo. The jittery atmosphere is amped up by an angrily effective score from composer Chris Benstead.
On the downside, Ritchie’s taste for macho posturing doesn’t add much to the film’s early scenes. There are barely any female characters, save for Niamh Algar’s security guard Dana and assorted wife characters, and the hard-boiled dialogue between the often men borders on parody.
“Wrath of Man” is bleak and the characters are all, at best, anti-heroes, but for those with a taste for adrenaline pumping action set pieces, “Wrath of Man” delivers.
