I joined CTV NewsChannel to have a look at new movies coming to theatres including the rock biopic “Springsteen: Deliver Me from Nowhere,” the Broadway drama “Blue Moon” and the psychological drama “If I Had Legs I’d Kick You.”
Watch the whole thing HERE!
SYNOPSIS: “Blue Moon,” the new biographical comedy now playing in theatres, stars Ethan Hawke as legendary Broadway figure Lorenz Hart, songwriter of “Blue Moon,” “The Lady Is a Tramp,” “Manhattan,” “Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered” and “My Funny Valentine,” on one long, melancholy night at the bar at Sardi’s.
CAST: Ethan Hawke, Margaret Qualley, Bobby Cannavale, Andrew Scott. Directed by Richard Linklater.
REVIEW: Anchored by a tour-de-force performance from Ethan Hawke, “Blue Moon” is a deceptively simple character study of an artistic genius who was equal parts brilliance and frailty.
Set at the bar of the legendary Broadway restaurant Sardi’s, the action takes place on a single evening, March 31, 1943, opening night of “Oklahoma!” A triumph for composer Richard Rodgers and librettist Oscar Hammerstein, the show’s success left Rogers’s previous partner, lyricist Lorenz Hart, isolated, alone at the bar, save for the company of a bartender Hart nicknames Dr. Bacardi (Bobby Cannavale) and the restaurant’s piano player (Jonah Lees).
“We write together for a quarter of a century,” Hart says, “and the first show he writes with someone else is gonna be the biggest hit he ever had. Am I bitter? Yes.”
Charming, witty but with a deep sadness, Hart props up the bar, slowly losing the battle with the bottle, waiting for 20-year-old Yale student, Elizabeth Weiland (a sparkling Margaret Qualley) to arrive. Though closeted, he loves her, and she loves him, “just not in that way.”
As the evening unfolds, liquor flows in Hart’s direction as he pines for Elizabeth, lobs jabs at his former partner’s use of an “!” in the title of “Oklahoma!” and inspires essayist E. B. White (Patrick Kennedy) to write his novel “Stuart Little” as the evening takes a decidedly bittersweet turn.
A chamber piece—pretty much the whole thing takes place in the downstairs bar at Sardi’s—“Blue Moon” is a complex, humanizing slice of Hart’s life.
Hawke’s remarkable performance embraces the extremes of what Hammerstein and cabaret performer Mabel Mercer said about Hart. Hammerstein commented, “He was alert and dynamic and fun to be around,” while Mercer called him, “The saddest man I ever knew.” Hawke embodies those polarities and touches on many things in between in ways subtle and overt.
An extroverted introvert, Hart put on a brave face, spitting out witticisms—“Leave the bottle,” he tells the bartender, “it’s a visual poem.”—but each barb and every funny line betrays an undercurrent of insecurity and torment.
Hawke is in virtually every frame of the film, reciting pages of dialogue—“Who are you talking to?” asks the bartender. “Me,” Hart replies. “I gotta talk to someone interesting.”—and yet his stream of consciousness always engages because each speech, every word illuminates part of this complicated character.
“Blue Moon” is a showcase for a Hawke—he uses an elaborate combover and director Richard Linklater’s shoots him to reflect Hart’s diminutive stature—but the performance doesn’t rely on the physical transformation. Instead, it is Hawke’s nuances that create this sometimes funny, sometimes sad valentine to Hart.
I join CTV NewsChannel anchor Renee Rogers to talk about the thriller “Relay,” the neo-noir “Honey Don’t” and the rock doc “DEVO” on Netflix.
Watch the whole thing HERE!
I joined CTV NewsChannel anchor Roger Peterson to have a look at new movies coming to theatres, including the thriller “Relay,” the neo-noir “Honey Don’t” and the rock doc “DEVO” on Netflix.
Watch the whole thing HERE!
I join the Bell Media Radio Network national night time show “Shane Hewitt and the Night Shift” for “Booze & Reviews!” This week I review the hardboiled PI movie “Honey Don’t” and do a toast to the private investigators of old.
Click HERE to listen to Shane and me talk about an expensive pair of shark eyes and how Chappell Roan gave Saskatchewan tourism a big boost!
For the Booze & Reviews look at “Honey Don’t” and some cocktails fit for a character who says she drinks heavily–“It’s a point of pride.”–click HERE!
SYNOPSIS: In “Honey Don’t,” a new crime drama from director Ethan Coen, Margaret Qualley is a sultry, small town private investigator whose probe into a woman’s death leads to a religious cult. “You’re fascinating,” Reverend Drew Devlin (Chris Evans) tells her. “And you haven’t even seen the riddle tattooed on my ass,” Honey replies.
CAST: Margaret Qualley, Aubrey Plaza, Charlie Day, Billy Eichner, and Chris Evans. Directed by Ethan Coen.
REVIEW: “Honey Don’t,” part two of director Ethan Coen and co-writer Tricia Cooke’s “lesbian B-movie trilogy,” following 2024s “Drive-Away Dolls,” is a hard-boiled private investigator story; a neo-noir set in sunny California.
Sleek yet aimless, “Honey Don’t” displays an obvious love for its pulpy style but doesn’t show any affection for its story. Co-writers Coen and Cooke craft a series of red herring situations rather than a compelling narrative.
The movie begins with a car crash that takes the life of a woman. The only problem she had, says one of her friends, is “taking curves too fast.” As queer private detective Honey O’Donahue (Margaret Qualley) investigates the case, she also becomes involved with the local cop shop’s no-nonsense Property Room Officer M.G. (Aubrey Plaza), goes head-to-head with a cult leader played by Chris Evans and searches for her missing niece Corinne (Talia Ryder).
Not that any of that adds up to much. The plot U-turns mostly serve a showcase for Qualley’s old-school movie star glamour and way with snappy dialogue. As the title character she’s an anachronism, an echo of the PIs of the past. She uses a Rolodex and doesn’t have a cell phone. “I carry around a bag of quarters for the pay phone,” she explains. Qualley has a knack for the character’s hard-boiled cadence, delivering Honey’s terse comebacks with deadpan flair.
As over-sexed cult leader Reverend Drew Devlin, Chris Evans hands in the most flamboyantly unwholesome role of his career. Whether he’s sleeping with his parishioners or shooting them or delivering a sermon based on a macaroni allegory, there isn’t a hint of Captain America anywhere to be seen.
Qualley and Evans do all the heavy lifting here. The filmmaking is playful, but the wandering story and disregard for any character not played by Qualley makes the title “Honey Don’t” seem less like a name and more like a warning.
LOGLINE: “Kinds of Kindness,” a new, absurdist dark comedy now playing in theatres, reteams “Poor Things” director Yorgos Lanthimos and star Emma Stone, in three interconnected stories, detailing the codependency between a man and his eccentric and controlling employer, a policeman whose missing wife reappears, but isn’t the person he remembers and a woman devoted to a spiritual leader.
CAST: Emma Stone, Jesse Plemons, Willem Dafoe, Margaret Qualley, Hong Chau, Joe Alwyn, Mamoudou Athie, Hunter Schafer. Directed by Yorgos Lanthimos.
REVIEW: Director Yorgos Lanthimos follows up the Academy Award winning success of “Poor Things” with another study of the dark side of humanity. The film, “Kinds of Kindness” is a portmanteau, a triptych of tales, each featuring different stories and characters, but the same main cast. Loosely connected, each section deals with some sort of manipulation and falling under the sway of someone who may, or may not, have the best of intentions.
Those expecting a rehash of “Poor Things” or “The Favourite,” the Lanthimos films that edged the Greek director into the mainstream, will have to adjust expectations. This is a return to the, despite the movie’s title, unkind tone of earlier works like “Dogtooth,” “The Lobster,” and “The Killing of a Sacred Deer.” The harder edge brings with it a certain kind of bleak, mean spiritedness that may be entertaining to watch, but not always exactly enjoyable to process as a viewer.
Still, Lanthimos has made a movie that is not soon forgotten.
In a landscape of movies that offer instant gratification, “Kinds of Kindness,” with its unexpected twists and often unpleasant story developments, is one that takes its time to burrow into its audience’s collective consciousness.
To say it takes some surprising zig zags is an understatement, but it’s not simply strange for the sake of being strange. There does seem to be a motive behind the madness of this co-dependency comedy, no matter how impenetrable it may be. Your enjoyment level will depend on your ability to hang on to the mast as the waters get very choppy.
Set in 1999, “Drive-Away Dolls,” a new LGBTQ2+ b-movie wannabe from director Ethan Coen in his first solo outing, feels like it emerged, untouched from the time before Y2K.
A loving throwback to the kind of independent, verging on experimental, filmmaking that made the Coen brothers famous, “Drive-Away Dolls” is a queer caper film whose action, after a brief but memorable prologue, begins when the uninhibited Jamie (Margaret Qualley) cheats on girlfriend Sukie (Beanie Feldstein) and gets thrown out of their apartment.
“I’ve had it with love,” Jamie says. “It might be alright for the bards and the troubadours, but I don’t think it works for the twentieth, soon to be twenty-first, century lesbian.”
Looking for a change of pace, Jamie decides to hit the road, along with Marian (Geraldine Viswanathan), a reserved friend who is bored of her job and her life. They acquire a drive-away car (a vehicle that needs to be delivered from one city to another) and head off for a fresh start in Tallahassee.
Trouble is, the car they were given contains very valuable cargo that kingpin Chief (Colman Domingo) and his dopey henchmen Arliss (Joey Slotnick) and Flint (C. J. Wilson) need to get their hands on.
“Drive-Away Dolls” has many of the trademarks of the kind of 90s indie cinema the Coens and Tarantino left in their wake. There’s smart-alecky dialogue, over-the-top, bickering bad guys, a mysterious briefcase, a preposterous crime and “not your garden variety decapitation,” all wrapped in a tidy 84-minute package.
Unfortunately, it’s not an entirely welcome u-turn to 90s form for Coen. For all the free-wheeling vibes the movie emits, it’s a bit of a slog, even at its abbreviated runtime. Choppy storytelling, low stakes and an emphasis on quirky caricatures over real characters slow the roll of what could have been a fun road trip romp. The pitch perfect sweet spot between serious and silly, Coen achieved (with brother Joel) in “O Brother, Where Art Thou?” and “The Big Lebowski” is sadly missing here.
The performances are amiable. Qualley’s intermittent Texas accent is distracting, but Viswanathan brings the nerdy charm to Marion. The great Bill Camp steals scenes as Curlie, the crusty drive-away clerk, and Pedro Pascal has a memorable cameo.
“Drive-Away Dolls,” written by Coen and his wife, and long-time editor, Tricia Cooke is about hitting the road and cutting loose but never puts the pedal to the metal.
Set back in the days when e-mail was “a new trend that will phase out,” “My Salinger Year,” now on VOD, is a coming-of-age story of an aspiring writer who finds herself enmeshed in the shadow of one of the great, reclusive authors of the twentieth century.
Tired of analyzing other people’s work Joanna (Margaret Qualley) drops out of Berkeley to move to New York City to write. “Isn’t that what aspiring did?” she says. “Live in cheap apartments and write in cafes?” She gets a foot in the door with a job with Margaret (Sigourney Weaver), the old-school literary agent of “Catcher in the Rye” author J. D. Salinger. The reclusive author is alive and well, and still writing but unwilling to actually publish any of his work.
Margaret has lots of rules. No computers, no opened toed shoes and no need to wear stocking in the summer. Above all, no talking to Jerry, as in Jerry Salinger. “Jerry doesn’t want to hear about how much you love ‘Catcher in the Rye,’ she says, “and he doesn’t want to hear about your stories. Just say, Yes Jerry, ‘I’ll tell my boss you called.’”
Jerry also doesn’t want to hear from his readers, even though fans send letters by the truck load. Instead, the letters are read, that’s the bulk of Joanna’s new job, and responded to with a form letter.
Soon though, her secretarial role takes on a different dimension when she finds herself emotionally invested in the letters; the stories from fans about how Salinger’s work affected their lives. “I can’t send them a letter that says, ‘Dear Kid, J.D. Salinger doesn’t care about you.” Instead, she secretly begins personalizing the letters, discovering a new inner voice.
“My Salinger Year,” based on the 2014 memoir of the same name by Joanna Rakoff, is a coming-of-age story about pushing insecurity aside to find a path in life. Far from another “The Devil Wears Prada” knock-off—although Weaver has fun playing Joanna’s cantankerous, computer-hating boss—it’s subtler than that.
It works best when it focusses on Joanna’s time at the literary agency. Less so when she’s washing dishes in the bathtub of her cheap NYC apartment she shares with her Socialist boyfriend Don (Douglas Booth). Joanna’s relationship with Salinger (Tim Post, heard but barely seen) and Margaret are the gateways that define her need to step away from the life she knew; to be extraordinary. That’s the film’s most compelling journey, the rest feels shopworn.
“My Salinger Year” is about momentous changes in Joanna’s life, but it doesn’t feel momentous. Qualley is effective but emphasizes the character’s naiveté in a way that underplays Joanna’s journey. A third act dance number, one that visualizes Joanna’s reaction to reading “Catcher in the Rye,” brings the life the story deserves, but by then it’s too little, too late.
