SYNOPSIS: In “Black Bag,” a new thriller from director Steven Soderbergh, and now playing in theaters, Michael Fassbender plays a methodical spy who must choose between his country and his wife when a dangerous device is stolen, and she is a prime suspect.
CAST: Cate Blanchett, Michael Fassbender, Marisa Abela, Tom Burke, Naomie Harris, Regé-Jean Page, and Pierce Brosnan. Directed by Steven Soderbergh and written by David Koepp.
REVIEW: “What’s on the menu?” asks Kathryn Woodhouse (Cate Blanchett) asks her husband George (Fassbender) at the film’s start.
“Fun and games,” he replies, and he ain’t lying.
Like John le Carré meets “Mr. and Mrs. Smith,” “Black Bag” is a dialogue driven spy drama fueled by star power rather than fire power.
Steven Soderbergh, working from a script by his frequent collaborator David Koepp, creates a stylish, slick and suspenseful London-based thriller where people say cool spy things like, “This ends with someone in the boot of a car.”
At the helm is Fassbender. A master spy and happily married man, he’s a buttoned-down character in the John le Carré mode. He’s not a James Bond style bruiser. He’s reserved, a cold fish who once even put his own father under surveillance, concerned only with data and gathering cold hard facts. After one eventful dinner with all his suspects he says, “That was the rock, now I watch the ripples.”
Still, he generates heat in his scenes with Blanchett. They’re both spies, and as such, live in a world where there are secrets and not everything is what it seems to be. Their cat and mouse relationship is effervescent, providing sex appeal, domestic drama and intrigue as the limits of loyalty are tested. Their relationship just may give new meaning to the term, “I would die for you.”
A strong supporting cast—“Industry’s” Marisa Abela, “Mank’s” Tom Burke, “No Time to Die’s” Naomie Harris, “Bridgerton’s” Regé-Jean Page and Pierce Brosnan—add much but the real star here is Soderbergh and his crisp, fast paced and stylish filmmaking. Offset by a chic electrojazz score by David Holmes (who also scored “Out of Sight” and the “Ocean’s” trilogy), “Black Bag” slowly untangles its web of deception and keeps you guessing until the end.
Black Adam, the titular character of the new Dwayne Johnson movie, walks like a superhero, but doesn’t talk like one. He has super speed, incredible physical strength, extraordinary stamina, unflinching courage and a skin-tight suit like goody-two-shoes Superman, but he’s also got an attitude. “My powers are not a gift,” the DC Comics character says, “but a curse. Born out of rage.”
The character’s origin story dates back thousands of years to ancient Kahndaq, a tyrannical kingdom where a power-hungry, despotic king has enslaved his people to mine a rare substance called Eternium that will help him attain God-like powers.
(POSSIBLE SPOILERS AHEAD)
When one young worker fights back, his bravery is rewarded by the Council of Wizards, and before you can say the word “Shazam,” the child is imbued with mystical powers. When the youngster’s family is targeted for death, he makes the ultimate sacrifice and transfers his powers to his father Teth-Adam (Johnson). Stripped of his mystical energy, the boy is now human again, and is soon killed.
Filled with rage, Teth-Adam uses his powers to unleash demons, a crime that sees him imprisoned for 5000 years of dreamless sleep. “The world needed a hero,” he says. “Instead, it got me.”
(END OF SPOILER ZONE)
Awoken in modern day by university professor and resistance fighter Adrianna Tomaz (Sarah Shahi), he emerges as a vengeful entity with a twisted sense of integrity. “I was a slave until I died,” he says. “Then I was reborn a god. My son sacrificed his life to save me. Now, I kneel before no one.”
His old home of Kahndaq is now under military occupation by an organization called Intergang who set their sights on finding the ancient Eternium Crown of Sabbac at any cost. But with Teth-Adam back on the scene, that cost come with a huge, bloody price tag.
A larger-than-life justice machine, his violent curbing of Intergang soldiers brings him on a collision course with the Justice Society of America, Cyclone (Quintessa Swindell), Doctor Fate (Pierce Brosnan), Atom Smasher (Noah Centineo) and the winged Hawkman (Aldis Hodge), a group of superheroes who enforce global stability.
“Heroes don’t kill people,” says Hawkman. “Well,” says Teth-Adam, now renamed Black Adam, “I do.”
It’s about time Dwayne Johnson played a superhero, or mystical anti-hero, or whatever the heck Black Adam is supposed to be, right? A real-life, larger-than-life character, he physically fits the bill—no padding required in his tight spandex suit—and his heroic bona fides are well defined. He’s a natural, but here he’s saddled with a reluctant hero’s journey. His morose character works against the very traits that have made The Rock beloved. He’s all pumped up, that is for sure, but the charisma that usually flows so effortlessly out of him has narrowed to a trickle. Even though he is omni-powerful, Black Adam, the character, is about as interesting as a glass of tepid water. It’ll quench your thirst, but isn’t all that fun.
It doesn’t help that Johnson is surrounded by Dollar Store versions of more established superheroes. The Justice Society of America are generic brand world-savers, but do add a bit of zip to the proceedings, even if they put you in the mind of Dr. Strange, Storm, Ant-Man and Falcon while doing so.
“Black Adam” is one big kaboom. The plentiful action scenes are CGI orgies, large-scale land and air battles meant to distract from the clunky, exposition heavy story. As an origin story there are lots of moving parts as we get to know Teth-Adam and Justice Society members. Layer in historical perspective and a theme of freedom over tyranny and you have a movie that feels, simultaneously, over-stuffed and yet, because nothing is explored in any depth, undercooked.
I’m sure “Black Adam” will be the beginning of a new franchise for Johnson, and it should fill the hole felt by DC fans aching for more Zach Snyder-esque slo-mo (even though the film was directed by Jaume Collet-Serra) but I found the cluttered, “the enemy of my enemy is my friend,” story more forgettable than fun.
Not even Julie Andrews, the resourceful and determined Maria von Trapp can solve a problem like “The King’s Daughter,” a new fantasy-adventure flopping into theatres this week.
Shot eight years ago, this Pierce Brosnan movie has languished on the shelf waiting to see the light of day. Andrews, and her dulcet tones, came on board in 2000 as narrator in a last-ditch attempt to add some semblance of order to the slapdash story.
Set in 17th century France, the action get underway with King Louis XVI (Brosnan) concerned with his mortality. He has immortality on his mind–“My immortality secures the future of France.”—even if his adviser Pere La Chase (William Hurt) finds the idea distasteful, if not blasphemous. “The only thing God gives as immortal is your soul,” he says, “and you only have one of those to lose.”
Tossing aside any thoughts of sacrilege apothecary Dr. Labarthe (Pablo Schreiber) tells the king of a sea creature, a mermaid (Fan Bingbing) with an essence that will keep death from knocking at the door, but only if the mermaid is sacrificed during a solar eclipse.
Captain Yves (Benjamin Walker) captures the mermaid just as the King’s illegitimate daughter, Marie-Josephe (Kaya Scodelario), is brought to the palace. She’s been tucked away at a convent since she was a child, studying music, and doesn’t know her father is the King.
Marie-Josephe hears the mermaid’s siren song and is drawn to her watery prison. She’s also drawn to Captain Yves, despite her father’s wish that she marry Labarthe.
Meanwhile, the solar eclipse and possible mermaid dismemberment loom.
Not even the film’s backdrop, Versailles, the world’s most expensive movie set, can raise enough interest—visual or otherwise—for me to give “The King’s Daughter” a pass. The story has all the elements of a fun adventure but it appears that director Sean McNamara ran the entire thing through the Un-Fun-Omatic before shipping it off to theatres.
Brosnan is overshadowed by his silly wig. You can see Hurt reaching for the pay cheque and poor Fan Bingbing is rendered almost unrecognizable by the worst computer effects this side of Donkey Kong. Add to that a script heavy on lackluster fantasy clichés, light on actual French accents and loaded with unintentionally funny moments, and you’re left with a royal mess.
“The King’s Daughter” is a fairy tale, but there is no happily-ever-after here for anyone, especially the audience.
The new “Cinderella,” starring pop singer Camila Cabello and now streaming on Amazon Prime, begins with a sweeping crane shot of the title character’s rustic village that could have been lifted from any one of the dozens of adaptations of the famous story. But by the time the villagers begin dancing to Janet Jackson’s “Rhythm Nation,” tossing pitchforks of hay in the air and doing the Robot in time with the music, you realize this isn’t your fairy godmother’s version of the oft told tale.
The story’s bones are roughly the same as the Brothers Grimm folk tale. Orphan Ella, nicknamed Cinderella (Cabello) by her jealous stepsisters (Maddie Baillio and Charlotte Spencer) because her skin is often besmirched by cinders, dreams of one day travelling the world as a famous designer. For now, though, she lives in the dingy basement of her cruel and imperious step-mother Vivian’s (Idina Menzel) home, where she waits on them hand and foot, only to be called “worthless” and dismissed by a wave of Vivian’s hand.
The Royal Ball is imminent, and Prince Robert’s (Nicholas Galitzine) father King Rowan (Pierce Brosnan) thinks it is the perfect chance for his son to find a wife and settle down. When the prince catches an eyeful of Cinderella he is smitten before she disappears into the crowd. “I’ll play your silly game,” he tells the King, “but only if every girl in the kingdom is invited to the ball regardless of wealth or stature.” The king reluctantly agrees, and everyone is invited, even Cinderella. Except that she’s not interested. “The whole thing is weird and antiquated,” she says. “Not my thing.”
She changes her mind when the Prince, in disguise, convinces her that there will be interesting people there, and she might even drum up some business as a designer. But she doesn’t believe anything romantic will come out of it. “I’m dirty,” she says. “I smell like a basement and my best friends are mice.”
She whips up a frilly pink dress for the big night, but Vivian puts her foot down, and throws ink on the outfit, ruining it and Cinderella’s chances for going to the ball. She is despondent until Fab G (Billy Porter), her Fairy Godparent, enters her life in the most red-carpet-ready way possible.
“Hush, it’s magic time,” Fab G says as a sequined dress, glass slippers and a fancy carriage materialize. There are rules. No one, except the Prince, will be able to recognize her while she’s in the gown and the magic will wear off at midnight, so she must run home as the clock strikes.
Sparks fly between the Prince and Cinderella. He professes his love for her and says he intends on making her his princess. She’ll be royalty. “Royalty?” she says, channeling her inner Meghan, “What about my work?” As she is announced as the future Queen, the clock strikes and she flees, leaving behind one glass slipper.
“Cinderella” is a big Broadway style jukebox musical of the familiar tale given a thoroughly modern makeover. Written and directed by former “30 Rock” writer Kay Cannon, who also created the “Pitch Perfect” franchise, updates the story to emphasize female empowerment, the autonomy of fathers and sons, the freedom to choose one’s life and she evens softens up the traditionally evil step family. It is still a classic love story, but here Cinderella is no Disney Princess. She’s Girlboss Cinderella, in charge of her life, love and future.
The modifications are presented with sincerity and no small amount of humour—there’s even a pretty funny reference to Brosnan’s legendarily terrible singing voice, first noticed by, well, everyone in “Mama Mia”—but the changes also make it fairly simple to predict what’s going to happen, even if Cannon tries to distract you with big production numbers.
Gone are the old school Disney songs like “A Dream Is a Wish Your Heart Makes” and “Bibbidi-Bobbidi-Boo.” They’ve been replaced with reinterpreted pop and rock songs like “Material Girl” and “Somebody to Love.” Think “A Knight’s Tale,” the 2001 fantasy that mixed-and-matched modern music and dancing with a medieval setting.
“Cinderella” is a frothy, enjoyable confection that often resembles a music video. Cabello’s take on the character breathes the same air as Moana, “Brave’s” feisty Merida, and Elsa and Anna from “Frozen.” Purists may miss the old songs or traditional blue dress, but stories about women as active participants in their lives should become the new tradition.
Will Ferrell is a wonderfully weird and committed actor. Like a dog with a bone when he latches onto a part he doesn’t let go, come hell or high water. When it works, it really works, and the result is an indelible comedic creation like the deluded Ron Burgundy that not only makes us laugh but also reveals the character’s humanity. When it doesn’t work, as in “Eurovision Song Contest: The Story of Fire Saga,” now streaming on Netflix, it is all commitment and little humanity.
Ferrell plays Lars, a middle-aged Icelander whose love for the Eurovision Song Contest began in 1974 when he dancing in front of the TV, much to his father’s (Pierce Brosnan) chagrin, to ABBA’s winning performance of “Waterloo.” No one believes in his musical dreams except for his childhood friend Sigrit (Rachel McAdams), who loves him even though her affections don’t seem to be reciprocated. She believes in elves and drops little pearls of wisdom like, “Anger cannot churn butter.”
Together they are Fire Saga, a synth-pop duo who play to crowds at the local pub who only want to hear songs like “Ja Ja Ding Dong,” and not the “real music” Lars writes. Through a series of unlikely events they stumble into a spot on the Eurovision show. Lars’ father doesn’t want them to go. “All of Iceland will laugh at you,” he says. Undeterred, Lars soldiers on. “I have to become an international star to prove to my very handsome father and all of Iceland that I have not wasted my life.”
Lars and Sigrit’s experiences in their tiny fishing village of Húsav´ík do not prepared them for the cutthroat world of Eurovision. Will predatory singers, like Russian superstar Alexander Lemtov (Dan Stevens with a George Michael frosted-tip bouffant), and stage mishaps dampen Lars’ dreams of Eurovision fame?
“Eurovision Song Contest: The Story of Fire Saga” should be a lot funnier than it is. It’s a little too loving of Eurovision’s kitschy spectacle to be a satire; a little too sincere to be truly silly, despite Ferrell’s ridiculous hair and even more outlandish sweaters. The comedy is further blunted by the film’s main conceit, that Lars and Sigrit are talentless wannabees. “We all know they are awful,” says the local Húsav´ík cop, “but they are our awful.” Thing is, in context, they fit like a puzzle piece next to the other over-the-top acts the movie showcases.
Ferrell brings the usual commitment to his trademarked arrogant man-child character but never pushes the characterization much beyond the way the townsfolk see him. “Lars is weird,” they all say, and Ferrell obliges, playing the character as the result of a damaged psyche—he feels unwanted by his father—and just a little too much confidence. It’s familiar ground for him and us.
McAdams feels like an odd choice to play opposite Ferrell’s exaggerated character. She’s good, but her more natural performance feels like it belongs in another movie.
The real Eurovision Song Contest won’t be happening this year, another victim of COVID-19, so perhaps “The Story of Fire Saga” will fill that gap for fans. If you tune in expect some scattered good moments. Ferrell delivers a few laughs and Stevens has fun but Lars and Sigrit’s protracted love story pushes the movie to an unwieldy 123 minutes with not quite enough laughs to justify the running time.
Kids know and love martial arts legend Jackie Chan from flicks like “The LEGO Ninjago Movie” and “The Nut Job 2: Nutty by Nature.” With the release of the revenge drama “The Foreigner” he’s back into adult territory.
Sixty-three-year-old Chan plays London-based restaurateur Quan Ngoc Minh whose daughter Fan (Katie Leung) is an innocent victim of a bomb attack on a fancy Knightsbridge dress shop perpetrated by a group called the Authentic IRA. Stricken with grief and fuelled by anger he embarks on a mission to track down the people responsible for killing his child. His journey of revenge takes him to Belfast where he zeros in on Liam Hennessy (Pierce Brosnan), a Martin McGuinness type politician and former IRA member.
Quan, as it turns out, while old, frail looking is no one to be trifled with. I mean, this is Jackie Chan we’re talking about here. Before he was the counter man at the Happy Peacock Restaurant he was a special forces solider, trained in all manner of bomb laying and bone breaking. When Hennessy rebuffs Quan, denying any knowledge of the murderous events—“I realize you are angry,” he says, “but there’s not much I can do.”—and kicking the desperate man out of his office, he sets into motion a series of events that will see the restaurateur show his true colours.
“The Foreigner” is an action film but when the fists aren’t flying it concentrates on the fraying edges of Hennessy’s political career.
Chan’s presence dropkicks what is otherwise a rather straightforward story of revenge, directed with simple elegance by Martin Campbell, into the realm of the enjoyable. He walks like a hunched over grandpa but packs a punch like Bruce Lee.
There’s a buzz that comes with a Jackie Chan fight scene. Who else, at an age when CARP brochures start showing up in the mail, would jump through a window, grab hold of a drainage pipe and slide 20 feet down to a rooftop. Jackie Chan, that’s who. The action feels real because it is and that authenticity gives “The Foreigner” much of its electro-charge.
Brosnan is a coiled spring, a politician with secrets and an iron will. His tale of political intrigue overshadows Quan‘s story—Chan disappears for a big chunk of the movie—but it does give him a chance to chew the scenery and have some fun.
“The Foreigner” isn’t a memorable movie but it is a welcome return to the action genre for Chan and Brosnan after too long a time away.
“I knew her very well,” says Penelope Cruz, “but in a way she was not exactly the same person because so many things happened to her and she changed over time, like we all do.”
Cruz isn’t talking about an old friend or a long lost relative. The Spanish superstar is referring to Macarena Granada, a character she first played a decade ago and revisits in the new film The Queen of Spain.
“She has a very intense life,” continues Cruz, “so that was the tricky thing. For the people who knew Macarena, how do I make her recognizable and what are the changes we can see in her after all these years?”
Audiences first met Macarena in 1998 when Cruz played her as an upcoming Spanish movie star in a frothy little confection called The Girl of Your Dreams. It’s years later in real and reel life as Cruz brings the character back to the screen.
Set in 1956, The Queen of Spain portrays Macarena as a huge international star lured back to her home country to star in the first American movie to be shot there since the Franco took power. It’s a wild production but complicating matters is the appearance—and subsequent disappearance—of Macarena’s former director and the man who made her a star.
“The first film was set at a time of interaction with Germany and Macarena had to protect herself from Goebbels,” says Cruz. “This time she is up against Franco. In a way every time she is acting in a film she is just not acting, she is some kind of political heroine. She is fighting for justice. What a life this woman has had! Every time she goes into making a movie she has to save somebody’s life or do something life changing for everybody. If we ever do the third one I don’t know who she’ll have to deal with. Depends on what country. Hopefully the third one will happen someday. Let’s see who she has to encounter this time.”
The Queen of Spain marks the third time Cruz has worked with Fernando Trueba, the Spanish auteur who directed her break out film Belle Époque.
“The knowledge he has of cinema, the passion he has for cinema is very contagious,” she says. “With Fernando it is always more than just entertainment. He is such a great filmmaker and he always talks about so many big subjects at the same time.
“I think Belle Époque is a masterpiece. The film was amazing and for me to start with somebody as brilliant as Fernando, well, it was a year that made it impossible for me not to fall in love with movies.”
The chance to show what goes on behind the scenes in The Queen of Spain’s film-within-the-film was another reason she decided to come back to Trueba and Macarena.
“There are not enough movies about that,” she says. “When I am on the set everything is so crazy and chaotic but at the same time it works. I feel like we need that chaos for it to work. It is magical that things happen and movies get done and get finished. I’m always on the set thinking, ‘These three days of shooting is enough material for three more movies.’”
Almost fifty years ago Simon & Garfunkel provided the memorable soundtrack to the equally memorable movie “The Graduate.” This year a wistful S&G song, “The Only Living Boy in New York,” inspired a wry movie of the same name by director Marc Webb.
Set in New York City, the movie centers around Thomas Webb (Callum Turner), a recent college grad in love with his best friend good friend, Mimi (Kiersey Clemons). When she rejects his romantic entreaties he’s crushed. Back at home in his parents Ethan and Judith’s (Pierce Brosnan and Cynthia Nixon) swanky Upper West Side apartment building he meets the boozy new neighbour, W.F. Gerald (Jeff Bridges), an author and sage who offers life advice.
When Thomas learns about Ethan’s affair with Johanna (Kate Beckinsale) he first becomes obsessed with learning more about her and then, perhaps to make Mimi jealous and possibly in an ode to “The Graduate,” begins a romantic affair with the older woman. Navigating his complicated personal life brings his combative relationship with the grizzled Ethan—who once told his son, a wannabe writer, that his work was only “serviceable”—in focus while opening his eyes to the world around him.
“The Only Living Boy in New York” doesn’t have the buoyancy of “(500) Days of Summer,” Webb’s other study of the way relationships work and, sometimes, how they don’t work. It’s more quasi-Phillip Roth than RomCom but it is propped up with some terrific performances.
English born actor Callum is cut from the Benjamin Braddock school of lovesick, confused young man, but it’s the seasoned pros who are worth the price of admission. Nixon is brittle yet steely as a long time New Yorker who was friends with Andy Warhol and mourns the loss of Greenwich Village’s famed Bottom Line club. Beckinsale is more than a plot device, bringing real humanity to a woman caught between the two men.
Bridges, now firmly entrenched in the old coot phase of his career, brings craggy charm to the role of mentor but it is Brosnan who shines. He’s at his best as a man who is simultaneously a father and romantic rival to his son.
“The Only Living Boy in New York” frequently feels like it is about to spin off its axis but Webb fights past the clunky dialogue and overly complicated story to present an engaging coming-of-age story.
Daniel Craig suits up again in the latest Bond flick, taking his fourth spin as the super spy in Spectre. The film’s overseas reviews have been very strong and it will likely dominate the weekend’s box office but who among us would call Craig the best Bond?
I have a theory that the Bond nearest and dearest to your heart is the first 007 you saw projected on the big screen.
Popular consensus tells us that Sean Connery, who played the role in six films spanning 1962 To 1971 and then once again in 1983’s non-officially sanctioned Never Say Never Again, is the best Bond. As cool as Connery was he isn’t my top of the pops. Dr. No, the first 007 movie, came out before I was born and Connery more or less permanently parked his Aston Martin around the time I entered grade two.
The Bond that made the biggest impression on me was Roger Moore. I know critically speaking he wasn’t the most beloved Bond. Pauline Kael once wrote about him, “Roger Moore is dutiful and passive as Bond; his clothes are neatly pressed and he shows up for work, like an office manager who is turning into dead wood but hanging on to collect his pension.”
I also know that hardcore spy fans considered Moore too well-mannered and pleasant to be effective, but he was my first, and I guess the first cut is the deepest because I still have a fondness for his breezy take on the super agent.
But that’s just me.
To get a broader picture I did a highly scientific Double-Blind Bond Peer Reviewed In House Clinical Trial (in other words I asked my Facebook and Twitter friends) to determine the world’s favourite 007 portrayer.
The contenders were Connery, George Lazenby, Moore, Timothy Dalton, Pierce Brosnan and Craig — everyone who has played Bond in one of the 24 officially sanctioned 007 movies.
Several contributors brought up others like Barry Nelson, who played James Bond in a 1954 television adaptation of Casino Royale. Also mentioned were David Niven’s turn as Bond in 1967’s Casino Royale and another actor who has never played 007. “Clive Owen,” suggested one poster, “once they get around to casting him in the next one.”
After eliminating the unofficial 007s and non-Bonds a team of experts (OK, it was just me reading through the posts as Live and Let Die played on the TV behind me) sifted through the results.
Pollsters said Brosnan Is Not Enough to ’90s Bond Pierce Brosnan who came in dead last with just 1.9 per cent of the vote.
“I liked Pierce Brosnan because he embodied all the others combined,” wrote one positive poster. “Charm, humour, ruthlessness, cunning.”
Timothy Dalton earned 3.9 per cent with one respondent saying, “If there really was an agent who was an assassin with a licence to kill … it would be him.”
At 9.8 per cent, George Lazenby fared better than Brosnan and Dalton even though he only made one 007 film.
My favourite Bond came in third with 15.6 per cent, just behind Daniel Craig’s 21.5 per cent. “Craig gets me wanting to watch whereas the others are placeholders,” wrote a Facebook friend, “Sorry.”
By far and away, Sean Connery was the winner with a whopping 39.2 per cent of the vote. This comment seems to sum up the reason why people like him. “Sean Connery because Sean Connery!”
Who is your favourite Bond? Chime in at @metropicks.
SYNOPSIS: In “Black Bag,” a new thriller from director Steven Soderbergh, and now playing in theaters, Michael Fassbender plays a methodical spy who must choose between his country and his wife when a dangerous device is stolen, and she is a prime suspect.
