Watch the whole thing HERE!
Watch the whole thing HERE!
CAST: Mark Wahlberg, Yahya Abdul-Mateen II, Nicole Beharie, Josh Lucas, LisaGay Hamilton, LaChanze, Ethan Embry, David Strathairn, Giancarlo Esposito. Directed by Elegance Bratton.
REVIEW: Set in 1966, and loosely based on real life FBI agent Lindley DeVecchio, “By Any Means” sees Wayne Strider (Yahya Abdul-Mateen II), a by-the-book FBI Agent who passionately believes in Civil Rights for Black people, desk bound in his bureau’s file department. “America won’t be right until Mississippi is right,” he says.
When a prominent Black voting rights advocate is murdered by the Klan the FBI runs into a wall of silence from witnesses who fear retribution from the KKK.
With no witnesses willing to speak, the Agency takes the drastic action of pairing the Mississippi-born Strider with a man “uniquely qualified for the job,” the Colombo family hitman and FBI informant Gregory Scarpa (Mark Wahlberg, playing a character based on a real-life hitman for the Colombo crime family of New York City). “I do whatever I want,” he says. “No rules.”
They are a classic odd couple, forced to form an uneasy alliance. Strider is led by morality and a belief in justice. Scarpa, on the other hand, is a violent psychopath, whose actions are condoned by the FBI as long as they yield results. He believes in nothing but himself.
“I knock some heads around and crack the case,” says Scarpa. “Making people disappear does not solve the problem,” says Strider.
Doling out justice and vengeance in almost equal measure, Strider and Scarpa’s antics bring a morally ambiguous tone to “By Any Means.”
It’s a sort of Good Cop/Really Bad Cop scenario that, for all its talk of doing the right thing and playing by the rules, plays like a historical riff on “Death Wish’s” orgy of retribution.
If there is an ethical cost of Scarpa’s actions—torture and beating confessions out of suspects—it’s one the movie isn’t keen to explore. Scarpa’s coercive violence yields results but his methods are justified rather than questioned. Stride doesn’t like it but, after a spell of feeling helpless when his commitment to law and order fails him, eventually tacitly agrees that a cigarette burn to the chest or a baseball bat applied to the kneecaps are powerful tools in coaxing folks to spill the beans. But with no complexity to the film’s study of the ends justifying the means the effectiveness of the message is blunted. There is a cathartic vibe to seeing the Klansmen get knocked around, but it is a visceral thrill, not an intellectual one.
“By Any Means” is a handsome looking movie, with stylish direction from Elegance Bratton and a powerful performance from Yahya Abdul-Mateen II. He’s as stoic as Wahlberg, decked out with a giant Spirit of Halloween fake nose and elaborate combover, is swaggerlicious.
“By Any Means” is an entertaining late summer crime drama, but in its treatment of morality is more wish-fulfillment revenge than treatise on systemic complicity in illegal and methods used in law enforcement.
Jason Mamoa returns as the universe’s most famous merman in “Aquaman and the Lost Kingdom,” the last film of the DCEU, now playing in theatres.
“I’m the King of Atlantis,” says Arthur Curry / Aquaman (Mamoa). “Half a billion from every known species in the sea call this place home. But that doesn’t mean they all like me.”
Angriest of all the seafarers is David Kane / Black Manta (Yahya Abdul-Mateen II), a pirate and high-seas mercenary who holds Arthur responsible for the death of his father. Jesse Kane perished when his hijacked Russian nuclear submarine flooded with water. Aquaman could have saved him, but refused. Now, Black Manta wants revenge and is prepared to use the dark magic of the cursed Black Trident to get it.
“I’m going to kill Aquaman,” he says, “and destroy everything he holds dear. I’m going to murder his family and burn his kingdom to ash. Even if I have to make a deal with the devil to do it.”
Like I said, he’s angry.
To stop Black Manta from destroying everything important in his life, Aquaman decides to join forces with his estranged half-brother Orm Marius / Ocean Master (Patrick Wilson). Trouble is, the former King of Atlantis is being held in a desert jail for crimes against his old kingdom. Wearing a camouflage suit, Aquaman liberates Orm, and reluctantly, the former king agrees to battle Black Manta.
“I don’t know what lies ahead,” says Aquaman as they begin their adventure. “But we can’t leave our children in a world without hope.”
“Aquaman and the Lost Kingdom” has the vibe of an episode of the Saturday morning cartoon “Super Friends.” A mix of goofy humour and action, it delivers spectacle, but ultimately feels like it is hobbled by too much exposition, too much muddy CGI, not enough character development and not enough Black Manta. After a messy first hour of set-up, it catches a wave in the second half, but even when it picks up, the stakes are never high enough to match the first drama of the first film.
Mamoa is game. He understands that Aquaman is a mix of kitsch, charm and action chops, (“There are those who think I’m ridiculous,” he says.), a mighty underwater superhero who rides around the sea courtesy of a giant sea monkey, but the tonal shifts, whether because of reshoots or rewrites or just jerky editing, often make for disjointed viewing. The fine balance of humour and emotion isn’t as carefully calibrated here as it was in the first movie, and the character’s sudden temperament swings, from beast mode to jokester, are jarring.
Abdul-Mateen II is underused. He’s a villain with relatively little screen time whose thirst for retribution is matched only by his ability to make the silly, retro-sci fi Black Manta suit look cool.
Many movies have been fuelled by revenge, but here it quickly becomes a McGuffin, the thing that gets the movie in motion, but is soon forgotten as other plotlines crowd it out of the picture. His scheme to speed the warming of the planet by detonating his store of orichalcum fuel, is the work of a supervillain for sure, but is underdeveloped. “It has to be stopped,” says Atlanna (Nicole Kidman) in a textbook definition of understatement.
Of the supporting characters Wilson is given the only character arc. From disgraced leader to unlikely hero (no spoilers here), he’s as stoic as Aquaman is playful, but, nonetheless, delivers the film’s funniest scene (again no spoilers here, but it would not be out of place on the icky reality show “Fear Factor”). His presence, however, allows the film to explore a redemption storyline that gives the otherwise generic plot a bit of juice.
Amber Heard fans, and haters, may be divided by her appearance. Supporters will think she is underused, while the haters will think she takes up too much screen time. Suffice to say, she is a supporting character who appears throughout, but has little to do with the main action.
“Aquaman and the Lost Kingdom” has its moments (stick around for the amusing mid-credit scene), but the script’s choppy waters, and a low stakes storyline offer a low reward.
“Transformer” director Michael Bay’s movies are so distinctive the internet has coined a new term to describe his pedal-to-the-metal action style: Bayhem. His latest, the chase flick “Ambulance” starring Yahya Abdul-Mateen II and Jake Gyllenhaal, and now playing in theatres, falls in line. It keeps the foot on the gas in true Bayhem fashion.
Decorated veteran Will (Abdul-Mateen II) is desperate for money. His wife needs surgery but the coffers are dry. To raise the cash, he reluctantly asks his adoptive brother and career criminal Danny (Gyllenhaal) if he can help.
Turns out Danny can help, if Will is willing to bend the rules to get the money.
A lot of money.
Danny is planning a bank heist with an estimated bounty of $32 million. “I need an extra man,” Danny says. Will isn’t sure, but Danny is persuasive. “Have I ever gotten you in anything that I couldn’t get you out of?”
The bank heist goes off without a hitch, but the getaway is rough. With things falling apart, they hijack an ambulance. Trouble is, the ambulance is transporting a wounded policeman (Jackson White) and a paramedic (Eiza González). With police in hot pursuit, they take the ambulance on a high-speed chase through the streets of Los Angeles. “We’re not the bad guys,” Danny says. “We’re just trying to get home.”
The stakes are life and death. Cue the Bayhem.
“Ambulance” isn’t a heist movie. Bay milks excitement out of the setup and execution of the sequence but this is a getaway flick with an interesting family dynamic between Danny and Will.
Gyllenhaal’s performance as the charismatic sociopath older brother is as amped up as the movie itself. Which is to say it’s pedal to the metal all the way.
Bay’s relentless camera is in constant motion. It zooms, caresses the actor’s faces in extreme closeups, flies up and down the sides of buildings, and, of course cruises alongside the ambulance as it careens through the streets of Los Angeles. The camerawork and the editing are so fast it’s as though Bay has his finger on the fast forward button the entire time.
If you get motion sickness you might want to take some Gravol along with your popcorn.
If “Ambulance” was music, it would be a Yngwie Malmsteen guitar solo. Fast and heavy, it bowls you over with technical skill but doesn’t engage much more than that. There’s no sense of pacing, it’s all forward momentum. As Danny and Will say several times, “We’re a locomotive. We don’t stop,” but occasionally tapping the brake might give the viewers and the actors a chance to catch out collective breath.
“Ambulance” is raw, unadulterated Bayhem. From the frenetic editing to the characters, who all speak like they are in a Michael Bay action movie, and the anxiety inducing soundtrack, it is frantic Bayhem with all the good and bad that implies.
These days movies are regularly remade, rebooted, reimagined and regurgitated. But none of those terms capture how Warner Bros has brought back one of their most famous and ground breaking franchises.
The new Keanu Reeves movie isn’t simply a return to the Matrix, the simulated reality created by intelligent machines to pacify humans and steal their energy, it’s a resurrection. After eighteen years, Neo has been raised from the dead by Lana Wachowski in “The Matrix: Resurrections,” now playing in theatres.
The last time we saw Neo (Reeves) he made the ultimate sacrifice, giving himself to create peace between machines and mankind. His death would allow people to finally be free of the virtual world of the Matrix.
In “Resurrections” it’s twenty years later. Neo now goes by his real name, Thomas A. Anderson. He is the “greatest videogame designer of his generation,” with an ordinary life, save for the visions that plague him. “I’ve had dreams,” he says, “that weren’t just dreams.” His analyst (Neil Patrick Harris) has him on a steady diet of heavy therapy and blue pills, meant to quell the strange delusions.
Anderson’s regular life is turned upside down when his business partner Smith (Jonathan Groff) announces that their company will be making a sequel to their most popular game, “The Matrix.” As his team works on the new game—“It’s a mindbomb!”—his memories become more intense and soon he has trouble distinguishing fact from fiction.
Or is it all real?
When people from his past, like computer programmer and hacker Trinity (Carrie-Anne Moss) and Morpheus (Yahya Abdul-Mateen II), an alternate reality version of the heroic Matrix hovercraft captain who first believed Neo was “The One,” appear, Thomas fears he is losing his mind.
Things become clearer—Or do they?—when the new Morpheus offers Thomas/Neo a choice of pills. The blue ones will keep Thomas’ state of mind status quo. The red ones, however, will take him down the rabbit hole, into the heart of the Matrix. “Nothing comforts anxiety like a little nostalgia,” says Morpheus.
Pill popped, the simulated world opens up to reveal a dangerous place in need of a hero. Teaming with a group of rebels, Neo battles a new enemy and secrets are revealed. “The Matrix is the same or worse,” says Neo, “and I’m back where I started. It feels like none of it mattered.”
“The Matrix: Resurrections” may be the most self-aware movie of the year. No instalment of “The Matrix” will ever match the whiz bang excitement of the first film, and “Resurrections” knows it. It comments on itself and consistently winks at its legacy.
“This cannot be a retread, reboot or regurgitation,” says one of the “Matrix” videogame designers.
“Why not?” says another. “Reboots sell.”
Like the movie’s story, the film itself attempts to blur the line between the reality of the story and the very act of watching the movie. It is simultaneously self-depreciating and cynical. It’s OK to have a bit of good fun with the story, especially given the oh-so-serious tone of the previous “Matrix” movies, but by the time Thomas meets Trinity at the Simulatte Café, the jokes have worn thin.
The meat of the story, a search for truth, is the engine that keeps the movie motoring along, but the endless exposition, a torrent of words, seems to be the fuel that keeps things running. When a character says, “That’s the thing about stories, they never end,” it’s hard to disagree as the movie gets mired in mythology and world building.
It becomes a slog, without enough of the trademarked Wachowski action scenes to help pick up the pace. When the movie does dip into bullet time and the action that made the original so memorable, it feels like a pale comparison. There is nothing much new—“I still know Kung Fu,” says Neo—just frenetic action and nostalgia for a time when a slow-motion bullet made our eyeballs dance.
“The Matrix: Resurrections” does try to recontextualize the existing mythology. This time around the all-you-need-is-love-story between Neo and Trinity is amped up and there is some timely social commentary about control, whether it’s from the government or a virtual reality machine, but, and there is a big “but,” as much as I wanted to enjoy another trip to the Matrix, I found it too meta, too long and yet, not ambitious enough.
Richard’s review for “Candyman” is quoted in an article from Screenrant.
Read it HERE!
There is nothing sweet about the Candyman.
The supernatural killer with a hook for a hand, first played by Tony Todd in the movie of the same name 1992, returns in “Candyman,” now playing in theatres, reframed by co-producer and co-writer Jordan Peele for a new generation.
In this “spiritual sequel,” “Watchmen’s” Yahya Abdul-Mateen II plays artist Anthony McCoy, a visual artist who grew up in Chicago’s Cabrini-Green neighborhood. Almost three decades ago, Candyman, a vengeful spirit with a hook for a hand, summoned by anyone brave enough to repeat his name five times into a mirror, terrorized the area.
The towers Anthony and his family lived in are gone, torn down in the name of gentrification. Anthony and his partner, gallery director Brianna Cartwright (Teyonah Parris), take their place among the trendy millennials who now live in Cabrini-Green’s luxury lofts.
Anthony’s painting career isn’t going great guns, so when a long-time area resident William Burke (Colman Domingo) tells him of the urban myth (or is it true?) of Candyman.
“Candyman ain’t a he,” says William. “Candyman’s the whole damn hive. Samuel Evans, run down during the white housing riots of the ’50s. William Bell, lynched in the ’20s. But the first one, where it all began, the story of Daniel Robitaille. He made a good living touring the country making portraits for wealthy families. Mostly white. And they loved it. But you know how it goes. They love what we make, but not us. They beat him, tortured him. They cut off his arm and jammed a meat hook in the stump. But a story like that. Pain like that. Lasts forever. That’s Candyman. Candyman is how we deal with the fact that these things happen. That they’re still happening.”
Anthony finds inspiration in the story but as he delves into Candyman’s macabre world, he unwittingly opens a passage to supernatural terror and violence that transforms his body, mind and exposes his own personal connection to the legend.
“Candyman” is a horror film, but it’s interested in more than making the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. Most great horror isn’t simply about the scares. “Frankenstein,” for example, is enriched by ideas of science and technology run amok, “The Wolf Man” examines the polarities of good and evil in all of us and “Invasion of the Body Snatchers” has compelling things to say about mass hysteria. “Candyman” is a scary, timely reinterpretation of a classic horror movie character that brings the story into ripped-from-the-headlines context.
A study of trauma in the Black community, “Candyman” expands the scope of the original to suggest that the Candyman isn’t singular. In the new film William says, “Candyman’s the whole damn hive,” representing all Black men who have been lost to race-based violence.
The theme is front and center but director (and co-writer) Nia DaCosta doesn’t shy away from the body horror—Anthony’s transformation includes some memorable fingernail horror and more—or the Candyman’s violence. The kills are suitably bloody, often shot in interesting ways, like through the mirror of a make-up compact dropped on the floor. It’s brutally elegant and never forgets to add a helping of horror with its story.
“Candyman” is a movie that succeeds on two levels, as a comment on the echoes of historical racism that can be heard today and as a horror film that’ll scare the pants off of you.
“The Trial of the Chicago 7,” now playing in theatres, sees Aaron Sorkin return to the courtroom twenty-eight years after he put the words “You can’t handle the truth,” into Jack Nicholson’s mouth. This time around he’s re-enacting one of the most famous trials of the 1960s, using transcripts from the actual proceedings as a basis for the script. There is no one moment as powerful of Nicholson’s “truth” declaration but there is no denying the timeliness of the film’s fifty-two-year-old story.
Here’s the basic story for anyone too young to know the difference between Yippies and Yuppies.
The trial, which was originally the Chicago Eight until Black Panther leader Bobby Seale (Yahya Abdul-Mateen II) had his case severed from the others, saw 60s counterculture icons Abbie Hoffman (Sacha Baron Cohen) and Jerry Rubin (Jeremy Strong) of the Youth International Party (the aforementioned Yippies), and assorted radicals David Dellinger (John Carroll Lynch), Tom Hayden (Eddie Redmayne), Rennie Davis (Alex Sharp), John Froines (Daniel Flaherty), and Lee Weiner (Noah Robbins) charged with conspiracy and inciting to riot stemming from their actions at the anti-Vietnam War protests in Chicago, Illinois, during the 1968 Democratic National Convention.
Behind the prosecution desk is the young and meticulous Richard Schultz (Joseph Gordon-Levitt) acting as assistant to the truculent chief prosecutor Tom Foran (J. C. MacKenzie). On the defense is lawyer William Kunstler (Mark Rylance), a boldfaced name in civil rights litigation. On the bench is Julius Hoffman (Frank Langella), a conservative judge who once presided over an obscenity case against Lenny Bruce.
Those are the players and to a person they deliver solid performances, making the most of Sorkin’s snappy, rapid-fire dialogue. Of the ensemble cast Baron Cohen stands out, handing in a straight dramatic role; there’s no Mankini in sight. He’s too old by half to play the character who once famously urged kids to, “Never trust anyone over thirty,” but maintains the edge that make his comedic characters so memorable.
Sorkin, who also directs, has made a period piece that reverberates for today. A bridge that spans the five decades from the actual events, it’s a bit of history that comments on contemporary hot button topics like protest, civil rights and police brutality. The sight of Seale, the lone African American defendant, bound and gagged at the judge’s order, is a potent reminder of racial injustice in the penal system. Re-enactments of police brutality during the riots and the consequent discussion of who is to blame for the violence, the protestors or the bill club swinging cops could be ripped from today’s headlines.
“The Trial of the Chicago 7” isn’t perfect. Gordon-Levitt’s character is a cypher, a prosecutor who breaks with his colleagues at a crucial moment and Hoffman is played as a pantomime villain, but as a reminder of how history is repeated, it is a compelling watch.
