Total Recall Proved Fun And Thoughtfulness Were Not Mutually Exclusive In Blockbuster Fare

Ever had a dream you just can’t seem to shake? Douglas Quaid (Arnold Schwarzenegger) sure has. Living on Earth in 2084, Quaid keeps having dreams of himself on Mars with the same brunette-haired woman. What does it mean? Quaid’s not sure beyond the fact that it makes him want to go to Mars. He’ll settle for the next best thing, implanted memories of taking a Mars vacation through the company Rekall. While there, Quaid stumbles onto a problem. Somebody’s already messed with his mind.  Quaid is not some construction worker living a humdrum life. He’s actually somebody else entirely, somebody capable of killing people and, maybe, starting a revolution on the planet Mars.

Based on the 1966 Phillip K. Dick short story We Can Remember It For You Wholesale, Total Recall see’s Paul Verhoeven working in the blend of science-fiction, social commentary and hard-R action that worked so well with his 1984 classic Robocop. Much like with that movie, Total Recall has blood and violence galore but it’s also got smart social commentary on its mind. Tragically, such commentary has only become more relevant today. Hearing Mars governor Vilos Cohaagen (Ronny Cox) demonize Mars natives protesting his actions echoes how a certain modern-day American leader demonizes anyone who dares to stand up against him.

What’s old is new again and while that’s bound to send one into a depressive spiral when it comes to real-world sociopolitical issues, it also means that Total Recall packs more of a wallop than ever. The screenplay, credited to Ronald Shusett, Dan O'Bannon and Gary Goldman, also works in providing a number of genuinely unexpected surprises as Quaid begins to unravel who he really is. The sense of mystery surrounding his actual identity is always a great device to keep the plot of Total Recall moving. This sense of intrigue is heightened by a scene where Quaid grabs a silver suitcase from an unknown helper, which takes on the ambiance of a 1970s political thriller like The Conversation or All The President’s Men. Those movies, like Total Recall, painted a portrait of a world where there’s nobody you can trust. Always a good aesthetic to channel in my book!

Of course, Total Recall doesn’t evoke such grounded thrillers for long. In fact, the writers and director Paul Verhoeven show a delightful affinity for throwing realism to the wind, especially once Dennis gets to Mars. Here, mutants with all sorts of over-the-top deformities linger in the background as casually as can be. This makes Total Recall’s Mars like the Mos Eisley Cantina in Star Wars, you could freeze each of these shots and unpack so many cool background details. Plus, the environment of Mars gets used for a number of creative action set pieces, including a thrilling scene involving a welcome station at Mars being exposed to the planets atmosphere.

These sequences show a lot of cleverness on the part of the writers and director in terms of how to create suspense when you’re lead character is played by Arnold Schwarzenegger. This guy circa. 1990 is the definition of strength, he looks like he could push a mountain with no problem. How could Ronny Cox be a threat to him? Total Recall smartly makes the conflict between Schwarzenegger’s Quaid and the antagonistic characters not one defined by hand-to-hand combat. Instead, Quaid faces off against adversaries who are a lot more influential in politics and have access to oppressive technology.

For example, Cox’s Cohaagen isn’t seen as a threat because he could beat up Quaid in a fight, he’s a threat because he’s cultivated enough power to cut off the oxygen supply for the residents of Mars. When he and Quaid eventually meet up to fight in the climax, the tension is derived not from whether Quaid can overpower Cohaagen, but from whether or not he can avoid being sucked into the atmosphere of Mars. Through these type of means, Total Recall makes it totally believable that this can be a David and Goliath story where Arnold Schwarzenegger is the David figure. Such thoughtful storytelling touches are executed so effortlessly that you won’t even notice them as you’re fist-pumping your way through the various shoot-outs and cool one-liners. Total Recall is another impressive Paul Verhoeven feature and my favorite kind of blockbuster, the kind that makes you think as often as it makes you cheer. 

Guillermo del Toro Made a Memorable Directorial Debut With Cronos

Like many fairy tales, Cronos follows a lead character you’d never expect to fall into a grand adventure. In this case, the unexpected protagonist is Jesús Gris (Federico Luppi), an antiques dealer who has stumbled upon a most unusual trinket in an archangel statue. It’s a golden circular object called the Cronos device that, when placed on his body, latches itself onto Gris. It’s painful at first, but soon, Gris becomes addicted to Cronos. Gris isn’t the only one fixated on this object. The powerful but dying old man Dieter de la Guardia (Claudio Brook) wants this fantastical creation for himself because it grants immortality. Cronos has some additional unusual side-effects for its users, including giving Gris a strange compulsion to devour blood.

Cronos serves as the directorial debut for Guillermo del Toro, who also wrote the script. Sometimes, it takes a filmmaker multiple movies to establish their own unique style. In the case of del Toro, he pretty much leaped right out of the gate with a quintessentially Guillermo del Toro production. A fairy tale story set in the modern world? It’s here. A protagonist whose some kind of literal monster that we’re supposed to sympathize with? Yep. Even the interior of Cronos, with its golden coloring and multitude of gears, looks like it could belong to a member of the Golden Army from the second Hellboy movie.

Also keeping consistent with future del Toro movies is the fact that Cronos makes for an entertaining watch that’s rich with enough details to keep you thinking about it long after its over. Something that especially stuck around in my mind is Ron Perlman as Angel de la Guardia, the nephew of the main villain. Angel does all the dirty work for Dieter, particularly anything related to interrogating Gris for information on Cronos. However, in a clever twist, Angel has no real stake in this conflict. He doesn’t have any interest in Cronos, he’s only a menace to Gris because his uncle won’t stop pestering him.

Angel is more interested in plastic surgery for his nose than anything else. Hunting down Gris is more a nuisance than anything else. There’s a sense of everyday humanity in this villain that reinforces the down-to-Earth quality of the characters in Cronos. Del Toro’s script balances these relatable elements with delightfully over-the-top scenes of horror gruesomeness. Both del Toro’s writing and his direction wring the most eeriness out of these kind of sequences, particularly one where Gris is in a fancy bathroom and is drawn to a puddle of blood on the floor. The slow-paced nature of the scene creates a sense of dread in the viewer as they begin to realize that Gris plans on kneeling down on the floor and licking up this puddle of blood.

What a sharp contrast to the kindly old man who was all too happy to play games with his granddaughter early in the story. This transformation proves effective because Cronos shows equal levels of attention to the grounded and the stylized. This balance continues to be handy once the third act begins and Gris becomes an undead figure. This is where del Toro’s love for sympathetic monsters come into play, as the zombified Gris is portrayed as a tragic figure now unable to really connect with the ones he loves. Meanwhile, in a storytelling move that mirrors Michael Shannon’s villain in The Shape of Water, the actual monsters in Cronos turn out to be the two decidedly human members of the de la Guardia family.

This version of Gris makes great use of practical visual effects to depict Gris becoming a whole other being, one that’s shedding its human skin. Extremely convincing makeup work is used to convey this effect and that work is made even more impressive given the low $2 million budget of Cronos. Just as an observation, I’d be curious to know if del Toro intentionally made the final form of Gris resemble the Hammer Films version of Frankenstein’s monster. With his white hair, purple skin and assortment of scars, I kept getting reminded of Christopher Lee’s take on that famous movie monster. Meanwhile, the sympathetic quality to Gris in this form resembles how the classic Universal monster movies (particularly Bride of Frankenstein) portrayed Frankenstein’s beast as such a tragically lonely character.  

Cronos evokes classic Frankenstein movies but it’s not just a Frankenstein knock-off. On the contrary, the film is full of idiosyncratic details that help to make it a fantastic kick-off for the directorial career of Guillermo del Toro.

A Messy Script Brines Down An American Pickle

Herschel Greenbaum (Seth Rogen) has always clung to hopes for a better life. After the village that he and his wife, Sarah (Sarah Snook), call home was destroyed, Herschel’s ambitions carry them both to America. Here, in the year 1919, Herschel is sure he can start a family that will soon exceed their humble origins. However, his plans hit a snag when Hershel, while working at a pickle factory, falls into a vat of pickles. The vat is sealed up as the factory is shut down, leaving Hershel to be brined for 100 years.

He’s eventually reawakened in the modern era not having aged a day. However, the world around him has transformed drastically. Luckily, Herschel has somebody to help him navigate this strange land through his only living relative, great-grandson Ben Greenbaum (also Seth Rogen). Initially, An American Pickle wrings amusing gags out its high-concept starting premise. A joke about a scientist offering a “satisfying explanation” for how on Earth Herschel survived a century in brine that gets drowned out by Herschel’s voice-over is clever. A subsequent joke that see’s Herschel’s life-long desire for seltzer water being quickly satisfied by a gizmo in his great-grandson’s kitchen is equal parts amusing and endearing.

Eventually, though, Simon Rich’s screenplay struggles to stretch this premise into a feature-length movie. In attempting to accomplish this goal, An American Pickle becomes a Spy vs. Spy scenario about Herschel and Ben trying to one-up each other with their respective independent businesses. The gags in these situations just aren’t particularly humorous and too often it feels like An American Pickle lost the whole concept of a man being displaced 100 years out of time. Maybe these scenes would have worked better if the two lead characters had been better developed prior to them being at each other's throats.

Ben, especially, lacks much of a discernible personality before he strikes up a fierce rivalry with his great-grandfather. That makes it hard to get invested in the series of misadventures that make up the second act as well as the moments where An American Pickle wants to tug at your heartstrings. Proving more effective in terms of poignancy are any scenes related to how Judaism impacts the lives of the two lead characters. A climactic scene of Ben entering a synagogue for the first time in years and finding solace is an especially well-realized sequence from how it's shot to Rogen’s performance as Ben. This scene and any other moments reference the Ben and Herschel’s Jewish heritage have a sense of specific detail to them that the weaker sections of An American Pickle lack.

Also proving commendable is the lead performances from Seth Rogen. Even if the script doesn’t give him a lot to work with in the part of Ben, Rogen still does good work conveying Harold and Ben as two distinctly different people. His organic chemistry with, well, himself, is also emblematic of how An American Pickle does such good work in making you buy that we’re watching two distinct human beings on-screen. Sometimes, comedies like Austin Power wring big laughs out of drawing attention to filmmaking techniques used to cover up that an actor is playing multiple roles. That wouldn’t work for the more dramatic An American Pickle and the film clearly recognizes this.

The camerawork and editing choices in An American Pickle rarely reminds one that director Brandon Trost is working around logistic hurdles related to Rogen’s dual performances. It’s the same kind of camerawork and editing choices you’d see if the movie starred two different people. Meanwhile, scenes featuring both Ben and Herschel together lack any distracting reminders that we’re watching two performances fused together through digital trickery. The visual effects work used to bring two Seth Rogen's to the silver screen, er, your HBO MAX account reflects the solid visual scheme of An American Pickle, which includes cinematography by John Guleserian. A pity that two strong Seth Rogen performances and commendable visual flair are weighed down by An American Pickle’s more underwhelming script.

Howard is a Poignant Tribute to a Songwriting Genius

 

Last summer, I went and saw my college’s production of Little Shop of Horrors. I’d seen this show numerous times (heck, I was even in a version of it in High School!), but it never fails to dazzle me. The songs, the puppetry, the dark sense of humor, it’s all just so up my alley. On this particular viewing, though, one of the songs hit me like it never had before. The song in question was Somewhere That’s Green, which features Audrey wistfully singing about her desires to move into a traditional 1950s suburban home. It’s a tongue-in-cheek parody of the classic “I Want” songs, with the joke being that Audrey wants TV dinners and a twelve-inch screen TV rather than to go somewhere over the rainbow.

It’s all so silly and humorous, yet, somehow, those final few lines got me all choked up. It had never happened before, but as Somewhere That’s Green wrapped up, I was dabbing tears away from my eyes. Maybe it was just my mood that day. Maybe it was because I was older now and better understood the concept of wanting something that seems so close yet so far away. Whatever the reason, the lyrics that songwriter Howard Ashman had penned for this tune had touched my heart like I had never heard the song before. That’s the power of a great lyricist.

This particular great lyricist gets an appropriately superb documentary with Howard. Hailing from director Don Hahn (who produced a number of animated Disney films like Beauty and the Beast), Howard chronicles the life of Howard Ashman from his childhood days in growing up in Baltimore, Maryland to his time establishing the WPA Theater in New York City to his time spent at Walt Disney Animation Studios writing the Oscar-winning tunes for movies like The Little Mermaid and Beauty and the Beast.

In the second-half of the runtime, the tragic element of Ashman being diagnosed with HIV enters the picture. Ashman chose to keep his diagnosis secret from nearly everyone, including the folks at Disney. But he and his loved ones knew the time he had left was limited. Whatever time he had left, though, Ashman was going to use to express the sort of creativity he’d been exhibiting since he was a youngster.

Though Howard, like most documentaries, makes use of interviews with real-world people, it departs from traditional docs in how we don’t see these interviews. Instead, interviews with Ashman’s sister Sarah Gillespie and Ashman’s creative partner Alan Menken are merely heard as voice-over. These play over old photographs, footage of New York streets or images from the plays & movies Ashman wrote. The only person new get to see interviewed is Ashman himself through old TV interviews. Through this unique approach, which Hahn previously employed on the film Waking Sleeping Beauty, Ashman himself gets more centered in Howard. It’s a way of ensuring that a man who is no longer on this Earth can still be the most prominently-seen figure in his own documentary.

Hahn also proves very insightful on using lyrics from Ashman’s assorted songs to reflect the man’s mood at various points in his life. Lyrics from productions like Little Shop of Horrors, Smile and even a rejected tune for Jafar to sing from Aladdin take on whole new levels of meaning when placed against pivotal parts of Ashman’s life. Of course, the best use of one of Ashman’s songs comes towards the end when Alan Menken recounts a dream he had about Ashman the night this lyricists passed away. This was always going to be an incredibly moving moment but having it accompanied by a soft orchestral cover of Somewhere That’s Green, that just gives it an extra boost of poignancy.

Howard also makes one appreciate how Howard Ashman was always working as an underdog in his time as an artist. His own theater, WPA, was in such a rundown spot of NYC that Roger Corman observed that it looked like Skid Row from Little Shop! Even when he came to Disney Animation, it was in its bleakest period during the mid-1980s when the artists were being housed in trailers next to a bowling alley.

One can appreciate how much Ashman’s artistic fire endured even in these less-than-ideal confines. Similarly, Howard appropriately dedicates much of its runtime to exploring the AIDS crisis impacted Ashman’s life. At first, this was due to so many of his friends in the New York theater scene dying from the disease. This inspired Ashman to write a touching tribute song to New York’s LGBTQIA+ community entitled Sheridan Square. Of course, then the disease had a much more personal impact on Ashman himself when he was diagnosed with AIDS. Ashman’s partner, Bill Lauch, takes the viewer through Ashman’s struggles with AIDS in some of the emotionally vivid portions of Howard.

These pieces of narration ensure that Howard isn’t just a fluff piece promoting the Disney movies Ashman worked on. Lauch not only emphasizes Ashman’s struggles with AIDS, he and other interviewers are open about the stigmas attached to queer people who got this disease. So many people, including powerful politicians, painted a dehumanizing portrait of people living with this disease. Howard fights back against that perception not only through painting Howard Ashman as a fully-formed person but treating his sexuality as a natural part of who he was. Ashman’s sexuality doesn’t just come into play when he gets diagnosed with AIDS. It runs throughout the whole movie, including in segments where Lauch explains the cozy life he and Ashman built together. Lauch’s anecdotes paints such a warm and lovely portrait of the duo, thus ensuring that Howard doesn’t just focus on Ashman’s sexuality for tragic purposes.

At one point in Howard, Little Mermaid director John Musker notes that he and Ashman were watching a Little Mermaid float go down a road at Walt Disney World. As the float passed them by, Ashman, who was well aware of his terminal illness by now, turned to Musker and said “This is going to outlive me after I die.” Nearly thirty years after he passed away, Ashman’s works continue to enchant people. His bold creativity, his witty wordplay, his sense of empathy for his characters, these key components of Ashman’s work have all endured.

They’re the qualities that are emphasized so much throughout well-made documentary Howard. They’re the qualities that ensure that the world will always know characters like Seymour Krelborn, Ariel and Belle. And they’re the very qualities that ensure that someone can cry listening to Somewhere That’s Green for the umpteenth time.

She Dies Tomorrow Is Haunting and Gets Inside Your Head

                                                 

She Dies Tomorrow certainly feels relevant to the modern-day world. How could it not? After all, it’s a story about a bunch of people grappling with imminent doom while being isolated from others. It seems practically tailor-made for the age of self-quarantine and social distancing. Then again, She Dies Tomorrow would have felt relevant in any era. COVID-19 has exacerbated those feelings, no question, but there’s always some looming disaster that makes one acutely aware of their own mortality. A worldwide war. Global warming. The worldwide rise of neo-fascism. Life itself is filled with things that put our lives in jeopardy. It’s a tragic quality of human existence that also ensures She Dies Tomorrow has a timeless quality to it. The newest film from writer/director Amy Seimetz didn’t need the COVID-19 pandemic to be relevant, though it certainly doesn’t hurt.

We begin She Dies Tomorrow with Amy (Kate Lein Shell), who is wandering around her newly purchased home in a daze. She’s become fascinated with the floorboards, searches for leather jackets and colorful urns online and listens to the same Mozart song on repeat. What’s going on here? Well, once her friend Jane (Jane Adams) arrives, it becomes clear. Amy is dying. Literally. Amy is convinced she will die tomorrow. Jane dismisses this as just a bunch of gobbledygook from a struggling friend. But when she returns to her own home, Jane becomes convinced of the same thing. Jane is going to die tomorrow. Once Jane goes to her brother's party, the idea begins to spread and spread, with six people eventually realizing that they’ll be dying in the next 24 hours.

She Dies Tomorrow is a film that begins on one path and eventually splits off into multiple patches. Soon, we’re not just following Amy’s story, we’re following Jane’s saga and then we’re also watching the tale of her brother Jason (Chris Messina) and his wife Susan (Katie Aselton). Utilizing this storytelling method, each of the characters of She Dies Tomorrow is able to come alive as fully-formed people capable of inhabiting different types of roles. When she first appears in She Dies Tomorrow, Jane functions as a more stable person trying to coax Amy out of her turmoil. However, as we follow Jane’s own storyline, we see how she has her own mental health problems and familial issues to grapple with.

As the threat of death of grows closer and closer to Jane, she only becomes more multi-faceted as a character. The same is true for each of the players in She Dies Tomorrow, who all react to the prospect of death in a distinctly different way. Some resort to violence in the face of their impending demise. Others try to cut off relationships that just aren’t working. Still others take trips down memory lines involving dune buggies. Though each of its characters are reacting to imminent death, the high level of specific details in each of the reactions ensures that She Dies Tomorrow never falls into repetition.

The unique quality of each of these experiences is really helped by the various performances of the cast members. After headlining Amy Seimetz’s debut feature Sun Don’t Shine, Kate Lein Shell reteams with the director for the lead role of Amy. Much like her work in Sun Don’t Shine, Lein Shell’s performance in She Dies Tomorrow makes great use of the actors ability to convey powerful amounts of sorrow in just her eyes. It’s a quality that infuses such a human quality into her acting and makes stripped-down scenes, like the opening sequences showing Amy just wandering around her house in a resigned daze, totally transfixing. Also impressing in their on-screen work is Tunde Adebimpe as Brian.

From the moment we first meet Brian sitting awkwardly but attentively at a birthday party, Adebimpe imbues the character with an endearing sense of calm. He makes Brian the level-headed character you can hold into during the most intense scenes of She Dies Tomorrow. Even with that subdued quality, though, Adebimpe still incorporates a melancholy quality into Brian’s final hours on this planet that stuck with me. The whole cast in She Dies Tomorrow tends to be this good, right down to cameo appearances by Michelle Rodriguez and Adam Wingard.

Uniting each of the characters in She Dies Tomorrow beyond being played by good actors is that they all encounter the movies colorful vision of death. Jaws had John Williams’ iconic theme music to indicate when it shark is near. She Dies Tomorrow uses a barrage of bright colors to indicate when death has entered the lives of characters like Amy and Jane. The naturalistic lighting of the rest of the movie suddenly fades away as the individual players of She Dies Tomorrow are bathed in bold blue, green, red and yellow hues. This color scheme is also carried over into a recurring visual motif utilizing close-ups of brightly colored surfaces, like a cup containing a bubbly golden drink.

When looking at these shots, it is usually hard to make out what they are. However, the fact that they are so unusually close to the camera and the unorthodox shapes inside the frame instill a sense of dread in the viewer. It is a perfect ambiguous visual accompaniment to how death manifests in the minds of each of the She Dies Tomorrow characters. None of them know how they are going to perish. But they all know this event is something to fear. Amy Seimetz and cinematographer Jay Keitel’s use bright colors to creatively instill an uncertainty-informed sense of dread into the entirety of She Dies Tomorrow.

Smartly, Seimetz doesn’t try to provide answers to lofty questions or in-universe explanations during She Dies Tomorrow. Incorporating any of those things would totally undercut the sense of precariousness that’s so crucial to She Dies Tomorrow. Just like in real life, none of these characters know where death is going to come from. Whether it’s from a friend putting the idea in your head or COVID-19, death will eventually size us all. She Dies Tomorrow doesn’t try to impart any wise morals in the face of inevitable death. Particularly in its final scene, it merely normalizes the idea of not having all the answers. Maybe all we can do in the face of death if become fascinated by the idea of becoming a leather jacket. Maybe that’s OK. I, like the characters of She Dies Tomorrow, don’t have all the answers. But I do know for certain is that She Dies Tomorrow is the kind of evocative filmmaking I won’t be able to stop thinking about.

Bleakness Serves Sun Don't Shine Well

We begin Sun Don’t Shine, the directorial debut of Amy Seimetz (who also wrote this film), in media res. Crystal (Kate Lyn Sheil) and Leo (Kentucker Audley) are already on the run in Leo’s car, though we don’t know why. They talk vaguely about the urgency of their mission and Leo insists that Crystal doesn’t talk to anybody. Eventually, we learn that Crystal and Leo have gotten the corpse of Crystal’s abusive boyfriend in the trunk of the car. They’re now on a car ride to dispose of the body. The clearly disturbed Crystal is constantly turning to Leo as a potential savior. The fact that we first see him strangling Crystal makes it clear he’s no knight on a white horse. He’s just yet another toxic male figure in the hellish life of Crystal.

In my Japanese cinema class, I learned that in, Japanese cinema, water is seen as a place where change occurs. In a film like Ugetsu, it can be a place where you go from the mortal world to entering a fantastical realm. In another film like Sansho the Bailiff, it emerges as a pond a tortured character walks into to transform from a living being into a corpse. It seems like Crystal believes in the idea of water being a place for change too considering how often she turns to it during Sun Don’t Shine. After all, the destination of her journey is a river where she and Leo can  dump the body and cover up this horrific crime.

Additionally, Crystal is enamored with an underwater Little Mermaid stage show at a local wildlife park. Seimetz never has Crystal say her reasons for loving this show out loud but it makes total poignant sense why this story would resonate so deeply with her. Little Mermaid is a  story of transformation, a mermaid who becomes a human and finds a better life in the process. Why wouldn’t a woman, whose entire existence has been spent in abusive relationships, live vicariously through this aquatic tale? Water even factors into the final scene of Sun Don’t Shine as Crystal takes a dip into a strangers pool. As she plunks underwater, she’s, temporarily, escaping the brutalities of the real world. Water cannot change her permanently, but it offers a temporary escape.

The thoughtful use of water is one of a number of intriguing ways Seimetz explores the haunted mind at the center of Sun Don’t Shine. Proving similarly insightful is recurring patches of voice-work that see Crystal expressing her inner thoughts. These play over on-screen footage depicting Crystal being either silent or distracted in a task. Much like the flash-forward narration in Y tu Mama Tambien. Sun Don’t Shine uses voicework to lend greater context to what we’re watching on-screen. There isn’t much time when you’re on the run to deliver dialogue exploring who you are as a person. Through voice-over work that’s detached entirely from any sense of time and space, we get to discover more about who Crystal is.

The voice-over dialogue also tends to have a reflective quality to it as Crystal reminisces on all the desires she’s had and wants to still fulfill. The viewer, and maybe even Crystal deep down, realizes that these ambitions will never become a reality. The juxtaposition between Crystal’s quietly hopeful voice-over and the grim on-screen imagery ends up instilling a wistful nature to the entirety of Sun Don’t Shine. Lending further insight into the psyche of Crystal is the sound work, particularly a series of scratching noises Crystal swears she hears coming from the trunk. Every bump on the road sends Crystal’s anxiety into overdrive. The sound work in Sun Don’t Shine manages to capture a similarly overwhelming quality.

These qualities help to ensure that Sun Don’t Shine is a remarkably gripping affair. Also aiding its compelling nature is the tight pacing and the two lead performances. Playing Crystal, Kate Lyn Sheil is utterly haunting. Her eyes alone vividly convey the idea that this character has endured so much, you can see the pain reflected on her pupils. It’s also impressive how well Lyn Sheil communicates the idea that violence has become a commonplace part in Crystal’s life. There’s a tavern-set scene where Crystal retails Leo with a yarn about how she got into a fight with a co-worker at her job. She tells the tale like it was all so harmless, but the words she’s saying reflect a scenario that was anything but.

As for Kentucker Audley, he takes a subdued approach to portraying Leo. One of his earliest lines sees him calmly gaslighting Crystal over how violent he just acted towards her. From there, Audley portrays Leo as someone with a pervasive sense of worry. His response to any difficulty is to lash out at Crystal in ways big and small. This quality informs Audley’s way of speaking as Leo, which sees the character talking like he’s always at the end of his rope. There is also an unpredictable quality from Audley’s performance that stems from how the behavior of abusive individuals can be totally arbitrary. You never know what Leo is going to do next and you’re even less sure how Crystal will response to his behavior. This feat exemplifies how Sun Don’t Shine uses a thoughtful exploration of the perspective of Crystal to create a superbly-made thriller.

Rewind Is A Powerful Documentary

A harrowing watch that uses old home video footage as a gateway into an exploration of abuse being passed down from one generation to the next. Sasha Neulinger's filmmaking is open, raw, and urgently essential.

CW: Discussions of sexual assault against minors

Sasha Joseph Neulinger, the director of the documentary Rewind as well as its primary subject, was always being captured on camera. Neulinger’s dad, Henry, constantly lugged around this big camcorder to capture footage of his kids (which also included Neulinger’s sister Bekah). He didn’t just use this machine to ensure video proof of birthday parties or holiday dinners. There was always a camera capturing adolescent Sasha Neulinger, as if Henry wanted to ensure he had a record of every second of his first-born’s childhood. These videos were meant to capture happy memories. But in Rewind, they offer glimpse into a dark past hidden in plain sight.

Through the videos, we get visual proof of Neulinger’s changed behavior between the ages of five and six. A previously outgoing kid was now a tormented and withdrawn soul. What happened? It turns out this behavioral change stemmed from Neulinger being sexually assaulted by his uncle Howard Nevison. Bekah also experienced something similar at hands of a cousin and Uncle Larry. Those relatives, the ones who caused unspeakable harm to these children, are on-camera in that footage Henry captured. These videos, showing Uncle Larry acting goofy with a fake thick British accent or that cousin touching Bekah during a birthday celebration, now serve as a chilling glimpses into how the people who upended Neulinger’s life were hiding in plain sight.

The court proceedings that occurred once Henry and Neulinger’s mom found out about these instances of sexual assault happened over nearly a decade between the late 1990s and 2006. Rewind follows a now adult Sasha Neulinger, who takes viewers through the process of how he opened up to his parents about being sexually assaulted as well as subsequent revelations that revealed this behavior to be far from an anomaly. Henry, it turns out, was sexually assaulted by Larry as a child while Larry had previously been raped by Howard. The abusive behavior beget more abusive behavior. For his part, Henry says he didn’t turn out like his brothers because he, unlike Larry and Howard, was raised by his more compassionate father.

Abuse is a cyclical thing. Rewind explores how the ripple effects of abuse keep spreading from one member of the Neulinger family to another. Even adolescent Sasha Neulinger reflects this once he begins lashing out at Bekah in the wake of being molested. Being so open about that part of the aftermath of his own sexual assault contributes to Sasha Neulinger’s Rewind being such a raw, open movie. Further evidence of this quality of the movie is shown in Neulinger visiting his childhood psychiatrist for drawings he and Becka sketched that revealed that their family members had raped them. The pictures are haunting in countless respects, including in the fact that this is the only way these children could possibly express the horrors they’d experienced.

The second-half of Rewind emphasizes further tragedy in the form of how difficult it is to get powerful alleged sexual predators to atone for their crimes. While Larry and the cousin are arrested shortly after Sasha and Becka come forward with their stories, the court process for Howard, a famous opera singer in a New York synagogue, was much more prolonged. Sasha Neulinger interviews a police officer and an attorney general to get a better picture of the struggles faced in trying to get Howard to face any sort of trial for his alleged crimes. Sasha coming forward about what had happened to him was already an enormous challenge. But that was only the first step, as Rewind so vividly illustrates. In the process, one gets such a clear picture of the countless hurdles facing survivors of sexual assault. No wonder so many feel so daunted by all of it that they stay silent.

But Sasha Neulinger doesn’t remain voiceless. Not only has he crafted this documentary, but in the most poignant scene of Rewind, he and his childhood psychiatrist recount how Sasha, with the aid of a personally special yarmulke, testified against Howard in court. Through the early home video footage, we see how Sasha Neulinger was psychologically impacted by being sexually assaulted as a child. Through anecdotes about his court testimony and the final scenes of Rewind, we see how Sasha Neulinger has endured in the years since. While his fathers home video footage provides haunting glimpses of his past, Rewind eventually offers hope for Sasha Neulinger’s future.

In Laman's Terms: An Ode To Jurassic Park

In Laman's Terms is a weekly editorial column where Douglas Laman rambles on about certain topics or ideas that have been on his mind lately. Sometimes he's got serious subjects to discuss, other times he's just got some silly stuff to shoot the breeze about. Either way, you know he's gonna talk about something In Laman's Terms!

Given what a profound personal impact Jurassic Park had on me, it’s kind of shocking that it wasn’t my introduction to the Jurassic Park saga.

Nope, that honor belongs to the Jurassic Park novel, which I was obsessed with as an eleven-year-old. I always felt like I was getting away with something by reading this book full of graphic violence and swear words. No wonder I was so enamored with it! That fixation on the novel led to me trying out the movies, though I didn’t go the logical route of watching the Jurassic Park movie first. No, instead I watched Jurassic Park III with a middle school buddy of mine back in August 2007.

It was fine and benefited greatly from director Joe Johnston knowing how to make competent entertainment that doesn’t overstay its welcome. However, its approach to the dinosaurs didn’t have much in the way wonder. They were all now just beasties ready for a fight, they never exhibited much soul.

That problem got rectified when I watched Jurassic Park shortly after. Even though it wasn’t the first time I was seeing these dinosaurs or even characters like Alan Grant (Sam Neill), watching Jurassic Park for the first time was like stepping into a whole new universe. Suddenly, the concept of what movies could do shifted. Movies could be this scary, this thrilling and this awe-inspiring all at once! What a remarkable mixture of tone! Much of that tonal feat was owed to the dinosaurs. Gone were the Jurassic Park III dinos who existed to provide jump scares. The Jurassic Park dinos, they could instill a variety of emotions in the viewer.

Yes, Jurassic Park was certainly an accomplishment of a movie. However, was that just childhood nostalgia talking? Goodness knows some movies that inspire us as a kids just can’t stand up to scrutiny as adults. Revisiting Jurassic Park for the first time in years on Monday night provided me a chance to figure out if Jurassic Park really was the top-of-the-line cinema or just something enhanced by rose-colored visions of the past. As it turns out, Jurassic Park is even better than I remembered it being! The awe I felt as an eleven-year-old has been preserved, like a mosquito caught in amber.

However, as a grown-up, I’m now able to better appreciate the finer details of the picture in terms of screenwriting and filmmaking. Just from the get-go, Jurassic Park gracefully jumps from two prologues before landing on two of our lead characters, Dr. Grant and Ellie Satler (Laura Dern), on an excavation. A clumsier movie would have gotten lost with so many false starts. But the Jurassic Park script (penned by Michael Crichton and David Koepp) gracefully weaves connections between the various scenes. Most notably, we see a handler get devoured by a velociraptor in the very first scene. In the next prologue, we travel to a whole new country with no familiar characters. Surely this should feel disjointed from what we’ve just seen!

Instead, a passing mention by lawyer Donald Gerraro (Donald Gennaro) of the handlers’ deceased family doesn’t just provide a connection to what we’ve already seen, it sets in motion what’s to come. Stockholders in the Jurassic Park theme park are now worried this place is too dangerous. They want to send in experts, like Grant and Satler, into the island to make sure it’s A-OK. That leads us to the next sequence introducing us to Grant, Satler and Jurassic Park creator John Hammond (Richard Attenburough). In these opening scenes, Jurassic Park manages a storytelling feat of finding unity across several disparate locations and characters.

It also establishes that nothing in this movie goes to waste. Throughout the entirety of Jurassic Park, there’s a streamlined nature to things that keeps it constantly moving. That helps get to the dinosaurs in a reasonable amount of screentime, which is appreciated. It also ensures that the second-half of the story rings with real propulsive suspense. There’s no fat on the bones of this script to undercut intense scenes like the raptors hunting the kids in the kitchen. To boot, unlike in so many other movies featuring CGI beasties (like last years Godzilla: King of the Monsters), the human characters in Jurassic Park are engaging to watch. Whenever we just focus on them, you’re not just wondering when the dinosaurs are coming back. Attenborough’s quietly tragic performance as Hammond or Goldblum’s charismatic Malcolm are just as compelling as the ferocious T-Rex.

Then there’s the visual effects, which remain as impressive today as they did in 1993. It helps that modern-day entries in the series like Jurassic World don’t have considerably better CGI dinosaurs than the ones in Jurassic Park, so it’s not like we’re comparing, say, the visual effects in Superman and the Mole Man to Man of Steel. But Jurassic Park’s balance between practical effects work and CGI would remain impressive under any context. Jurassic Park only employs CGI when it really needs to, otherwise, incredibly tactile animatronics lend a sense of believability to these prehistoric creatures. The practical effects used for the raptors are especially effective. When they’re hunting down Lex and Tim in the kitchen, the tangible sense of weight in the animatronics make you truly believe these youngsters are in serious danger.

Clearly, this newest viewing of Jurassic Park led me to appreciate so many of the finer details of this feature. I even discovered new things about the score by John Williams. The Jurassic Park theme is, of course, iconic, but I never realized that Williams modulates it for different tonal purposes across the movie. When Ellie is packing up to go to the control room shed, for example, Williams employs a version of the theme that sounds like it’s being performed by a military marching band. This musical choices cements the idea that Ellie is going out on a mission, one fraught with great peril.

This is a great example of how Williams constantly finds new ways to tweak the Jurassic Park theme to accentuate the mood of critical scenes. That level of creativity found in John Williams’ score reverberates through practically every other part of Jurassic Park. Much like Hammond when it came to designing his theme park, the people involved in bringing Jurassic Park to life have spared no expense. That artistic ambition results in a movie whose magic is just as potent as ever. No wonder Jurassic Park had such a profound impact on me, even if it didn’t have a raptor saying “ALAN!”

The 39 Steps Is A Light On Its Feet Thriller

Richard Hannay (Robert Donat) did not intend to get swept up in a world of espionage. He merely intended to go out and see this guy who can commit any fact to memory. That outing ended with somebody pulling out a gun and causing the crowd to devolve into chaos. Oh well. Not every night out can go according to plan. At least he managed to get a pretty lady named Annabella Smith (Lucie Mannheim) to come home with him. Of course, she’s got some very serious matters on her brain by the time she returns to Richard’s domicile. Turns out, she’s actually a spy whose being pursued by two gentleman who proceed to murder Annabella during the night.

Now, Richard’s been framed for the crime. To clear his name, he’ll have to complete Annabella Smith’s mission, which entails traveling to the Scottish Highlands and foil the stealing of vital British military information. The premise that ensues in The 39 Steps is like a proto-version of Alfred Hitchock’s later directorial effort North by Northwest. Both concern everyday men who accidentally get embroiled in a larger spy plot that’s way over their head. 39 Steps may be reminiscent of North by Northwest but it’s still able to establish its own identity separate from that Cary Grant vehicle.

Among the most distinctive qualities of the 39 Steps screenplay penned by Charles Bennett and Ian Hay is how it creates tension out of making Richard suffer relentless defeats. As if to hammer home how he’s far from an expert spy, none of Richard’s plans for avoiding trouble work. An attempt to appeal to the emotions of a female train passenger, Pamela (Madeleine Carroll), in an attempt to evade the police simply results in Pamela selling Richard out. Later, it appears Richard has solved all his problems thanks to a helpful Scottish sheriff. Turns out, the sheriff’s got his own agenda and has called in a slew of officers to take Richard down.

There’s danger lurking around every corner of 39 Steps, even in the most seemingly helpful of places. Only a pocket bible that stops a bullet from entering Richard’s heart proves all that handy in his escapades. This onslaught of complications keeps the plot consistently engaging. You really get engrossed in figuring out just how Richard will get out of this problem or if he’ll even get out at all. All the while, Bennett and Hay execute the story with a light-on-its-feet approach that keeps the story moving at a steady clip. Their ability to make sure nothing in the story goes to waste also proves commendable.

From helpful innkeepers to a coat Richard snags to even the man who memorizes fact from the opening scene, everyone and everything in 39 Steps is bound to be some kind of Chekov’s Gun just waiting to go off. Just as fun as the writing is the lead performance of Robert Donat, who keeps a confident and polite air about him even when Richard is practically shoulder-deep into quicksand. That quality of his performance provides a kind of anchor viewers can latch onto during the torrential storm of disappointments his character endures. No matter how bad things get, Donat’s performance will be reliably composed, even when he’s portraying Richard giving an improvised political campaign speech.

Donat also proves to be a lot of fun bouncing off of Madeleine Carroll once Pamela re-enters The 39 Steps as a co-lead in the third act. Initially, their chemistry is mostly just humorous, with Donat’s Richard sarcastically acting like the experienced killer Carroll’s Pamela believes he is. Later on, though, once Pamela finally realizes that Richard is actually innocent, the two do develop some enjoyably sweet chemistry as the two characters form a romantic bond. Look at that! Richard did get something good out of that night out gone awry! True, he had to avoid bullets and murder charges all through The 39 Steps, but still! He’s romantically involved with a character played by Madeleine Carroll! That ain’t half-bad!

Black is King Reaffirms Beyoncé As Entertainment Royalty

I’ve long been critical of Disney’s live-action remakes of their classic animated films. Not all of them are bad but the majority of these titles just do nothing for me. Alice in Wonderland, Dumbo, Beauty and the Beast. So many hollow remakes of once-vibrant animated films rigidly recreating moments of the past without offering anything new. However, I’d be way more tolerant of these films if they all spawned spin-off material as interesting as Black is King. This visual album from Beyoncé Knowles-Carter is based off the album The Lion King: The Gift, which was tied into last years Lion King redo. Basically, if this means that, say, a live-action Aristocats movie would then spawn a visual album from Fiona Apple, then yes, I’m good with live-action remakes of animated Disney movies.

For those unfamiliar with the term visual album, it’s basically a string of music videos tied together. Each song on an album gets a music video, hence the term visual album Much like Beyoncé’s 2016 film Lemonade, Black is King see’s an assortment of directors helming differing parts of the singular feature. Tying the whole thing together is a plotline about a young African king banished from his home who must discover himself in a relentless world. That plotline might sound a tad familiar. The similarities are reinforced by recurring pieces of voice-over from  the 2019 Lion King movie (like Scar telling Simba to run away or Timon explaining Hakuna Matata) that play over thematically relevant parts of Black is King.

The attempts to shoehorn in explicit references to the 2019 Lion King movie are easily the weakest part of Black is King. Mostly, it’s because the lively on-screen imagery of Black is King reinforces just how dull Lion King’s voicework was. There’s nothing in the stale dialogue of Lion King that couldn’t be better conveyed through the imagery captured by the various cinematographers of Black is King (a group that includes Laura Merians and Mohammaed Atta Ahmed). It’s also peculiar (though also somewhat appreciated) that the recurring Lion King dialogue just fades away from Black is King halfway through the runtime. This is a minor nitpick, though considering how Black is King is otherwise an incredible show.

Anyone who saw Beyoncé: Homecoming last year knows that Beyoncé knows how to make a great piece of entertainment that magically fuses together music and visuals. That gift is alive and well throughout Black is King, but especially in the Brown Skinned Girl segment. Artists like Beyoncé and WizKid sing touching affirmative lyrics covering, as Billboard put it perfectly, “colorism faced by darker-complexioned women.”   This informs such a sense of warmth and empathy in the camerawork as it lingers on the bodies of the various people it captures (including Lupita Nyong’o). Oh, and nearly everyone in this segment is adorned in lavish ballgowns, as if there wasn’t enough visually captivating material already!

The Brown Skinned Girl segment epitomizes Black is King and much of Beyoncé’s trailblazing work. It’s so entertaining to listen to and watch. Yet, within every part of the segment (from the song lyrics to the camerawork to the costumes) there’s also layers upon layers of thoughtful commentary on experiences specific to women of color. You could unpack this stuff for days on end! Impressively, Black is King keeps up this level of visual thoughtfulness for its entire 85-minute runtime.  The visual splendor benefits from the outstanding costume design work of Zerina Akers.

It also benefits from the choice to have nine different filmmakers (including Beyoncé herself) helming different parts of the production. There’s variety across the unique creative voices reflected in Black is King, which ensures that things never get repetitive. Among those directors, I was especially excited to see Blitz Bazawule in here. His work on The Burial of Kojo last year was exceptional, particularly on a visual level. In that film, he delivered such bold and thoughtful imagery that perfectly reflected the mindset of that films young girl protagonist. His proclivity for such visuals means he’s perfect for Black is King.

Of course, though Bazawule and the other seven directors of Black is King leave their mark on this production, this is, above all else, a production from the mind of Beyoncé Knowles-Carter. This is most evident in a segment dedicated to the song My Power, which radiates the kind of self-confident energy the most iconic Beyoncé songs (like Formation and Single Ladies) have been built upon. For My Power, Beyoncé and fellow singers like Nija and Busiswa perform this number in sets and costumes that frequently conjure up the word “trippy”. Having already heard this song numerous times before, it was great to practically rediscover it all over again thanks to how visually inventive its segment in Black is King is.

Allow me to restate it again; if more live-action Disney remakes inspired material as engaging as Black is King, then bring on a live-action Rescuers remake.

For further reading on Black is King, consider these pieces written by women of color:

Beyoncé’s Black Is King Is the Afrocentric Fashion Moment We’ve Been Waiting For by Janelle Okwodu

Black Is King review – Beyoncé’s love song to the black diaspora by Chanté Joseph

Black Is King is Beyoncé's stunning ode to African glory by Allegra Frank

Beyoncé's 'Black Is King' Is Exactly What We Need Right Now by Candace Macduffie

Cast Away Brings Out The Very Best In Robert Zemeckis And Tom Hanks

There’s a sense of sadness in watching Cast Away. Not all of it comes from the movies poignant moments. Primarily, that sadness comes from knowing that, after Cast Away, director Robert Zemeckis would get sucked down a motion-capture hole. Starting with The Polar Express, the man responsible for Back to the Future and Who Framed Roger Rabbit would begin a cold streak that’s still going on to this day. Zemeckis was never a perfect filmmaker (just ask Back to the Future: Part II) but his modern duds of Welcome to Marwen have sunk Zemeckis to new lows. Oh well, at least we’ll always have Cast Away.

Cast Away focuses on Chuck Noland (Tom Hanks), a time-fixated FredEx employee whose always traveling around the world and keeping as productive as possible. He may be busy but he  still maintains a fine relationship with his partner, Kelly Frears (Helen Hunt). On Christmas Eve 1995, Noland departs for a seemingly routine plane ride to Malaysia. On the flight over, something goes horribly wrong. The plane crashes into the ocean, leaving Noland the only survivor. Now stuck at sea, Noland eventually lands on a deserted island. Alone, with no way to communicate back home, he’s going to have to survive on this island. The man who was always racing the clock now has all the time in the world and absolutely no resources.

I didn’t just bring up post-Cast Away Zemeckis projects at the outset of this review randomly. Those 21^st-century Zemeckis films are defined by a sense of excess. Characters are always shouting, the camera is always on the move, Joseph Gordon-Levitt is doing an over-the-top French accent one step removed from Pepe le Pew. Recent Zemeckis movies throw everything at the wall but rarely come up with anything all that interesting. It’s just a bunch of noise and visual effects trying to keep you distracted long enough to not realize how empty everything is. With Cast Away, Zemeckis can’t just lean on overdoses of chaos to serve as a substitute for an actually compelling script. He’s stuck with just a man, a volleyball, and an island.

The restrained nature of Cast Away (ingrained into a screenplay penned by William Broyles Jr.) brings out the very best in Zemeckis as a filmmaker. A scene where Noland travels to the highest point of the island and looks around at his isolated surroundings, for example, makes use of minimal cuts and quiet camera movement. This allows the expansiveness of the nearby ocean to truly be understood and felt. We’re placed right into the perspective of Noland as both he and the viewer fully realize how trapped this guy is. Precise camerawork is the name of the game for Cast Away and it helps to make the central drama extra compelling.

Also benefiting from the stripped-down world of Cast Away is Tom Hanks. Who better to spend two-and-a-half-hours on a deserted island with than America’s Dad? Something I like about both Hanks’ performance and Broyle Jr.’s writing of the character Chuck Noland is how he isn’t a monster before he gets trapped on the island. He’s super work-focused, sure, but he doesn’t abuse his employees, he’s quite capable of being just a normal person at family events. Even the relationship between himself and Kelly Frears isn’t depicted as all that strained. A cute scene of them organizing their schedules together nicely conveys how these two busy souls manage to make this relationship work.

Noland’s world being reasonably fulfilling makes it all the more tragic when he’s plucked from it for four years on end. It’s a terrible situation for the character of Noland but at least it allows Hanks the chance to deliver a memorable performance. Particularly engaging is the way Hanks depicts Noland as becoming resigned to his situation and his only companion being a volleyball named Wilson. In his time on the island, Noland doesn’t so much become a primitive animal as he does become a quiet soul hellbent on surviving. It’s a unique way of approaching a character stranded on a desert island and a key example of how Hanks imbues his performance with such unique qualities.

Recent Robert Zemeckis movies may not be up to scratch, but hey, at least we got Cast Away before the director’s dry spell.

The Rental Leaves Room For Improvement

This review contains spoilers.

Dave Franco’s directorial debut, The Rental, begins with two characters virtually inspecting the titular location. Work partners and secret lovers Charlie (Dan Stevens) and Mina (Sheila Vand) are looking over a glorious vacation house. It’s got an oceanside view, so many lovely rooms, a hot tub. This place is perfect for a weekend getaway. The two of them decide to rent place out along with Charlie’s wife Michelle (Allison Brie) and Josh (Jeremy Allen White), who is both Mina’s boyfriend and Charlie’s brother. Everyone enters the weekend with hopes for all kinds of fun and excitement. Of course, this being a thriller, nothing is going to go according to plan.

Eventually, nothing going according to plan stems from Mina discovering that there are cameras secretly recording everybody. Then, of course, there’s the serial killer that hunts down the four leads one by one. However, initially, it is because of far more ordinary circumstances. This is where The Rental fares best. When it is just depicting the mundane struggles of pulling off a getaway with friends, The Rental channels some real authenticity. Take, for example, a scene depicting everyone’s first morning at their rental home. Previously, everybody had committed to spending the day doing a hike. On the actual morning, though, those plans go awry simply because Mina and Charlie are too hungover from the night before.

That awkward experience of some friends wanting to stick to preconceived vacation plans and others just wanting to stay home to chill, we have all been there. The Rental works nicely in channeling tension from these kind of everyday social circumstances. Unfortunately, not all of the character details in Dave Franco and Joe Swanberg’s screenplay work as well as those moments. That is a problem considering the first two-thirds of The Rental is basically just a hangout movie. Only the constant presence of fog in nighttime scenes indicates that something chilling will eventually go down.

Opting for a slow burn character-centric approach in a thriller isn’t a bad idea at all. Problem is, The Rental doesn’t do much with this approach. Half of the main cast feels disposable a lot of the time. Michelle is just around to be annoyed at Charlie’s behavior and Josh just stands around in the background. Meanwhile, the big plot turns meant to build up conflict between the four leads are predictable. Secret lovers Charlie and Mina end up boning in the shower while Josh reveals to Michelle that unfaithful Charlie has been (GASP!) unfaithful to women in the past.

Scenes depicting these developments are shot with artsy and restrained camerawork that only reinforce how empty a lot of the The Rental is. Just because you frame a pivotal conversation in an extended wide shot does not automatically lend your script all the depth of a Kelly Reichardt movie. Puzzlingly, The Rental’s artsy character-driven ambitions give way to a third act that devolves into a pretty basic slasher movie. Said third act comes after Josh violently confronts the rental home’s manager, Taylor (Toby Huss). While the friends discuss whether or not to call an ambulance for the deeply wounded Taylor, an unknown assailant enters the home and suffocates Taylor.  

Now thinking Josh killed Taylor, the group of friends are divided on how to approach this situation. Here again, Franco and Swanberg’s script fares best when dealing with awkwardness. This is particularly apparent in a scene where Josh, Charlie and Mina attempt to dispose Taylor’s body by throwing him a cliff. A seemingly simple task is anything but as Taylor falls onto a big rock rather than into the ocean. Gruesome dark comedy ensures as the trio tries to push him into the water, with Charlie repeatedly resorting to just throwing large rocks at the corpse. It’s a bizarre scene that finds humor in the universal experience of how plans between friends, whether they involve hiking or disposing of a corpse, never go according to plan.

Unfortunately, The Rental’s attempts at scares in its final half-hour are a lot less successful. The most inspired visual decision in this section of The Rental is framing an enraged Josh searching throughout the house for Charlie through the houses various hidden cameras. Otherwise, the assorted frights are usually filmed and edited as generic jump-scares. The various deaths of the four leads aren’t creative enough to make this portion of The Rental work as an entertaining slasher movie. Meanwhile, everybody, including final girl Mina, just becomes a generic prop by the time a deranged killer is chasing them. There’s not enough engage character-driven drama to make these sequences compelling on a thematic level. They’re just bog-standard horror movie fluff.

And then there’s the ending, which refuses to give an identity to the killer. He’s just a guy who moves from one rental home to the next, puts hidden cameras inside and then lures his next victims to their doom. The choice to make the identity of this figure ambiguous is conceptually interesting. Much like The Once-ler in the original Lorax book, Franco and Swanberg are trying to instill the idea that this murderer could be anybody, even the next person you rent a house from! It’s a nifty idea but it’s just that, a nifty idea. It doesn’t really enhance anything that came before it. The uninvolving characters are still uninvolving. The derivative scares are still derivative. This ending is a prime example of how The Rental has its fair share of intriguing ideas but it struggles to bring them together in a satisfying fashion.

Here's The Scoop: Shattered Glass Is An Exceptional (And Tragically Timely) Film

It can be easy to think that the age of “alternative facts” is something new. Somehow, humans have never been susceptible to inaccuracy on such a wide scale until now. While the failed reality TV show host running America may have made this trait more overt than ever before, falsehoods have always had a prominent place in American society. Supermarket tabloids claiming that “Elvis is alive!” have always existed. Politicians who spread smears about marginalized populations have always been around. And journalists, like Shattered Glass lead Stephen Glass (Hayden Christensen), have always been capable of spreading lies for their own benefit.  

As we begin Shattered Glass, though, Stephen Glass is not portrayed as someone who lies. Instead, we are introduced to him talking to a room full of kids at his old school. In this framing device, he’s taking these youngsters, who all want to get into the writing industry, through his job working for The New Republic. This is a publication read by world leaders around the world, including the President of the United States. What Glass and his coworkers have written influence people with real authority. That’s why Glass takes his job so seriously. Through his explanations to the students (and, by proxy, to the viewer) about how an average New Republic article is put together, we can see just how much work goes into a single New Republic article.

Glass proves to be a great person to clarify how a New Republic magazine gets made. Glass has a quietly charismatic air about him that he uses to woo over his co-workers. He can win anyone in this office over by complimenting their writing, their jewelry, any specific quality about them. That same affable quality is ingeniously used to make the exposition about the New Republic digestible to the viewer. Glass isn’t counting a stiff Wikipedia summary of this publication. He’s trying to take his listeners on a journey that emphasizes the sheer majesty of working for something like New Republic. You’re hanging onto his every word as he speaks. Meanwhile, the editing from Jeffrey Ford deftly cuts between Glass in the classroom and the various departments working together to bring this magazine to life. The rapid but precise sense of timing in these cuts conveys the idea that everybody is connected at New Republic.

The screenplay by Billy Ray (who also directs) is so effective at getting the viewer to be cast under Glass’ spell. That make the gradual reveal that something is askew with his writing (namely that Glass is making up his stories) hits like a ton of bricks. In this regard, Shattered Glass reminded me of this years similarly top-notch movie Bad Education. Both derive a lot of engrossing entertainment out of peeling back the layers of lies surrounding an influential human being. Also in both cases, the levels of fraud reveal themselves in a gradual manner.

In the case of Shattered Glass, such reveals beautifully play off earlier scenes of the movie that immerse us in the perspective of Stephen Glass. Ray’s writing and directing is so good at establishing a sense of trustworthiness between the viewer and Glass. This character lures us into their world and creates a seemingly unshakeable status quo we can hold onto. As it becomes more and more clear what Glass has actually been up to, well, it becomes downright engrossing to watch the world shift beneath the viewers’ feet. Both the lying and the moviegoer are fascinatingly dragged back into reality, primarily at the hands of New Republic editor Charles Lane (Peter Sarsgaard).

Lane is an excellent example of the kind of thoughtful writing Billy Ray incorporates throughout Shattered Glass. His character is widely derided by his co-workers as just a one-note killjoy. But the film itself always gives Lane a greater deal of complexity. This is evident early on when Lane, upon being offered a very lucrative new job, doesn’t just revel in the idea of more power. He expresses genuine trepidation over taking on this new job and how it’ll affect his co-workers. Throughout the rest of the movie, Lane maintains this level of nuance in the face of a protagonist with a warped worldview casting himself as a put-upon martyr.

Glass starts out Shattered Glass as an irresistible individual you could listen to for hours on end. Why wouldn’t schoolkids hang on his every word? Glass ends Shattered Glass sitting alone in an empty schoolroom. Like much of his writing, Glass’ experience of talking to the next generation of newspaper writers was all in his head. The journey from the hopeful start of Shattered Glass to its somber end is one rife made even more compelling by the lead performances of Hayden Christensen and Peter Sarsgaard. Both take their respective characters into such unexpected yet riveting directions throughout the course of Shattered Glass. In their performances, both actors demonstrate how the fight against falsified information posing as the truth is nothing new. What’s old is new again. It’s scary how timeless this story is. On the other hand, it’s far more pleasing how timeless well-made movies like Shattered Glass are.

Max Dugan Returns Is Pleasant Enough Filmmaking. Sometimes, That's Enough

I know by writing this review I'm getting into deep water. The Max Dugan Returns internet discourse has gotten...well, there's no other way to put it, it's gotten ugly. Lives have been torn apart. Careers have been savaged. Friendship obliterated. All in the name of discussing a 1983 Herbert Ross film that  the kids of today just can't stop talking about. But I am a film critic. I do not shy away from a challenge. To walk into the belly of this beast is to fulfill my obligations as a writer of cinema. Onward, everyone! Let us delve into the realm of Max Dugan Returns discourse! May we all emerge from this voyage unscathed from the fury of Donald Sutherland Stans!

Who is Max Dugan returning to, you ask? Ah, that would be Nora McPhee (Marsha Mason). She could use a break. Everything in her life is going haywire. She’s trying to raise her teenage son, Michael (Matthew Broderick), all on her own. Everything in her house seems to be breaking down. On top of it all, she can’t turn her back without her mode of transportation (whether it  be car or motorcycle) stolen. You know what would help her out? Cash. Lots of it. That’s just what Max Dugan (Jason Robards) brings when he shows up at her doorstep one rainy night. Max Dugan is Nora’s long-absent father. Turns out, he’s been spending the last few decades committing crimes and getting revenge on some real estate brokers.

Now, Max Dugan has an illness that’s given him only six months to live. He’d like to live with Nora McPhee for a little time under a new alias so that he can have a chance to connect with the grandson he never knew. Nora doesn’t exactly like that idea, especially since she’s gotten romantically involved with police officer Brian Costello (Donald Sutherland). Max Dugan tries to assuage her worries by using all of his money to buy her and Matthew every lavish gift you could imagine. The greatest gift of all, though, are the moments where Nora and Matthew get a chance to actually connect with the long-absent Max Dugan.

The best way to describe Max Dugan Returns is that it’s the perfect rainy Saturday afternoon movie. It’s undemanding, it doesn’t break the mold, but it proves perfectly pleasant in its own right. Part of that comes from Neil Simon’s screenplay. Nothing in Max Dugan Returns approaches Simon’s best work as either a screenwriter or a playwright. Still, Simon knows his craft well enough to ensure that Max Dugan Returns remains perfectly agreeable. Probably the best aspect of Simon’s writing is how it’s able to involve overt displays of sentimentality without coming off as treacly.

Similarly, over-the-top sight gags involving Nora McPhee’s house being littered with state-of-the-arts gizmos or being house overhauled into a mansion could have felt out of place. But Simon constantly keeps the characters just enough in focus to make the uber-apparent qualities of Max Dugan Returns tolerable. In other words, Simon always has a character-related purpose for these unconcealed moments of poignancy and humor. Additionally, Simon smartly keeps the whole production running at a manageable 98 minutes. Meanwhile, his decision to make Max Dugan a charming schemer rather than someone super malicious goes a long way to making the whole wacky plot work like it does.

If Dugan was someone that was doing this whole family reunion for self-serving reasons (as I suspected early on in the runtime), it would be really hard to make Max Dugan Returns work as a touching comedy/drama. By committing to a more sincere character, Max Dugan Returns prospers. Still, a number of details do keep the film from being more than just a fine diversion. Chief among them is Donald Sutherland’s romantic interest character. He just doesn’t work as either a believable person or someone you wanna see Nora McPhee end up with.

He does turn out to be a great source of comedy at least. It’s unintentionally amusing just how quickly he commits to a romantic relationship with a woman he just met. A third act scene depicting Brian Costello divulging how he knew Nora’s dad was a crook also had me laughing mostly because of Sutherland’s stern expression and decision to place his hands on his hips. Not every character in Max Dugan Returns is a winner. A bold statement, I know, but I knew I was gonna drop some hot takes when I entered the Max Dugan Returns discourse.