Renfield (2023) + Sisu (2023)

Renfield

RENFIELD
*½/****
starring Nicholas Hoult, Nicolas Cage, Awkwafina, Benjamin Schwartz
screenplay by Ryan Ridley
directed by Chris McKay

SISU
**½/****
starring Jorma Tommila, Aksel Hennie, Jack Doolan, Mimosa Willamo
written and directed by Jalmari Helander

by Walter Chaw Chris McKay is an able director still looking for a project that isn’t an embarrassing high concept. His years on “Robot Chicken” and “Moral Orel” demonstrate a strong sense of timing and a willingness to offend the status quo, but so far–between The Lego Batman Movie, The Tomorrow War, and now Renfield–McKay has only been tasked with shepherding a few expensive (if laboured and overburdened) cows to pasture. Renfield is both a workplace comedy and a Raimi-esque slap-stick splatter (“splat-stick?”) flick in which bug-eating vampire familiar Renfield (Nicholas Hoult) attends codependency support groups to listen to other people complain about toxic relationships. It seems his boss, Dracula (Nicolas Cage), is a raging narcissist, and Renfield, after centuries of servitude, has finally had enough. There’s a parallel plot, too, involving a crime family led by imperious Bellafrancesca Lobo (a slumming Shohreh Aghdashloo) and her asshole son, Tedward (a not-slumming Ben Schwartz), running amuck while dedicated cop Rebecca (Awkwafina) and her FBI agent sister Kate (Camille Chen) try to bring them down.

A Good Person (2023)

Agoodperson

ZERO STARS/****
starring Florence Pugh, Molly Shannon, Chinaza Uche, Morgan Freeman
written and directed by Zach Braff

by Walter Chaw The answer to a question no one asked (what would happen if you smushed misery porn into eldersploitation and had Zach Braff do it?), A Good Person is, on a scale of 28 Days to Less Than Zero, somewhere in the Bright Lights, Big City neighbourhood of Girl, Interrupted. That’s not fair–it’s not as good as any of those movies. I don’t know if this trainwreck caused Miss Flo to come to her senses and leave her two-decades-older beau, but I like to think so, because then at least something good came out of this self-pitying 15-year-old’s adaptation of The Bell Jar. The hope that catastrophic events can lead to positive outcomes is the engine driving A Good Person, too, as Braff’s patented manic pixie dream construct, Allison, a girl who sings and plays the piano at her own engagement party, gets high and complains about not being able to feel her ankles, and tells her dull-as-dishwater fiance, Nathan (Chinanza Uche), about how a creepy doctor at work is maybe hitting on her. So effervescent! So full of life! Look at how she puts her foot in his face to underscore her ankle’s numbness! Look how she does a silly interpretive dance that Braff only shoots from the chest up, for some reason, before Allison wants to make out under a top sheet. Anyway, Allison is in the middle of a riff when she drives her future sister-in-law into a backhoe, killing her and sending Allison into a shame spiral as she faces the consequences of her quirkiness for the first time in her life. Apparently, she’s killed her future brother-in-law as well, though no one seems to care. I mean, both of her victims appear for all of 20 seconds before they become tragic devices inaugurating an irritating white girl’s redemption arc. They make so little impact that for the film’s first hour, I thought the brother-in-law (Toby Onwumere) was Nathan and that Nathan was a ghost.

If you think you’re exhausted, imagine how I feel.

Dungeons & Dragons: Honor Among Thieves (2023) + Champions (2023)

Dungeonsdragonshonor

DUNGEONS & DRAGONS: HONOR AMONG THIEVES
**½/****
starring Chris Pine, Michelle Rodriguez, Regé-Jean Page, Hugh Grant
screenplay by Jonathan Goldstein & John Francis Daley and Michael Gilio
directed by Jonathan Goldstein & John Francis Daley

CHAMPIONS
**½/****
starring Woody Harrelson, Kaitlin Olson, Ernie Hudson, Cheech Marin
screenplay by Mark Rizzo, based on the Spanish film Campeones written by David Marqués & Javier Fesser
directed by Bobby Farrelly

by Walter Chaw I like squad movies, always have. Heists, war, impossible missions, underdog sports teams, collections of samurai or cowboys, miscreants or heroes, misfits generally and specialists sometimes. When it came time to make a sequel to Alien, Walter Hill understood James Cameron’s pitch as exactly this formula the great Howard Hawks had perfected: the squad film. I think it works as well as it does because the requirement to craft three-dimensional heroes is lessened in favour of reliable, audience-pleasing character types. Each player has a skill–a personal Chekhov’s Gun, if you will. It’ll only be a matter of time before they use it. Jonathan Goldstein and John Francis Daley’s Dungeons and Dragons: Honor Among Thieves (hereafter D&D) is one recent example of the squad flick; Bobby Farrelly’s Champions is another. Both are about bands of social outcasts who learn to appreciate how their respective skills complement one another along the way to greater lessons about the world and its navigation. One sees a team of Special Olympics athletes led by an unctuous, quippy white guy; the other sees a team of nefarious and/or magical ne’er-do-wells led by an unctuous, quippy white guy. Only one of them, though, dares to deviate from the winning-means-everything formula, measuring its victory in the celebration of a friend’s sense of self-worth and confidence. Which is not to say that one film is significantly better than the other, or even that they have different aims, ultimately. Rather, I only mean to suggest that the degree to which one is lauded and the other derided probably has a lot to do with internalized bias and very little to do with any meaningful distinctions in what these movies substantively are.

Swallowed (2023) – VOD

Swallowed

**½/****
starring Cooper Koch, Jose Colon, Jena Malone, Mark Patton
written and directed by Carter Smith

by Walter Chaw Carter Smith’s Swallowed is a bitter pill. It’s cruel and sardonic, positing as its Emerald City the California porn industry and the lead role in a movie where “strangers cum on” the face of our hero, Benjamin (Cooper Koch). “But you look so sexy doing it,” says Benjamin’s cis but bi-curious friend, Dom (Jose Colon), and all the tender moments like this play as angry and insincere. I’m not saying the characters don’t mean it, I’m saying the whole tenor of the film is punishingly nihilistic. When Benjamin later gives Dom a gentle kiss at a moment of crisis, it feels more cynical than romantic: one friend condescending to the performative allyship of another. Indeed, though Dom gushes that Benjamin means more to him than an entire parade of ex-girlfriends he lists off as proof, he also refuses to go to L.A. with Benjamin and doesn’t, in any case, think he’ll ever see him again. It’s easy to say you love someone when every string attached is about to be cut. When Benjamin subsequently plants one on Dom, it’s undercut by the film’s overriding message that the world is dangerous for pretty boys like him; professions of love are more often self-serving than earnest. I confess I love Smith’s The Ruins for that same uncompromising, nails-and-broken-glass nature, but here the chilliness makes Swallowed feel like an Ari Aster movie. It is, in other words, an asshole. Your tolerance for time spent in the company of a sentient sneer, one that either despises or patronizes its characters, will determine the extent to which you’re able to find value in its depiction of interpersonal and systemic trauma focused in on the LGBTQ community.

There’s Something Wrong with the Children (2023) – VOD

Theressomethingwrongwiththechildren

*/****
starring Alisha Wainwright, Zach Gilford, Amanda Crew, Carlo Santos
written by T.J. Cimfel & Dave White
directed by Roxanne Benjamin

by Walter Chaw Roxanne Benjamin’s There’s Something Wrong with the Children is a tired retread in the folk-horror category of evil children that doesn’t break any new ground and certainly doesn’t tread any old ground with anything resembling energy or invention. It’s just lugubriously competent, cozy in the way of a broken-in boot or a well-loved terrycloth robe–an “I’ll be right back, you don’t need to pause it” movie. Indeed, one doesn’t need to pause it. For what it’s worth, the best evil-kid movie is probably Narciso Ibáñez Serrador’s Who Can Kill a Child?, although my favourite is the repugnant, deeply wrong 1981 Lew Lehman freakout The Pit. In that one, unhinged 10-year-old creeper Jamie (Sammy Snyders) discovers a pit in the middle of the forest behind his house that’s swarming with carnivorous troglodytes he thinks are communicating with him through his teddy bear. Between feeding bullies and football players to the pit, Jamie spends his time making passes at his teen cheesecake babysitter and peeping on her while she’s in the shower. Yes, that movie has it all. Alas, There’s Something Wrong with the Children is aggressively forgettable, even freed of comparisons to films it’s so obviously aping: a pair of evil kids, check; a pit in the forest full of evil? Check. Parents too wrapped up in their bougie bullshit to notice their offspring are breaking supernatural bad? Check. You’ve seen it. We’ve all seen it. Better versions.

Needle in a Timestack (2021)

Needleinatimestack

*/****
starring Leslie Odom, Jr., Freida Pinto, Cynthia Erivo, Orlando Bloom
written for the screen by John Ridley, based on the short story by Robert Silverberg
directed by John Ridley

by Walter Chaw A cautionary tale about writing something whilst in a state of forced, artificial love-drunk, John Ridley’s Needle in a Timestack is this year’s Serenity: a film so intensely invested in its adolescent feelings that it’s headed towards a specific state of camp immortality. Nick (Leslie Odom, Jr.)–because “Nick of time,” get it?–is married to Janine (Cynthia Erivo), and they’re that kind of The Notebook couple who speak to each other as though they were scripted by Nicholas Sparks, who, let’s face it, on the Stephanie Meyer scale of cultural whoopsies, can barely string three words together. “Dance like no one’s watching,” someone moans in a high state of agitation. “Love is a closed circle,” someone else declares; between that and “True Detective”‘s “time is a flat circle,” circles are doing a lot of heavy lifting in the realm of purple overwriting. In this future as imagined by a perfume commercial, time travel is a recreational lark indulged in by the hyper-rich, causing occasional “time waves” that wash over the world like the exact same visualization of the exact same concept in A Sound of Thunder, a film so terrible that your body’s autonomous defense mechanism has already largely expelled it from your memory. That film, like this one, is based on a classic science-fiction story: Ray Bradbury there, Robert Silverberg here. The concept of “based” is doing a lot of heavy lifting in this instance, too.

The Green Knight (2021) + Pig (2021)

Greenknight

THE GREEN KNIGHT
****/****
starring Dev Patel, Alicia Vikander, Joel Edgerton, Ralph Nelson
written for the screen and directed by David Lowery

PIG
****/****
starring Nicolas Cage, Alex Wolff, Adam Arkin
written and directed by Michael Sarnoski

by Walter Chaw A thing has no value if there is no risk of losing it. A treasure is only that if there are hobbits. If you’re a parent and you’ve done everything right, and everything goes exactly as it should, your children will know the exquisite pain of your death. The story for us all ideally has the tang of misadventure to it and a sad ending full of irony. It is a great fable without a moral, wrought with temptations–though hopefully, when the curtain falls, free of too much regret. The key to navigating the labyrinth of the Rose Poet’s medieval romance “Sir Gawain and the Green Knight” is perhaps in its prologue, where it presents the history of the founding of England from the Fall of Troy through to Aeneas’s further stories: his conquests and foundings, sure, but also the inevitable decline of his line. A popular version of this history around the time that “Sir Gawain and the Green Knight” would have been written holds that Brutus of Troy is the grandson of Aeneas, exiled from Italy because, in fulfillment of a prophecy similar to the one that doomed Oedipus, he accidentally killed his father with an errant arrow. In the course of his wanderings, this Brute, the product of a cursed line beset with hubris and tragic folly, becomes the first king of what would be called England.

Demonic (2021)

Fantasia21demonic

ZERO STARS/****
starring Carly Pope, Chris William Martin, Michael J. Rogers, Terry Chen
written and directed by Neill Blomkamp

by Walter Chaw Carly’s mom, Angela (Nathalie Boltt), killed a lot of people once and then fell into a coma, not that Carly (Carly Pope) would know, because Carly stopped talking to Angela years ago–long about the time Angela killed a lot of people. I mean, even if she had tried to talk to Angela, she wouldn’t have been able to. Because coma. Technically, she could talk to her, I suppose, and the jury’s out as to whether Angela could hear her, but being in a coma, Angela wouldn’t be able to respond. Comas are a bitch that way. Anyway, a sketchy beard-o in a suit (not Sharlto Copley, which is this film’s first and last surprise) from some tech company called Therapole reaches out to Carly and says, “Hey, what if you could talk to your mother?” And Carly says, “I don’t want to talk to my mother.” And he says, “She’s in a coma.” And she says, “Why is she in a coma?” Then she goes to the Therapole headquarters (erected on some kind of haunted burial ground, as her friend Martin (Chris William Martin) discovers while Googling stuff for her), since the news that Angela’s in a coma has made Carly want to reach out to her. This is what we call in the business “a really good plot” and “solid writing.” Seems Dr. Creepy (Michael J. Rogers, playing Sharlto Copley) has invented a virtual-reality technology that allows people to Dreamscape/Brainstorm themselves onto a holodeck of someone’s memories using advanced Bakshi-era rotoscoping technology. It bears mentioning that Martin believes Therapole–not to be confused with Theranos–wants to find a demon to exorcise, the drawing of which resembles one of Giger’s aliens. That’s because the writer and director of this mess, Neill Blomkamp, didn’t get to make an Alien movie like he wanted. It’s the world’s saddest Easter Egg–which says something, given that there’s a Marvel Cinematic Universe.

The Virtuoso (2021)

Virtuoso

*/****
starring Anson Mount, Abbie Cornish, Eddie Marsan, Anthony Hopkins
screenplay by James C. Wolf
directed by Nick Stagliano

by Walter Chaw 25 minutes into Nick Stagliano’s very serious The Virtuoso, our erstwhile The American assassin, the unnamed virtuoso in question (Anson Mount), receives a note inscribed with what appears to be a child’s handwriting (it isn’t, which is only one reason why it’s funny) telling him who his next target will be. As the Virtuoso, in his own second-person narration, lays out some ground rules in a world-weary, Fight Club-aspiring way, we see him burning what is obviously a different piece of paper in the fireplace. One might wonder about the sleight-of-hand happening here: Is Virtuoso, recently traumatized by a job gone tragically (and hilariously) wrong, looking to screw his mentor The Mentor (Anthony Hopkins) by holding on to the Mission: Impossible message intended for self-destruction? Will this slip of incriminating paper be the “check and mate” of a twisty noir‘s mind-bending puzzle-box? Or is it a simple continuity error they either didn’t notice or figured didn’t really matter because the audience will be too dazzled by the clockwork precision of the compulsive, extravagant-to-the-point-of-self-satire script? You’re smart. When we’re done here, you tell me which one it is.

Nobody (2021)

Nobody

***/****
starring Bob Odenkirk, Aleksey Serebryakov, Connie Nielsen, Christopher Lloyd
written by Derek Kolstad
directed by Ilya Naishuller

by Walter Chaw I spent a lot of my freshman year in college in the shadow of post-trauma from a failed suicide attempt, untreated depression, and what felt like hardwired self-loathing. I looked for fights then and found them sometimes. I am so full of rage and frustration. I am beset by violent fantasies. When I watch videos of people turning the tables on attackers or racists, I wonder if, in the same situation, with the same upper hand, I would be able to stop hitting once I started. Age has mellowed me; my wife and my family have civilized me to some extent, and I don’t punch walls anymore, you know? It’s just sadness and self-loathing left in the debris, should anyone think to sift through it. I don’t think I’m unusual. I think men aren’t given the mechanism to express their despair in any way other than through violence and rage, and therein lies the reason everything is broken now and why we’re largely beyond repair. We are the pure residue of a vile evolutionary animal. Everything that doesn’t make sense makes perfect sense when you consider that we’re just shaved apes barely behaving ourselves.

Me You Madness (2021)

Meyoumadness

**½/****
starring Ed Westwick, Louise Linton
written and directed by Louise Linton

by Walter Chaw Louise Linton’s Me You Madness is a particularly fraught and grim fandango seeking to walk the line between self-parody and self-aggrandizement. It dances along the edge of a blade, this one, with the kind of extraordinary privilege afforded the fabulously wealthy, powerful, and beautiful. On the one hand, you’re making fun of your ridiculous luck; on the other hand, or maybe the same hand, you’re rubbing everyone’s face in it. False modesty is dangerous–and unsuccessful self-satire is the most deluded manifestation of it. Shit, successful self-satire isn’t that great, either, because it suggests that one’s station is so elevated it can be a target of satire. So is Me You Madness terrible? It’s fabulously terrible, calamitously terrible. It’s also genuinely fascinating as both symptom and diagnosis of exactly what’s wrong with the particular strain of capitalistic excess embodied by Linton and her vile husband, Steve Mnuchin. These are the architects of the end of the world, and this is evidence that they’re aware of it but don’t quite know what it is that they know.

Cherry (2021)

Cherry

***/****
starring Tom Holland, Ciara Bravo, Jack Reynor, Michael Rispoli
screenplay by Angela Russo-Otstot and Jessica Goldberg, based on the novel by Nico Walker
directed by Anthony Russo & Joe Russo

by Walter Chaw When you hit someone coming and going, I think that either it’s personal or you don’t know what you want. For me, when MCU wunderkinds the Russo Brothers decide to make a big-budget, S.E. Hinton meets John Irving via T.S. Garp version of Rush, shit, I’m into it. One can either complain that everything coming out is the product of an algorithm or endeavour to notice when, for good or for ill, one gets exactly the kind of auteurist dream project in all the show-offy, chaotic glory one’s been pining for in endless, exhausting thinkpieces. Criticism that the Russos are trying too hard with Cherry sounds to me suspiciously like the sort of unimaginative personal-grievance pieces cropping up around about the time Scorsese was making stuff like New York, New York, or when The Matrix sequels failed entirely to behave, or when Zack Snyder delivers a four-hour Greek God cut of a superhero movie that is distinctly the product of a single voice. I mean, hate it if you want to, but also fuck off.

Crisis (2021)

Crisis

*/****
starring Gary Oldman, Armie Hammer, Evangeline Lilly, Greg Kinnear
written and directed by Nicholas Jarecki

by Walter Chaw Nicholas Jarecki’s Crisis is a Stanley Kramer piece, a “means well,” ripped-from-the-headlines message flick that hews closer to 3 Needles than to Traffic in terms of effectiveness and humility. In place of dialogue, there is exposition; and in place of performances, there are swollen forehead veins and trembling lower lips, aghast at the injustices of a cold universe. Crisis sheds “importance” from itself like dander from a stressed but beloved pet, and it’s unseemly to come down too hard on it when its greatest crimes are that it is middlebrow in its politeness and really doesn’t have much to say beyond what’s already inherently obvious. It’s possible to do stuff like this and make something like The Insider–that is, something powerful, artful, and transformative. More commonly, it turns out like Crisis has turned out: instantly forgettable and mildly embarrassing in the way of your hip dad trying to jam with you about the evils of the sticky icky. Oh, and use a condom, son.

Coming 2 America (2021)

Coming2america

*/****
starring Eddie Murphy, Arsenio Hall, Jermaine Fowler, Wesley Snipes
screenplay by Kenya Barris and Barry W. Blaustein & David Sheffield
directed by Craig Brewer

by Walter Chaw I don’t understand Craig Brewer’s Coming 2 America, probably because I don’t understand John Landis’s Coming to America, either. For me, they are both artifacts of an alien culture where the references are obscure and the humour is arcane. I spent most of my life thinking the first film was making fun of Africans, only to learn that for a generation of Black creatives, the film was a rare example of positive, even admiring, representation of Africans in the American popular culture. I think that’s true; I also know the fish-out-of-water machinations of Coming to America‘s plot–the cheap sex jokes, the gay terror, the burlesque of it–rubbed me the wrong way then and still do. But there’s a sweetness to Akeem (Eddie Murphy), isn’t there? These films are decidedly not for me. I do trust people with vital voices like Ryan Coogler, who apparently loved the first film and had his own ideas about a sequel–and I would say the analogue I can find while I’m grasping for one is the reception of Short Round in Temple of Doom, which I initially rejected with horror but now embrace as one of the few positive Asian representations in that same American popular culture. Strange bedfellows, Shorty and Prince Akeem, but there you have it.

Raya and the Last Dragon (2021)

Rayaandthelastdragon

****/****
screenplay by Qui Nguyen & Adele Lim
directed by Don Hall and Carlos López Estrada

by Walter Chaw I’ve thought a lot lately about quitting, and seriously, this thing I’ve done over the last twenty-some years–this thing that started, ultimately, because I was a kid who couldn’t speak the language and wanted desperately to belong to something that would never have me on my terms. I’ve thought about quitting, and it’s a dangerous thing for someone like me to think that way. Movies were a thing I loved that never betrayed me, never abandoned me, whenever there was pain or confusion, or something I needed to work through; this was the art form that was primary for me as a catalyst for introspection. There’s literature and music and poetry, of course, yet film could encompass all of those things. It’s saved my life a time or two. I thought I had a place among others who loved it like me, but no one loves it like me–people love it like they love it. Or they just use it because they’ve failed at everything else and don’t have the introspection to feel despair. When you give yourself over to an idea of affiliation through the appreciation of objects, you’re doomed to disappointment and loneliness. When a person like me thinks about quitting, he’s thinking about cutting the line that connects him to his life. I’ve been thinking about quitting, because what’s the point of any of it when your rope is tied to a quintessence of dust? I don’t trust this anymore.

Palmer (2021) + Music (2021)

Music

PALMER
*/****
starring Justin Timberlake, Juno Temple, Alisha Wainwright, June Squibb
written by Cheryl Guerrero
directed by Fisher Stevens

MUSIC
ZERO STARS/****
starring Kate Hudson, Leslie Odom Jr., Maddie Ziegler, Hector Elizondo
screenplay by Sia & Dallas Clayton
directed by Sia

by Walter Chaw I feel like I’ve seen Fisher Stevens’s well-intentioned Palmer dozens of times in the last three months alone. This version takes a few half-hearted stabs at social relevance with a heartfully-plucked acoustic guitar on the soundtrack but is finally nothing more than Justin Timberlake’s latest shot at movie stardom. He’s going deep as Palmer, fresh out of prison with a gruff attitude and a neckbeard denoting his impoverished status, reminding largely that his best role isn’t the one where he plays a guy married to Carey Mulligan in Inside Llewyn Davis, but the one where he lip-syncs The Killers‘ “All These Things That I’ve Done” in Southland Tales. The familiar movements: Palmer has to get laid, get a job, and become the guardian to a moppet, who saves him. He’s got a hard shell, that Palmer, though the hint of a grin halfway through as he’s driving his catalyst-towards-redemption to school hints that underneath his hard shell, there’s a big ol’ softy. The twist is that the moppet is non-gender-conforming Sam (Ryder Allen), who likes to wear pink, put barrettes in his hair, and have tea parties with the girls in his class. He also hates football but lives in the south, and Palmer used to be a bigshot high-school football player. Man, what a conundrum in which Palmer’s found himself. A dadgum conundrum’s what it is.

Willy’s Wonderland (2021) – VOD

Willyswonderland

½*/****
starring Nicolas Cage, Emily Tosta, Ric Reitz, Beth Grant
written by G.O. Parsons
directed by Kevin Lewis

by Walter Chaw Kevin Lewis’s high-concept Nicolas Cage-vs.-Chuck E. Cheese thriller Willy’s Wonderland misses because it believes it can’t miss. Star Cage has built a career for himself as that weirdo who will do stupid movies, and here he is playing The Janitor, a man of no words who cleans things up. A real contempt for the audience roils off this garbage, the belief that there need be no real effort expended in the creation of this product as long as there’s enough Nic Cage doing dumb shit as bizarrely as possible. It’s lazy. There’s one long exposition dump towards the beginning of it, delivered by a somehow and sorely overmatched Emily Tosta, about Satanic rituals and stuff at the local theme restaurant, and honestly, it was all done better in that video game “Five Nights at Freddy’s”, where the reason for the robot characters springing to homicidal life isn’t really addressed at all. It’s painfully bad, Willy’s Wonderland, in exactly the way things are bad when a bunch of bros get together to capitalize on a phenomenon they can’t begin to understand and couldn’t be bothered to interrogate. Cage + animatronic monsters? As William Hurt once asked, “How do you fuck that up?”

The Reckoning (2021)

Thereckoning

½*/****
starring Charlotte Kirk, Joe Anderson, Steven Waddington, Sean Pertwee
written by Neil Marshall, Charlotte Kirk, Edward Evers-Swindell
directed by Neil Marshall

by Walter Chaw The first film of British director Neil Marshall’s I haven’t liked, The Reckoning is his contribution to the niche but endlessly rich Witchfinder General horror subgenre. What I’ve liked about Marshall to this point–from the Hawksian platoon-meets-soccer hooligan bonhomie of his werewolf debut Dog Soldiers through to his reboot of the Hellboy franchise (a widely-derided piece that I found delightfully perverse, gory, and hewing closer to the Mignola source, for better or worse)–is the efficiency and lack of sentimentality driving his narratives. His best-known picture, The Descent, is a triphammer thing, not an ounce of fat anywhere on its body–an instant classic about interpersonal tensions and resentments expressed through collapsing, wet, vaginal tunnels and the monsters that live there. It’s a product of a distinct directorial voice that I could trace through all of his pictures. In contrast, The Reckoning could have been directed by anyone and, more to the point, feels a lot like it was directed by its star, Charlotte Kirk, who had a hand in its production and writing. It’s a romantic hagiography of Kirk, establishing her as a romance-novel heroine in various carefully-arrayed, soft-focus, medieval tableaux. The Reckoning is not simply bad, it’s uncharacteristically bloated and flaccid. Embarrassing, too.

Minor Premise (2020)

***/****
starring Sathya Sridharan, Paton Ashbrook, Dana Ashbrook
written by Justin Moretto, Eric Schultz, Thomas Torrey
directed by Eric Schultz

by Walter Chaw The engine driving Eric Schultz’s Minor Premise, already tangled and the highest of high concepts, is in fact deceptively simple: What would happen if we could map every individual personality trait we house in our heads and then, once mapped, what would happen if we tried to isolate the one we liked? Jerry Lewis did a variation on this with his The Nutty Professor, a film that is, among other things, a withering assessment of former partner Dean Martin and his single setting of sociopathic charm. Lewis indicts himself as well as buck-toothed and bumbling, brilliant but pathetic, yearning for some Dino blood to stiffen his backbone. Minor Premise posits that “Rat Pack” is just one of nine settings for us; brilliant, troubled scientist Ethan (Sathya Sridharan) wonders if his productivity might be elevated by cutting out all the noise and letting “intellect” take the wheel.

Love and Monsters (2020) – VOD

Loveandmonsters

***/****
starring Dylan O’Brien, Jessica Henwick, Dan Ewing, Michael Rooker
screenplay by Brian Duffield & Matthew Robinson
directed by Michael Matthews

by Walter Chaw The kind of movie someone like Joe Dante might have made for Roger Corman once upon a time, Love and Monsters, Michael Matthews’s follow-up to his Five Fingers for Marseilles, is a joyfully, unashamedly silly American kaiju modest in its ambitions and occasionally poignant for that modesty. In Love and Monsters, a broad (very broad) updating of L Q. Jones’s deep-cut cult movie of Harlan’s Ellison “A Boy and His Dog,” a lovable schlub named Joel (Dylan O’Brien) is ensconced in a bunker with a handful of other survivors thanks to a plague of monsters that has obliterated 95% of the human population. It’s possible to go deep on how these monsters are the result of “chemicals” raining down on the planet because emergency rockets were fired into a looming asteroid, and how if this is a quarantine allegory, its ultimate message that you should leave quarantine is unfortunately-timed, but the picture is too good-natured to deserve much opprobrium for misreading the room.