The Hollywood Bowles

Oh the Humanity!

Scott Bowles

August 17, 2019

Stop the presses, hold the phone, and crank up the AC. Hell hath frozen over: Donald Trump was correct about something.

Not the broken-clock kind of correct. God knows Donnie Dimwit couldn’t keep up the blistering pace of being right twice a day. He’s lucky if he’s right twice a month.

But last week, in classic Trump style, he managed to say something accurate. It was in defense of the (correct) claim that he’s a racist. Just as he did in claiming Bill Clinton had something to do with Jeffrey Epstein’s death, he pointed at someone else as the culprit of an undeniable truth about racism in America. “Liberal Hollywood is Racist at the highest level, and with great Anger and Hate!” he sausage-fingered from his safe haven aboard Air Force One. “They like to call themselves ‘Elite,’ but they are not Elite. In fact, it is often the people that they so strongly oppose that are actually the Elite.”

Well I’ll be damned. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised by his assertion about show biz. After all, it birthed his very presidency.

Still, as usual, the Molester-in-Chief got it only partly right. In truth, Hollywood isn’t liberal, though he and his base would scream to the contrary. But statistical research bears out what he said — and what we all know instinctively to be true. After all, this is an industry that glorifies gun ownership and vilifies environmentalism. How many times have our cinematic heroes solved their problems by being armed to the teeth? Ever seen an electric car in a Fast & Furious installment?

Delve a little deeper, and you’ll see that Hollywood mirrors corporate America in its white male ownership, and not only at the studio-head level. Here are just a few numbers to illustrate:

Women make up 52% of the U.S. population. But on the silver screen, here’s their representation, according to the Center for the Study of Women in Television and Film. Women make up:

4% of directors
15% of writers
3% of cinematographers
18% of producers
18% of executive producers
14% of editors
6% of composers

When it comes to minorities, the numbers are just as bleak. According to a 2019 UCLA study of minorities in film, people of color make up 40% of the nation’s population. But in the movies, they comprise:

19.8% of leading actors
12.6% of directors
7.8% of writers

In television, minorities make up:

21.5% of characters on scripted shows on the networks
21.3% of characters on scripted shows on cable
28.4% of characters on reality shows on networks
22.4% of characters on reality shows on cable

They’re dismal figures, but would we expect anything else from America’s largest exporter? In 2020, the entertainment and media market in the United States is expected to be worth over $720.38 billion, according to the economic research firm Statisa.

Not that we need statistics to prove all this. Remember the outrage when Idris Elba was being considered to be the next 007 in the James Bond series? Image result for idris elba bond

Or when the Star Wars franchise dared incorporate a black stormtrooper? Image result for star wars black stormtrooper

The difference between Hollywood and the rest of America, of course, is that at least showbiz is attempting to appear like they’re doing something about the problem. What was the hottest film of last year? Black Panther. Image result for black panther What was the biggest movie of this year? Avengers: Endgame, with a superhero cast as diverse in race and gender as Up With People. Image result for up with people

Marvel has taken further steps, announcing 10 films to follow Endgame, which include two more Black Panther installments, Natalie Portman and Cate Blanchett anchoring the next Thor movie, and Scarlett Johansson getting her own Black Widow film. Image result for natalie portman thor

Trump’s attack on Hollywood puzzled many, but it’s likely due to him gaining wind of a movie scheduled for release this fall called The Hunt. It was indefinitely shelved because of the mass shootings in El Paso and Dayton, but the premise must have enraged Trump nonetheless. The film, which stars Hilary Swank, Betty Gilpin, and Emma Roberts, does not mention political ideology or Trump in its advertising. But a draft of the script (originally titled Red State Vs. Blue State) centered on hunting human game and featured such lines as “Did anyone see what our ratfucker-in-chief just did” and “nothing better than going out to the Manor and slaughtering a dozen deplorables,” as well as descriptions of its hunted characters having shared racist or pro-life views. Image result for the hunt movie

Maybe Donnie was just pissed that he hasn’t been asked to star in any films lately. And that’s not likely to change soon. After all, the camera adds 10 pounds. And the way he’s scarfing Big Macs and KFC, he’d likely only be considered to play the titular role in a drama about the Hindenburg.

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When Obsession Turns Obvious

Scott Bowles

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July 29, 2019

Brenda Song in Secret Obsession (2019)

Netflix has been thriving on the woman-in-peril sub-genre of filmmaking. It found an unexpected smash in Birdbox, starring Sandra Bullock as a mother fleeing unseen demons. It bought the TV show You, a half-season flop about a stalker boyfriend, from the Lifetime network and turned it into a series already greenlit for a second season.

Which makes the streaming service’s latest flick, Secret Obsession, so curious. It’s the kind of movie filmmakers don’t make anymore — and for good reason.

Suspense-free and trope-filled, Obsession is a particularly odd choice for Netflix, which is trying to establish its original features as serious, event cinema. But this latest entry feels slapdash and cheap, the kind of fare usually relegated to weeknight time-filler fare on dying cable networks. It feels like someone owed someone a favor to get this made.

Directed by television veteran Peter Sullivan (The Sandman), it’s difficult to know where to start with Obsession: its give-all-away trailer, its inevitable plot arc or its worst offense, boredom. This is one of those rare films that would have been better had it been worse; a good dose of camp would at least have made for a fun (or funny) way to spend an hour and a half.

Instead, we get a thriller that does not thrill, a suspense movie with as much suspense as a Beagle, and a production that will do little to fend off the competition of ascending streaming services.

Obsession’s opening scene begins with a glimmer of hope for entertainment: A woman flees a silent, sinister pursuer around a highway rest stop in driving rain. It’s nothing we haven’t seen before, but it’s too simple to screw up. After that, though, it’s all downhill.

Our protagonist, Jennifer (Brenda Song), evades her tormentor, only to be hit by a passing car. The driver gets her to a hospital while her husband, Russell (Mike Vogel), arrives shortly thereafter. The doctors tell him she’ll be okay, but she’s got a bad case of the most plot-forwarding injury of all, amnesia. Memento was the last film to use that device effectively, and woe to the director who tries to employ it as effectively.

Jennifer can’t remember a thing, leaving it to Russell to remind her who she is as he nurses her back to health. Something, though, seems fishy, raising the suspicion of Detective Frank Page (Dennis Haysbert), who comes with his own convenient and tragic backstory, along with a doubting police chief.

That Page (or Jennifer herself) wouldn’t notice the countless holes in the story immediately is Obsession‘s first major misstep. This is a movie that would have us believe that a patient can undergo a days-long course of medical treatment without ever being positively identified — and that same patient can subsequently be released into the care of someone who also hasn’t identified themselves. A good 10 minutes of “Secret Obsession” consists of people slowly realizing that they don’t have any idea who the main characters of this story actually are.

Still, Russell is allowed to bring Jennifer to a palatial home in secluded woods 20 miles north of San Francisco — and a mile from the nearest neighbor. A good 10 minutes is burned on Jennifer trying to find a cell-phone signal. (She never does.)

Though Obsession hoists as many red flags as the Kremlin, Jennifer is the last to see any of them, allowing her husband to let his own psycho flag fly. Instead of slowly revealing the dark side of our villain, as You, Misery, Fatal Attraction and innumerable others did, Obsession seems impatient to get to the point we all see coming, and the rush is needless.

Song is apt as the movie’s heroine, but the best performance by far comes from Haysbert. While he’s become known as the Allstate insurance guy, he’s a terrific actor whose credits include Heat, Major League and 24.

Alas, he’s not in the film often enough to make it entertaining, and by the end of Obsession, you’ll be the one pining for amnesia.

Taxi!

Scott Bowles

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July 11, 2019

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Here’s the recipe for a summer buddy-cop film. One guy, usually the cop, is as big as a house with an inclination to break things: rules, orders, villains’ faces. The other guy is typically much smaller and much funnier and kind of goofy — and he’s driving the other guy nuts, even as circumstances force them to partner up and take on some bad people.

Sure, May-December cop buddy flicks were have been a cliche since 48 Hrs to Midnight Run to Rush Hour to Men in Black to Ride Along to Central Intelligence to The Heat to the most recent example, Stuber. But given the summer overflow of big-budget sequels, Disney remakes and comic book reboots, this paean to cop films of the 80’s and 90’s seems like a nostalgiac nod to stupidity. And, somehow, most of it works.

It’s hard to overstate how refreshing it is to see a studio movie as silly and self-contained as Michael Dowse’s Stuber. The biggest action scene takes place in a sporting goods store. The Avengers are nowhere to be found. And the hero isn’t fighting to save the planet, just to help pay for the small business he wants to open with his crush (a spinning class geared towards single women called “Spinsters”).

What makes Stuber a fresh approach to a tired genre is that it joins those rare films that are perfectly synced with the American zeitgeist. Just a You’ve Got Mail came during the AOL boom and The Social Network hit shortly after Facebook became omnipresent, Stuber will likely go down as the first big-studio film to take on ride sharing services. It won’t stomp the competition at the multiplex, but Stuber hits all the topical notes for young viewers: overprotective parents, the crippling addiction to cellphones and the roulette wheel roll that is calling a ride share service.

Much of the comedy credit here goes to Kumail Nanjiani (the HBO series Silicon Valley, The Big Sick). Nanjiani’s deadpan expression to people getting rowdy, drunk and nauseas in the back of his leased electric car could likely carry its own film. But that wouldn’t make for a buddy cop flick, so Dowse cannily casts Dave Bautista as Vic (Guardians of the Galaxy) a cop colossus with anger issues, severe myopia and a temper that sends him through walls like a drunken Kool-Aid Man.

It’s a silly pairing, but silly is the point. This movie, after all, is called Stuber because the protagonist is named Stu and he drives for Uber. Get it? Subtle intelligence takes a pronounced backseat to mindless escapism.

Stuber stumbles when it actually tries to break from comedy cliches with some adult-level violence. As the pair close in on drug dealers Vic is chasing, Stu has to face off against the martial marts actor from The Raid. Even for a comedy this goofy, it’s a plot stretch. Not only does the film skewer the tropes of Hollywood cop films, it embraces more than a few.

But they aren’t fatal flaws, and the pairing of Nanjiani and Bautista is inspired, particularly Bautista. He may be built like a Mack truck, but he displays enough tenderness he may escape Hollywood’s villain circuit.

Stuber is intentionally dumb and a little bit clunky, but Nanjiani and Bautista click, the action sequences are well-filmed and the humor is sometimes brutally funny. In a summer of repetitious travels, Stuber makes for a refreshing escapist ride.

Hearts Versus Skins

Scott Bowles

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July 3, 2019

What do you call a movie that is so well-meaning it’s hard to criticize, yet so sporadic in execution it’s hard to be effusive? In this case, you call it Skin in the Game, a nobly-intended thriller about human trafficking that tackles an issue long deserving big-screen Hollywood treatment, but undercut by tropes that veer it into TV crime territory.

“Inspired by true events,” as the film pointedly notes, Skin has the difficult task of spotlighting a vital social topic without descending into exploitative sex and violence . And for the most part, it succeeds, but the low-budget movie occasionally resembles an episode of Law & Order: Vigilante Unit, with cardboard villains and little character arc.

Directed by first-time filmmaker Adisa and written by Steven Palmer, Skin takes a topic Hollywood typically relegates to impoverished nations and brings it stateside, in this case Los Angeles. We are introduced to Lena (Erica Ash), a former prostitute who has turned her life around by dedicating herself to helping abused women out of the sex trade business.

It’s a strong intro, and perhaps the best scene of the movie. Lena, called to a seedy hotel to retrieve a prostitute from an abusive pimp, sets the film’s tone immediately: the language is rough, vulgar, misogynistic and authentic. Violence is to be accepted, not avoided, and Lena’s understanding of that world saves the young woman’s life. It’s an effective prelude to the world we assume we’re about to enter.

Suddenly, however, that tenor changes into a buddy cop thriller when 15-year-old Dani (Sammi Hanratty) is abducted in broad daylight off a suburban sidewalk and finds herself immersed in the human trafficking underworld. To Skin‘s credit, the film takes care to show multiple angles of the trafficking plague, from criminals to victims to the cops trying to sort one from the other. Skin also emphasizes that women can victimize, too; Dani finds herself in a prostitution ring led by the ruthless Eve (Angelica Celaya), a character so vile she’d make a good Bond villain.

After learning police cannot act on a missing persons report for at least 24 hours, Lena and Dani’s mother Sharon (Elisabeth Harnois) take matters into their own hands, triggering the movie’s unsteadiest moments. The women comb the streets like veteran detectives, banter like buddy cops, and threaten to kill uncooperative suspects with a gusto that would make Charles Bronson proud.

Alas, what Skin needs is more humanization. The film explains that Lena and Sharon were once close friends (Lena is Dani’s godmother), but never reveals the fracture that ended the friendship and kept them from talking for years. The film is also strangely lit, sometimes as artificially brightened as a prime time TV show; Skin oddly rejects the use of much shadow for a story about the shadowy world of sex trafficking. And “inspired by true events” is too vague here, particularly for a film on this issue: we get no epilogue about the characters portrayed, their fates, or whether they were even real.

Still, it’s Ash (Starz’s Survivor’s Remorse) who keeps the film propelled and, at times, even riveting. Lena is utterly believable as a woman who entered prostitution unwillingly and paid the price for leaving the profession. She keeps joints in a cigarette case and gumption in her heart; her tough questioning of former colleagues and employers gives Skin its heart, even if it is an occasionally melodramatic one.

Skin in the Game is hardly going to set the standard for human trafficking films. But given the rarity of movies on the issue, particularly in the U.S., setting the standard may be less important than setting precedent.

Broken or Intentionally Busted?

Scott Bowles

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June 9, 2019

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It’s can be difficult to watch When They See Us, but it’s certainly not for lack of craftsmanship. Ava DuVernay’s direction and writing pulls no punches in laying out the harrowing events endured by the Central Park Five while adding a necessary layer of humanity to their story that challenges viewers to reconsider what it means to find justice in America. This story has never lacked for attention, by media and director Ken Burns, but See brings a heretofore unseen personal side of the tragedy.

In April 1989, five teenagers (four black and one Hispanic) were arrested for the rape and near-fatal assault of a wealthy, young white woman in New York’s Central Park. The victim, Trisha Meili, has no memory of that night. Although there was no physical evidence linking the boys to the attack, Raymond Santana, 14; Kevin Richardson, 14; Yusuf Salaam, 15; Antron McCray, 15; and Korey Wise, 16, were all convicted of the crime. The real identities of all involved were subsumed by the case: Meili became “the Central Park Jogger,” while the boys became “the Central Park Five.” Image result for when they see us

This devastating miniseries restores the individual humanity to the six vulnerable humans at the center of the case. Written and directed by DuVernay, the fact-based Netflix miniseries reveals how the teenagers became pawns in a bigger game. The first episode shows how regular teen lives are destroyed by a simple a decision to go to a park. And we see police coerce confessions from scared kids who just want to go home.

In subsequent episodes, we watch as media create a narrative in which black kids from “a world of crack, welfare, guns” are driven to random attacks on white people, “wilding.” We see the shock on the face of one boy’s mother when she learns that Donald Trump has taken out full-page ads in four newspapers calling for the return of the death penalty. Final episodes take us through the brutality of prison time and the grim reality of life as an ex-con.

In an age of fast-paced, plot-twisting crime TV, the macabre momentum of this series feels agonizingly unstoppable at times: If Netflix’s Making a Murderer taught us anything, it’s the grim, sometimes illegal, measures police will take to make an arrest. And that sometimes slows See too much.

But if there are few shocks in See, DuVernay’s respect for the physical and emotional toll on the kids carry surprising power, even for a media-saturated story. You want to cheer when the wrongful convictions are vacated. But the sight of the now-grown men returning to their childhood bedrooms seems a hollow triumph. Ultimately, See underscores the unsettling question about relationships between police and minority communities: Is the system broken, or is it acting just as it was designed?

No one Knows Who They Were, or What They Were Doing

Scott Bowles

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June 9, 2019

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You’d be forgiven if you didn’t know the music band Bros. In the late 1980s, Bros were the hottest act in British pop. The twin brothers played to sold-out concerts, top ten chart hits and the undying devotion of screaming, swooning fans, dubbed “Brosettes.” Though they enjoyed Beatle-like mania, Matt and Luke Goss called it quits in 1992, refusing to speak for 27 years.

But as any good rock doc knows, no reunion is out of the question. And this documentary offers an all-access pass during the countdown to the Bros reunion concert of 2017. But make no mistake: This is no Behind the Music TV rockumentary. Bros can’t help but focus on the toxic relationship between brothers who sometimes make Cain And Abel seem like best pals. Original fans of the duo will be riveted, but even casual music fans will recognize this is more a story about sibling rivalry. Image result for when the screaming stops movie

The title is taken from a question posed to the brothers by the late British television presenter Terry Wogan: What would become of duo “after the screaming stops?” They found out sooner than either expected. In the weeks after of Bros’ biggest hits, drummer Luke Goss moved to Los Angeles to pursue an acting career, making appearances in Blade 2, Hellboy 2 and others. Singer and musician Matt Goss pursued a solo career, undertaking lengthy residencies at Las Vegas hot spots including Caesars Palace.

The decision to reunite for an epic concert at the O2 arena in Britain seems motivated by both professional pride and personal demons. The ticking clock to the big day gives the film structure and tension as archive footage of past concerts is paired with confessional interviews. The brothers are generally interviewed individually, and in that solitude both reveal all manner of insecurities, musical and familial.

Like the group Wham!, Bros resent that the British press never took them seriously. Despite being the front man, Matt appears to be the most volatile and vulnerable, lamenting the distance between him and his brother. He also gives Bros its occasional This is Spinal Tap-esque humor. “You need to be on the same page, otherwise you don’t get to turn the page, “ he declares.

There is also a Spinal Tap element to the tempers and tantrums. Rehearsals are as mesmerizing as slow-motion car crashes as the brothers clash. Bros’ success at times seems nothing short of miraculous, given the brothers often can’t seem to bear being in the same room together. Image result for when the screaming stops movie

The tension ratchets up as drummer Luke grows frustrated that his viewpoint takes a backseat to his brothers (sometimes tearful) antics. Bros doesn’t shy away from the warts-and-all candor of their arguments. We revisit the death of their parents and odd reality of being a world celebrity in your 20’s. Credit After The Screaming Stops for aiming to be more than a promotional tour for a comeback record.

Like Spinal Tap, if Bros‘ deserves any feedback, it’s for a lack of context. There are no interviews about why the brothers became so big or what make their songs so popular. The film opts not to interview any musical media or academia for insight.

But the comparison with Spinal Tap stops about there. Far from being a mockumentary, Bros is a serious look at fame’s effect both on youth and music, and whether it’s doing either any favors. When it gets off stage, away from the lights and stage bravado, Bros can crank to 11.

Who’s a Good Boy?

Scott Bowles

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May 29, 2019

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You don’t have to be a dog nut to enjoy Netflix’s new series It’s Bruno! But it sure doesn’t hurt.

Otherwise, how else could we feel the offense taken by series creator Solvan “Slick” Naim when he sees dog owners who don’t curb their pooches? Or people who don’t restrain yapping pets? Or, worst of all to Naim, listen to people call his beloved puggle by another name? It’s Bruno!

Part whimsical comedy cross-pollinated with part street-savvy drama, Bruno! may be Netflix’s strangest series to date. Episodes typically range from 11-15 minutes. There is no real character arc (from human or canine actors). Some scenes are dog-food-commercial cute, only to be peppered with scenes of adult-only viewing, including sex, raw language and drug abuse. There’s no graphic violence, but think Benji Meets The Wire.

To appreciate It’s Bruno!, it helps to know a little bit about why rapper Slick Naim is making the show; he wrote, produced and directed it. According to press reports, Naim got Bruno from a rescue shelter five years ago, and he thinks the dog is so awesome that, in 2015 he made a 10-minute short film that had Naim and Bruno trying to go to a supermarket. Netflix was so impressed, they produced the show (which continues the pair’s efforts to get into the store).

But it’s exactly the small scale of the stories that gives the show its charm. Lives aren’t at stake here, just contented pets, and what a nice change of stakes. Naim plays Malcolm, who gives Bruno the best food — premium turkey meat — and lets him eat at the table. When he walks Bruno around his block in Bushwick, Brooklyn, he’s very sensitive to slights. When a woman pets Bruno without asking, Malcolm reaches out and pets her granddaughter, asking her why the dog shouldn’t feel any less annoyed by that behavior.

When he gets to a corner, he regularly meets his “nemesis” Harvey (Rob Morgan) and his dog Angie. They get into an impromptu obedience competition, which Bruno loses when Malcolm can’t get him to respond to “down.” They vie for dog walking customers. They compete for local dog ads.

In one episode, Malcolm tries to track down the hipster who is not picking up after his dog. In another, he intervenes when he meets a crack addict trying to sell a stolen husky from his shopping cart, claiming it is a “Dire Woof from Games of Thrones!” Image result for dire wolf Perhaps the most entertaining character is a hyper chihuahua that yaps its head off every time he sees Bruno. Naim cleverly translates the barks in closed captioning and man, is that dog vulgar.

But that’s the point of Bruno! In a sea of true-crime stories and police dramas, what a binge-able, pleasurable change of pace for a series. Make Bruno a police dog and you’d probably have a great buddy cop series.

Til’ Part Do Us Death

Scott Bowles

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May 19, 2019

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Dead to Me is something of bait-and-switch, though a clever and enjoyable one. The trailer for the new Netflix series suggests that it’s a black comedy, a Desperate Housewives meets Six Feet Under with a touch of suburban angst mixed to keep things light. Instead, Dead becomes a sometimes-profound look at the stages of grief — and the extremes we’ll go to avoid them. As much a murder mystery as a darkly comic whodunnit, Dead produces a performance that’s Emmy-worthy, if not the show itself.

Starring Christina Applegate in the role of her career, Dead follow a widow trying to rebuild her life after her husband is killed by a hit-and-run driver. While the show spends 10 twist-full episodes trying to be a madcap mystery about suburban SoCal secrets and lies, it becomes a layered look at friendships forged in misery.

Dead to Me begins with high-end realtor and mother of two Jen (Applegate) slamming the door on yet another neighborly well-wisher bearing a casserole. Three months after her husband’s death, Jen’s primary emotion besides grief is anger. She’s mad at the person who ran her husband over. She’s mad at the cops who haven’t found the driver. And she’s generally mad at the world for handing her such a raw deal. Image result for dead to me

But Jen’s life begins to improve when she meets Judy (Linda Cardellini), a flighty and free-spirited woman who’s also dealing with her own loss. Their chance meeting at a grief support group isn’t actually by chance — the final shot of episode one portends many surprise endings — unusual for a comedy series. Jen and Judy form a real friendship, commiserating over insomnia-fueled phone calls and late-night Facts of Life reruns. Pretty soon the lonely Jen invites Judy to live in her unoccupied guest house.

Turns out, Jen and Judy make fast friends over common sadness: Jen’s marriage was fraying long before it was cut short by the accident, while Judy can’t leave her on-and-off fiancé Steve (James Marsden). He’s a slick finance type whose good looks and charm mask a dismissive attitude toward the soft-hearted Judy. Image result for dead to me ed asner

And yet it’s the show pacing that undermines these characters. Dead is less interested in Jen and Judy’s connection than it is in the Big Secret that could destroy it. Episodes are peppered with near-misses and convenient coincidences that lead Jen to the brink of discovery, only to veer away from the truth with a rush of near-miss adrenaline. It’s a fine format for, say, Breaking Bad. But it’s too dramatic a pace for a comedy series.

Instead, the show is at its best when Jen and Judy are just hanging out, talking about things that aren’t veiled secrets, like motherhood, re-entering the dating world, and whether they’re a Blair or a Jo. Applegate, returning to series TV for the first time in seven years, brings an astonishing depth to Jen. Her tears and rage are palpable. Though Cardellini is saddled with primarily goofy sidekick duties, her character brings genuine warmth and humanity to Dead. And Ed Asner, who plays as a cranky old charmer at the nursing home where Judy works, is as good here since The Mary Tyler Moore Show. As a murder mystery, Dead to Me isn’t much of a discovery. But as an examination of human frailty, Dead brings its characters springing to life.

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John Wick’s Excellent Adventure

Scott Bowles

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May 11, 2019

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Here’s looking at you, Wick. Part grisly Casablanca, part bloody Blade Runner and part macabre Matrix, the elements combine to make John Wick: Chapter 3 – Parabellum an epic of choreographed mayhem and the best action film of the year. Endgame schmendgame.

Directed by Keanu Reeves’ Matrix stunt double-turned-action auteur Chad Stahelski, Parabellum mixes terrific CGI with even more impressive stunt work to become that rarity in an the action genre: a live-action cartoon that doesn’t look cartoonish. Yes, the violence is over-the-top and Parabellum is by far the most brutal film of the sleeper franchise. But as body counts go, this is bloodshed as high art.

The opening of Parabellum picks up just minutes after the end of its 2017 predecessor, with Keanu Reeves’ wronged, out-of-retirement super-assassin on the run through nighttime Manhattan. Wick, as you may recall from part 2, committed the cardinal sin of killing a made member of the shadowy assassins’ guild known as The High Table. Now, he’s been declared “excommunicado”, which in layman terms means that it’s open season on Wick, who has a $14 million bounty on his head.

Out of loyalty, colleague Ian McShane’s gave Wick a one-hour head start to get out of Dodge before word attracts the enumerable professional hit men (and women) who come after him for the reward. As played by Reeves (who, at 54, can still remarkably dish out and take a nasty beating), Wick is the ultimate tragic loner – haunted and hunted. The role fits the soulfully unknowable star like the custom, slim black suit he wears on the job.

The first brawl in John Wick 3 sets an ultraviolent tone that never relents as Wick does with a library book what he famously did with a pencil in the first film, and it just gets nastier from there. What makes that brawl — and the dozens subsequently – so effective isn’t just the lightning-quick fighting or the cameo appearances of Asian cinema martial-arts heavies that are easter eggs for the action savants; it’s the way the audience feels each blow in the fights. As in The Raid films, the punches are insanely inventive, but they also hurt. And they also sound especially crunchy. Whoever was John Wick 3’s Foley Artist deserves a raise.

It also doesn’t hurt that cinematographer Dan Laustsen creates a world that would make Ridley Scott envious. From the sands of Casablanca to the rain-slicked streets of Manhattan, the worlds of Wick never lack for flair or twists. There’s a horse raise in Wick 3 — on city streets instead of Moroccan sand — and it looks somehow natural in the Wickian universe. Image result for john wick 3 horse

One of the new characters introduced in John Wick 3 is Asia Kate Dillon’s “Adjudicator,” who spells out the fine print rules of the High Table. It’s a nice countermeasure to the chaotic violence that immerses us for nearly 2 1/2 hours.

As a man without a country in John Wick 3, Reeves’ bruised and battered hero is forced to call in the only two favors he has left to his credit. The first is with an underworld Russian mother figure who’s played by Anjelica Huston and who helps him flee to Casablanca. The second is with an equally badass assassin played by Halle Berry (whose pair of attack dogs steal the middle-third of the movie). Neither one steal Wick’s thunder, but they do add some emotional weight to the film.

If Wick 3 has any weaknesses, it’s that the fights can feel a little long and so quickly edited you can miss the nifty, fatal moves. And while Parebellum clearly sees itself as a franchise film, it sets up another sequel a little too blatantly.

Still, with his dog and muscle car already avenged in the first two movies, John Wick 3 really leaves viewers with one question, one never answered in the movie: Who or what is a ‘Parabellum?’ For the non-scholars of dead languages, an internet search reveals that it comes from the Latin phrase: Si vis pacem, para bellum. Which translates as, “If you want peace, prepare for war.” And no one prepares for war like John Wick does.

Ted, Just Admit It

Scott Bowles

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May 5, 2019

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The risk of making “based on true events” films is that sometimes the real events are more interesting than the fictional ones — and make for more entertaining moviegoing.

Take Man on Wire, an Oscar-winning documentary about a tight rope walker who crossed New York’s Twin Towers on a cable. The film was naturally followed by a big-budget feature starring Joseph Gordon Levitt. Alas, Levitt and co-stars could not match the mischievous humor of real-life walker Phillippe Petit and his cast of harmless hooligans, and the feature film plummeted to a flop that made only $10 million. Image result for man on wire

Netflix’s new film, Extremely Wicked, Shockingly Evil and Vile, isn’t an equal disaster, but it comes up similarly short on the heels of the terrific Netflix documentary Conversation with a Killer: The Ted Bundy Tapes. A serviceable-if-unspectacular thriller, Vile captures neither the horror of Bundy’s reign of terror, nor the charm Bundy used to lure victims, which numbered in the dozens.

It’s a strange shortcoming, given that both Bundy films shared the same director, Joe Berlinger (Paradise Lost, Brother’s Keeper). Documentary filmmaking is clearly his forte, and Vile ultimately feels detached enough from its characters to be a non-fiction flick, though there are some nice personal touches from the big-name cast, namely Zac Effron as the killer.

Still, Vile requires that you already know the story of America’s most notorious serial killer, because the movie does little to educate the viewer, let alone bring you into Bundy’s mind. Even the title is a bit misleading: Bundy may have been vile and wicked, but the movie is a largely bloodless examination of his cross-country killing spree, which left at least 30 women dead.

If anything, Vile glosses over the murders so briskly that it’s not until the final minutes of the nearly two-hour film that the savagery of Bundy’s acts become evident. And even then, you’re left with the sense you just watched an apt, if detached, Lifetime movie about a man’s hidden, murderous demons.

Instead, Vile concentrates on Liz Kendall (Lily Collins), Bundy’s ex-girlfriend and single mom who struggles to reconcile the man she knows with the headlines she’s reading. It’s a compelling portrait of falling in love with a monster, but Vile does a lackluster job of portraying just what a monster Bundy was. Despite Bundy strangling and raping his victims (and beheading at least one), Vile jettisons most of the violence for the headlines that followed. Image result for liz kendall lily collins

If you don’t already know Bundy’s story, Berlinger’s carefully paced drama won’t spell it out for you; Bundy’s true nature stays largely below the surface. The deliberate pace of the narrative partly mirrors Liz’s own path from faith in her fiancé to creeping doubt. And Collins walks that line gracefully despite not being given much to work with, considering the movie is based on Kendall’s own memoir.

But it’s Efron’s movie. Alternately charming, belligerent, and incalculably shrewd, he captures both the shark-like charisma of Bundy and the deeply damaged man beneath. Problem is, news clips — some from Beringer’s previous documentary — suggest Bundy was more charming, more media savvy, even more handsome than the man playing him.

Vile‘s real strength is in its examination of a sociopath. Effron’s Bundy is a smooth talker whose lies are so effortless and convincing you think Bundy may believe them himself. And his rapport with Tallahassee judge Edward Cowart (John Malkovich), who finally renders judgement, is not only engaging, but nearly word-for-word accurate in its re-enactment of the nation’s first televised trial. Image result for judge Edward Cowart (John Malkovich)

“You are skating on thin ice,” he tells Bundy at one point, “and ice does not last long in Florida.” He’s right, of course. But Vile leaves you wondering what made it crack.

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