Review: "Detroit"

During the summer of 1967, amidst no shortage of unrest between the city of Detroit's overwhelmingly black populace and overwhelmingly white law enforcement, a police raid of an unlicensed bar, and the chaos that quickly erupted among authorities, patrons and passersby, gave way to a five-day riot, one of the deadliest and most destructive in the nation's history.

Buildings across the city were looted or lit up in flames or both and police had no hesitation in pulling a trigger, even against those simply stealing groceries. By the end of the mayhem, 43 were dead with more than 1,000 injured.

Kathryn Bigelow's aggravating Detroit shines a spotlight on one particularly savage event that transpired over the pandemonium.

On the evening of July 25, in the annex at the city's Algiers Motel, teenager Carl (Jason Mitchell) takes out a starter gun to demonstrate to his friends how a police encounter really goes down in Detroit. He goes so far as to take a few shots out the window at National Guard forces, who are stationed about half a mile a way.

This quickly draws the attention of police, among them the sadistic Krauss (Will Poulter) who, with a pair of his fellow racist cop buddies, barnstorms the house, lines all inhabitants up against the wall and proceeds to subject his prey to what amounts of physical and psychological torture. There's the headstrong black security guard Melvin (John Boyega) who thankfully comes upon the motel but he too must tread very carefully in what has become Krauss' House of Horrors.

Detroit isn't without its merits. The performances, with the exception of a dreadful and distracting late cameo by John Krasinski (this year's Matthew Broderick in Manchester by the Sea), are all-around phenomenal. I was especially taken with Boyega, who has a powerful screen presence even when he says nothing at all - there's a sense of suppressed indignation there than is plenty palpable throughout the proceedings. And Poulter, with his devilish, Nurse Ratched-like eyebrows, is one scary piece of shit. Kudos too to Barry Ackroyd's fine cinematography.

That said, I had a lot of problems with this picture.

I sensed trouble on the horizon from the get-go with the film's curiously animated opening sequence, which spells out to the audience - like we were born yesterday - what brought about racial tensions in Detroit. Then, there's the uninvolving and unfocused opening half hour, which introduces far too many characters too quickly and uneasily tries to intertwine real-life stock footage of the events into the proceedings.

The middle of the picture, in which Krauss turns the Algiers into the motel from hell, has that same harrowing intensity of past Bigelow pictures. As isn't the case in her best films (like Zero Dark Thirty and Blue Steel), however, that feeling of exasperation here goes on so long that it ultimately turns into restlessness. The potency of the performances keep the proceedings gripping at some level but there comes a point where the violence and Poulter's histrionics veer on the excessive.

Then, there's the final half hour of the picture, which feels even more half-baked than the opening 30 and doesn't much resemble Bigelow's vivid style of filmmaking at all. Instead, I was reminded of Rob Reiner's workmanlike '60s civil rights yarn Ghosts of Mississippi, which too sports a few fabulous performances but gets awfully sleepy when it turns into a courtroom drama. 

Was Bigelow, in the end, the best director for this project? I typically adore her but I'm unconvinced. She is a great filmmaker of actors and has captured one of the year's finest ensembles here. The picture, however, is not as confident or satisfying as nearly all of Bigelow's past films and the ferocity with which she directs often feels intemperate here.

Detroit is a bumpy endeavor to say the least.

B-

Review: "Girls Trip"

You'll never look at a grapefruit the same way again...

Girls Trip, the first truly gut-busting comedy of 2017, is a fabulous showcase for its four dynamite leading ladies. Comparisons will no doubt be made between this and fellow ensemble hit Bridesmaids but the latter, enjoyable as it may be, seems merely sitcom-level vis a vis this picture. This is a raunchier, bolder and all-around more satisfying romp.

The film follows the "Flossy Posse" of college besties - Ryan (Regina Hall), Sasha (Queen Latifah), Lisa (Jada Pinkett Smith) and Dina (Tiffany Haddish) - as they reunite in New Orleans for the annual Essence Festival, where Ryan, a best-selling author, has been tapped to deliver a keynote address. Hilarious hijinks of course ensue as the foursome drink, dance, romance and get their wild sides back in action but the proceedings hit a number of serious notes too.

Ryan's friends see right through her phony marriage to retired football star Stewart (Mike Colter), who has been caught yet again hooking up with another woman (who, of course, happens to also be in New Orleans for the event, setting up an inevitable brawl). There's also plenty of tension bubbling beneath the surface between Ryan and Sasha, years ago on track for a joint business venture that fell through when Ryan went out on her own. Now, Sasha runs a trashy celebrity gossip blog that barely pays the bills.

Director Malcolm D. Lee and screenwriters Kenya Barris and Tracy Oliver pull off a commendable balancing act in delivering the raucous laughs while also hitting home on a more dramatic level.

All four stars are in prime form. Haddish all but owns the first half of the film with a side-splittingly funny performance that threatens to upstage the rest of the picture. But then it's Hall who really shines in the second half, as the proceedings take that more serious turn and Lee, Barris and Oliver tackle the topic of infidelity with great wisdom and nuance. Smith is terrific too as the divorced single mom most struggling to at last let loose. And we of course cannot forget Latifah, who, with some absinthe and a lamp, lands one of the film's funniest and most memorable moments.

Girls Trip isn't absolute perfection - there are a handful of gags and scenes that don't quite land - but still, as a vehicle that gives its four super-talented stars a rich opportunity to shine and make us laugh our asses off for two hours, it's well worth a look.

B+

Review: "Dunkirk"

For more than a week over the summer of 1940, toward the beginning of World War II, German forces trapped Allied troops - a mix of British, French, Belgian and Dutch - on the beaches of Dunkirk, France. Through naval and civilian vessels, more than 330,000 troops were safely evacuated.

Christopher Nolan's much-anticipated Dunkirk - his first picture since the polarizing Interstellar in 2014 - captures this event in spellbinding fashion. His film is a master class in cinematography, sound and film editing and, while not quite on the level of masterpieces like The Bridge on the River Kwai and Das Boot, is still among the finest World War II pictures to grace the screen.

The proceedings are captured from three perspectives, one on land, one at sea and one up in the air.

On land, you have Tommy (Fionn Whitehead), a young British private who escapes enemy fire on the streets of Dunkirk and flees to the beach, determined to climb aboard a boat and at last get home. Boat after boat is attacked, including an abandoned ship utilized by the enemies for target practice.

At sea, there is Mr. Dawson (Mark Rylance, far more compelling here than in his Oscar-winning Bridge of Spies turn), a kind and calm sailor on a mission with his son and a friend to assist in the evacuation. The trio encounter a battered solider (Cillian Murphy), the sole survivor of a U-Boat attack. Upon realizing the boat is en route to Dunkirk and not home, the soldier grows hostile, to tragic consequences.

Up in the air are a trio of pilots (among them Tom Hardy and Jack Lowden) determined to take down German planes and prevent the bombing of allied boats at Dunkirk.

Nolan does a superb job intertwining the three - though the proceedings are very much nonlinear, it's a far more accessible picture than the likes of Memento, Inception and Interstellar, which no doubt left some moviegoers feeling lost at sea.

While the acting is all-around terrific, particularly from Whitehead and Rylance, the lack of character development makes Dunkirk a marginally less emotionally involving film than some past war pictures. Still, that's a slight knock when the movie is so magnificent from a technical perspective. Kudos to Hoyte van Hoytema for his glorious photography, Lee Smith for tight, pitch-perfect film editing and the legendary Hans Zimmer for one of his most intoxicating scores to date.

Is Dunkirk the best Nolan picture? Truth be told, I do prefer both The Dark Knight and Insomnia. That said, it's still one hell of an achievement, a stirring, sweeping picture full of sequences guaranteed to go down as some of the year's best.

A-

Review: "A Ghost Story"

Where is Oda Mae Brown when you need her?!

A Ghost Story, the latest picture from filmmaker David Lowery (Ain't Them Bodies Saints, Pete's Dragon) is a film both sensitive and standoffish. While the sadness in Casey Affleck's performance, even as he's covered from head to toe in a white sheet, is palpable, the proceedings are meandering and ultimately left me cold and restless.

The film opens on C (Affleck), a recently deceased musician who, donning the white sheet, wanders out of the hospital to return home and console his mourning wife M (Rooney Mara). C observes as M goes through the grieving process and, after she moves out, finds himself watching over the house's future inhabitants, including a single mom and her children and a group of partygoers. All along, C is working, to negligible success, to retrieve a hand-written note M tucked inside the crack of a wall before her departure.

A Ghost Story looks and sounds phenomenal, with sumptuous cinematography by Andrew Droz Palermo and a stirring score from Daniel Hart. Their contributions and Affleck's curiously moving turn aside, however, the proceedings are overwhelmingly lethargic and lacking the profound, spiritual feeling no doubt intended. The picture also boasts one of the most ham-fisted monologues on humanity to ever grace the screen.

Not without its merits, A Ghost Story is a noble failure.

C+

Review: "The Big Sick"

At last, a Judd Apatow production that doesn't leave me restless!

Comic geniuses/writers Kumail Nanjiani and Emily V. Gordon have joined Michael Showalter, the filmmaker behind last year's splendid Hello, My Name Is Doris, to deliver one of the finest romantic dramedies in recent years. The Big Sick plays like Don't Think Twice (the best comedy of 2016) meets Love Story (one of the most maudlin films of all-time)...and thankfully falls a lot closer to the former than the latter in quality.

Based on his real-life courtship with Gordon, Nanjiani portrays a Pakistan-born comic who meets and falls for Emily (Zoe Kazan) at one of his shows. Their relationship flourishes for some time, that is before his refusal to acknowledge the relationship to his traditional Muslim parents leaves Emily skeptical of her place in Kumail's future. She ends the relationship just before tragedy strikes - Emily falls ill, is hospitalized and soon placed into a medically induced coma.

Despite their split, Kumail is determined to remain by her side...and then Emily's parents (Holly Hunter and Ray Romano) show up. While her folks initially give Kumail a rather chilly reception, their mutual affection for and distress over Emily slowly but surely bring them together.

The Big Sick pulls off a remarkable balancing act, drawing big, well-earned laughs and tugging at the heartstrings in a way that isn't nauseatingly manipulative. The cast is all-around marvelous - Nanjiani and Kazan make for an enchanting and convincing team; this is perhaps Hunter's best performance since Living Out Loud in 1998 (keep an eye on this four-time nominee during Oscar season); and Romano has never, ever been this good. Also, all of the actors portraying Nanjiani's family are dead-on perfection.

Even if this proves one hell of a year at the cinema, The Big Sick will undoubtedly go down as one of the finest of 2017.

A

Review: "Baby Driver"

Ah, movie soundtracks. Wall-to-wall tunes can make great cinema all the more powerful (think American Graffiti, Goodfellas and Stand By Me) and, on occasion, give a considerable lift to otherwise ho-hum pictures (like Waiting to Exhale and yes, Saturday Night Fever).

In recent years, however, I've grown a tad wary of films leaning so heavily on their music. American Hustle and Guardians of the Galaxy, for instance, sport fabulous soundtracks but are otherwise middling and uninspired pictures. Still, people ate these two movies up, in large part because of the countless classic tunes trotted out in both films. The use of a fantastic song can do wonders with a scene...even if there's really nothing else of note to speak of on the screen.

Like those two pictures, Edgar Wright's Baby Driver sports one hell of a soundtrack, stuffed with '70s tracks and a scattering of tunes from other decades too. Unlike those films, however, Wright's picture also has some meat on its bones beyond just the music.

Ansel Elgort is Baby, the masterful getaway driver who, with earbuds and a limitless iTunes collection in tow, is a true beast behind the wheel. Baby begrudgingly works for heist mastermind Doc (Kevin Spacey) to both pay off a debt he owes to the kingpin and support his deaf foster father (C.J. Jones). Among the colorful characters Baby is stuck chauffeuring around are the hotheaded Buddy (Jon Hamm), vicious Bats (Jamie Foxx) and conniving Darling (Elza Gonzalez).

One day, Baby comes across the woman of his dreams, diner waitress Deborah (Lily James). That head-over-heels feeling is mutual but just when it appears Baby's business with Doc is over and the young couple can drive off into the sunset together, Doc forces Baby into another, even more perilous heist job. With Baby itching to run away with his new love and tensions high among the increasingly unhinged team, odds are heads will roll this time around.

More than anything, Baby Driver is a master class in film editing and sound. The car chase sequences here nearly rival the legendary likes of Bullitt and The French Connection. Per usual with Wright's films, there is no shortage of buoyant energy beaming off the screen and the director/writer also does a lovely job with the romance between Baby and Deborah. Their scenes together have a genuine, warm charm that serve as a refreshing break from an otherwise punchy and savage picture.

Elgort isn't necessarily the most compelling of actors but still makes for a plenty convincing and engaging Baby. Even better is James, enchanting as the innocent dragged along for the dizzying ride. Spacey, Hamm and Foxx are just OK as the heist-hungry crooks - all three, obviously, have been in much more challenging form before but also don't bring a whole lot of juice to their roles. It's some of the smaller turns, like the endearing and funny Jones and Andrea Frye, as an old lady both carjacked and charmed by Baby, that often steal the show.

Baby Driver isn't spectacular from head to toe - the non-action scenes involving the criminals aren't all that absorbing and the combo of violence and comedy isn't as at-ease as in Wright's Hot Fuzz - but still, it's a fun and vibrant summer romp for the most part, with some dynamite set pieces. Also, how could I not enjoy a film that intertwines both It's Complicated and The Little Rascals in the same scene?

B+

Review: "It Comes at Night"

Joel Edgerton is for sure among my favorite actors working today. Ever since Animal Kingdom, I have time and time again been floored by his ability to disappear into roles. His work there and in the likes of Warrior, The Gift and Loving, among other pictures, exemplify his immense talents on the screen. Moreover, Edgerton has proven himself more than capable of making a lot out of a little, case in point his terrific turn in 2015's otherwise limp Black Mass.

Edgerton's latest film, thankfully, is much more in line with his finest projects, as opposed to Black Mass and The Great Gatsby.

It Comes at Night, directed by the fabulous young filmmaker Trey Edward Shults, is a masterfully unsettling psychological horror flick. It's that breed of cinema, woefully rare these days in the genre, that's determined to get under your skin without resorting to much in the way of guts and gore.

The film opens on a family - Paul (Edgerton) and Sarah (Carmen Ejogo) and their teenage son Travis (Kelvin Harrison, Jr.) - who have secured themselves inside a desolate country home as a mysterious disease ravages the world around them. Paul has established a strict routine and order that has thus far kept them safe and sound. That is, until the arrival of Will (Christopher Abbott), another desperate family man, searching for water to provide for his kin.

After much reluctance, Paul agrees to trade some of the family's water in exchange for food Will has amassed. Furthermore, once more of a rapport is struck, Paul and Sarah allow for Will's wife (Riley Keogh) and son (Griffin Robert Faulkner) to move into their home. That's when problems begin to arise. Travis' dog Stanley goes missing in the woods after a berserk response to something in the distance. Travis is also plagued by horrific nightmares involving the new inhabitants and his grandfather, who succumbed to the disease.

Matters really get tense, however, when one evening, Travis discovers the front door of the house, which is always locked up to the tee, has been left open. Outside the door is a suffering, infected Stanley. The question of who opened the door sparks a contentious conversation among the residents, one which could threaten to tear the house apart.

An aura of intense claustrophobia and uncertainty lingers throughout It Comes at Night. The film is brilliantly, convincingly acted by all involved but the real star of the show has to be Shults, working wonders with the camera in a way that rings of John Carpenter and Stanley Kubrick. The film is beautifully lit too - kudos to Drew Daniels on his stunning cinematography. Shults' screenplay is also something to marvel at, guaranteed to spark discussion over the meaning of the proceedings and just what the hell may have happened with that damn door.

I look so forward to the next projects from both Shults and Edgerton.

A-

Review: "Wonder Woman"

Growing up, I was all about the DC comics. The Marvel stuff rarely floated my boat (as has proven the case with most of its recent films) but DC almost always managed to satisfy, as did the early motion pictures - I wouldn't hesitate at all to shower the first two Superman films and first two Batman flicks in Oscar nominations (I think we can all agree Michelle Pfeiffer deserved to win a trophy for Batman Returns). There's genuine movie magic to be found in those pictures.

So, given my adoration for all things DC, it's been more than a little exasperating watching more misses than hits come out of the franchise on the silver screen in recent years. Sure, Zach Snyder, with his bombastic vision for DC on film, deserves much of the blame, but even prior to Snyder's involvement, we were treated to the comparably insufferable likes of Catwoman and Green Lantern. 

From the project's announcement, I admittedly figured, despite having a fine filmmaker attached, Wonder Woman would be destined to disappoint.

Thankfully, Wonder Woman does not mark yet another cinematic catastrophe of the DC universe. While it doesn't quite operate on the sky-high level of the best DC pictures either, it is a fun romp that is destined to instill hope in the hearts of those DC devotees who haven't been so keen on the comics' recent offerings on the big screen.

The picture opens on the island of Themyscira where Diana (Gal Gadot), princess of the Amazons, has trained to be an unstoppable warrior. Her blissful existence, surrounded exclusively by fellow female warriors, is interrupted by the entrance of pilot Steve Trevor (Chris Pine), a World War I-era Allied spy whose plane crashes off the coast. After rescuing him and learning of the war that is ravaging the planet, Diana is determined to use her powers to restore world peace. She decides she will leave home for the very first time and join in Steve's efforts.

Wonder Woman sports a number of exceptional set pieces, perhaps the most riveting being Diana's valiant push across enemy trenches upon arrival at the Western Front in Belgium. There are fabulous comic bits too, fueled by the enchanting pairing of Gadot and Pine, neither of who are spectacularly talented actors but still pitch-perfect in their respective roles. Pine in particular has a matinee idol charisma that is apt for this sort of old-school comic book adaptation.

The supporting players are memorable too - Robin Wright is unconditionally badass as Diana's aunt and trainer and Danny Huston and Elena Anaya make for amusing villains, even if the characters don't feel fully fleshed out. Also, the film looks fantastic, with a handsome production design by Aline Bonetto (of Amelie and A Very Long Engagement).

Of course, I'd be remiss to not mention the film's director, the marvelous Patty Jenkins, who did an exceptional job directing Charlize Theron to an Oscar with 2003's Monster and then somehow, inexplicably could not land another feature film gig until now. There is no shortage of skill on display here - Jenkins is a star behind the camera and I'm delighted she'll be back for the sequel.

All of that said - the proceedings are smooth sailing for the first two hours, that is until a haphazardly staged final act that recalls all of the missteps of the recent DC pictures. All of the excitement, romance and laughter that enamored us is suddenly, tragically thrown out the window for 20+ minutes of uninspired, CGI-stuffed dueling that feels like the grand finale of another, supremely inferior film.

Still, its lame conclusion aside, Wonder Woman is for sure one of the better recent comic book film adaptations, a lively and lighthearted ride that, unlike all too many pictures in the genre, doesn't take itself so damn seriously.

B

Review: "Alien: Covenant"

The thrill is gone.

Ridley Scott's Alien is among my all-time favorite films, a taut, splendidly acted thriller that to this day scares my pants off. James Cameron's Aliens, while more amusing than downright terrifying, marks a plenty worthy sequel, paced like a rollicking roller coaster ride and sporting one of Sigourney Weaver's finest performances.

Since then, I'm afraid, it's been all downhill.

Alien: Covenant, Scott's third contribution to the series (following Prometheus in 2012), delivers none of the thrills or chills you'd expect. Unbelievably, it's a picture so slapdash and hackneyed, you'll be tempted to look back and admire David Fincher for at least having an intriguing vision for the cinematic catastrophe that is Alien 3. Single-handedly on the strength of one performance, Covenant does not quite sink to the same bottom of the barrel as the Fincher film but boy, it's still rough stuff.

This sixth entry in the franchise finds the crew of the colony ship Covenant, en route to a remote planet, diverted to what appears to be an undiscovered paradise. Among the explorers are terraforming expert Daniels (Katherine Waterston), first mate Oram (Billy Crudup) and synthetic android Walter (Michael Fassbender). Complications arise when two crew members fall gravely ill and then there's the introduction of synthetic David (Fassbender again), the sole survivor of the Prometheus mission, who now resides on this mysterious planet. Before long, of course, those pesky extraterrestrial creatures say hello, ready to lay eggs inside their prey and make mincemeat out of those who stand in the way.

When the monsters aren't gracing the screen, Covenant is, for the most part, a real snooze. The humor of Aliens is sorely missing and none of the characters here are nearly as expertly drawn as in the first entry. Problem is, the proceedings aren't all that exciting even when the aliens are doing what they do best, as the action here much more recalls that of Alien 3 than the first two entries. As was the case in the Fincher flick, these CGI creatures aren't the least bit convincing.

Keeping the picture from being a complete bust is Fassbender, marvelous in duel roles. While the rest of the ensemble struggles to make anything of their cookie-cutter roles, he at least seems to be having a blast and frankly, his David is a far more riveting foe than than any of the gnarly beasts who roam this picture.

Fassbender's impressive turn aside, however, Alien: Covenent is among Scott's worst pictures to date.

C

Review: "Snatched"

Growing up with a mom who adores Goldie Hawn, I had seen the bulk of the Hawn filmography by age 10.

Foul Play, in particular, was a mainstay at the Carden household, rented out countless times at our local library. Much as I enjoyed that one, Death Becomes Her won me over even more. In hindsight, I don't think I've ever disliked a Hawn picture, sans maybe Town & Country, in which she has a modest supporting role. With her presence, she has brightened up even the most middling of comedies, turning the likes of Protocol and Wildcats in something worthwhile.

Hawn's latest picture, Snatched, once again finds the actress in rich form, making the most out of rather uninspired proceedings. She and fellow leading lady Amy Schumer have a blast here and, for their ebullience alone, the film is worth a look.

After Schumer's Emily is dumped by her wannabe-rock star boyfriend (Randall Park), she finds herself stuck with a nonrefundable vacation to Ecuador. With no interest from friends in joining her on the trip, Emily turns to mom Linda (Hawn) to venture on this journey. Overseas, Emily falls for the dashing James (Tom Bateman) but their excursion, alongside a hesitant Linda, into Colombia for a day trip turns treacherous as the mother and daughter wind up at the center of a kidnapping plot by (painfully nondescript and one-note) South American criminals. They manage to escape but, with the State Department of scant help, must rely on their own wits to somehow get to the nearest U.S. embassy, in Bogota.

Comparisons have understandably been made between Snatched and 1984's Romancing the Stone, which sent Michael Douglas and Kathleen Turner on a wild Colombian adventure. The tone, humor and violence of Snatched, however, rings much closer to something like 2015's Spy, though this picture isn't nearly as successful as the Melissa McCarthy one. This film even has its own deadpan middle-aged badass (Christopher Meloni), like Jason Statham in Spy.

Hawn and Schumer are a delight to watch here, even when the material is so slapdash. The supporting cast is game too - Meloni is a hoot as a Trader Joe's manager-turned-jungle warrior; Joan Cusack and Wanda Sykes are a welcome presence as a special ops team keeping an eye out for Emily and Linda; and Ike Barinholtz and Bashir Salahuddin deliver some of the film's funniest moments as Emily's obnoxious brother and a government employee with negligible interest in saving the gals. 

Like Schumer's Trainwreck, which I also gave a B-, Snatched evokes nearly as many sighs as it does laughs. Still, it's not bad and it's most certainly worth checking out, if exclusively for Hawn's first big screen appearance in 15 years.

B-