Review: "The Florida Project"

Between this and Wonderstruck a few days ago, I am truly in coming-of-age heaven right now.

The Florida Project, the latest picture from the talented writer/director Sean Baker, is a film fanciful and funny for the most part, though not without the occasional gut punch. Its wondrous outlook on life, through the eyes of the child, makes it all the more devastating when tragic reality comes crashing in.

The delightful newcomer Brooklynn Prince portrays Moonee, a six-year-old firecracker who, despite residing in a grungy budget hotel in Orlando, finds ways to make the very most of her surroundings. She has pals with that same sky-high energy level - often times, the proceedings have the ebullient feel of The Little Rascals - and an endearing rapport with hotel manager Bobby (Willem Dafoe), whose study exterior masks heaps of compassion and concern.

Moonee, of course, does not live alone - her lively routine is dependent on mom Halley (Bria Vinai), a hot mess who absolutely adores her daughter, keeping up on the weekly rent. Doing so proves exceedingly trying, as Halley moves in new and potentially dangerous directions to provide for her daughter.

The Florida Project isn't without its blemishes - it ends on a note that I found rather perplexing and unsatisfying. The final few minutes, however, are not enough to detract from the beauty of Prince's leading turn and the comparably convincing work from Dafoe (who's never been more understated) and Vinai (who adds layer upon layer to this untamed character). The picture also looks fabulous, with cinematography by Alexis Zabe.

Oh, and there's a scene in this thing with Moonee going to town on a breakfast buffet that is sure to land on my year-end list of favorite film moments. Amazing.

B+

Review: "Wonderstruck"

Bless you, Todd Haynes, for once again giving me all the feels.

Wonderstruck, Haynes' latest picture, is a real triumph, an absorbing, expertly written and directed and ultimately devastating effort that is sure to resonate with adults and children alike. It is his most poignant and satisfying piece since Far from Heaven, a film I wouldn't hesitate for a second to include on a list of the 100 or so finest pictures to ever grace the screen.

While Wonderstruck isn't quite a masterpiece on the sky-high level of that 2002 film, this is still Haynes operating at or near top of his game. It's one of the year's very best pictures.

Based on the 2011 Brian Selznick novel (Selznick also penned the screenplay here), Wonderstruck traces the journeys of two children, Rose (Millicent Simmonds) and Ben (Oakes Fegley), to New York City. Both have immense longing for greater fulfillment in their lives. They are also both deaf.

Rose's quest to the Big Apple takes place in the black-and-white 1920s. She ventures from her dictatorial father's New Jersey home to track down her idol, the silent screen actress Lillian Mayhew (Julianne Moore), who is now doing a stint in theater. Ben, on the other hand, makes the leap all the way from Minnesota, circa 1977. His mother (Michelle Williams) having recently died, he is in search of his father, who might be connected to a book store in the city.

Over time, of course, we come to see great parallels between these two excursions and Haynes does a remarkable job smoothly switching back and forth between the two stories. His heart is clearly so in this and Simmonds and Fegley, both splendid and completely convincing, are right on the same page with him.

Moore all but steals the final half hour of the picture and that wonderful actor Cory Michael Smith, who was so startling in Olive Kittredge a few years back, makes a memorable, if too brief appearance as well. Jaden Michael is also a real find as Jamie, a lonely boy from Queens who befriends Ben.

Per usual, Edward Lachman's cinematography is right on the money and better be on everyone's shortlist in that category come Oscar time. Kudos too to composer Carter Burwell, whose music especially comes to life in the Rose sections of the picture.

Wonderstruck is a beautiful and soulful film that I cannot wait to revisit.

A

Review: "Happy Death Day"

Only pen reviews for Oscar contenders? As if!

Happy Death Day, which most certainly won't be barnstorming the awards season (but will probably prove more satisfying than a number of actual contenders), is a horror-comedy blast, a lively roller coaster ride that strikes that same balance of chills and giggles as the first two Scream entries. Like the Wes Craven pics, this isn't a genuinely terrifying film or a piece of cinema that deserves to be anywhere near an all-time best list in horror. Still, it's a lot of fun.

Jessica Rothe is pitch-perfect as sorority girl Tree who, as the film opens, is the most unpleasantly self-absorbed of sights. On her birthday, she wakes up in the bed of fellow student Carter (Israel Broussard) and proceeds to spread her misery over him, her sorority sisters, some dude she recently dated, the professor she's been sleeping with and virtually anyone else who crosses her path. That evening, in a spooky tunnel no sane person would walk through at night, she is stabbed to death by a masked killer.

Then, she wakes up. In Carter's bed, again. Tree finds herself reliving that same day and, guess what - she's again bludgeoned by this mystery man (or woman) donning a mask of the school mascot (which, inexplicably, is an infant baby). As this cycle continues, Tree's chilly demeanor softens and, desperate to bring this never-ending nightmare to an end, she opens up to the kind Carter for help in devising a strategy.

The film, directed by Christopher Landon and written by Scott Lobdell, has its fair share of clunky dialogue (exchanges like "Tree, I can't see you today, I have a ton of patients on my schedule"/"Look man, I'm running out of patience today") and again, isn't especially blood-curdling, but Rothe's spirited, winsome leading turn and Landon's expert staging of the slasher sequences more than make up for the film's faults.

Oh, and moviegoers who find farts devastatingly funny are bound to die from laughter via one particularly indelible and surprising moment in the picture.

B+

Review: "Victoria and Abdul"

All hail the Dame!

Judi Dench, who can really do no wrong, is in supreme form in her latest picture, once again taking on the role of Queen Victoria (after 1997's Mrs. Brown) and reuniting with that fine filmmaker Stephen Frears (who directed Dench to Oscar nominations for Mrs. Henderson Presents... and Philomena).

Victoria and Abdul is a truly splendid picture, even better than those three aforementioned films, not exclusively a showcase for its leading lady but also her irresistible leading man.

The picture opens on Abdul Karim (Ali Fazal), a young clerk who ventures from India to participate in the Queen's Golden Jubilee. At this point toward the end of her reign, the Queen is lonely, in poor health and restless with the stuffy inner circle around her. She takes an immediate liking to the kind and handsome Abdul, a development that hardly sits well with the household's racist snobs.

As outside parties vie, to negligible success, to tear the duo apart, their alliance only strengthens, as Abdul instills in the Queen a greater sense of purpose and sunnier outlook on life.

Frears, whose Florence Foster Jenkins mostly left me shrugging my shoulders last year, has hit a real home run here - this is his finest, most satisfying endeavor since another Dame, Helen Mirren, floored us all with The Queen. Kudos to all crew involved, who have crafted one of the year's lushest, most sumptuous pictures.

The heart and soul of the film, of course, are Dench and Fazal, who have heaps more chemistry than what you'll find in 99 percent of romcoms these days. This turn is right among the top-tier of Dench performances, alongside the extraordinary likes of Mrs. Brown and Notes on a Scandal. But the real revelation here is really Bollywood star Fazal, who has a warm and winning screen presence and, like the audience, seems completely in awe of his co-star.

This year's race for the Best Actress Oscar looks poised to be a chaotic one, with a dozen or more turns in serious contention for nominations. Pretty please, Academy, don't forget Dench (and Fazal, while you're at it).

A

Review: "Battle of the Sexes"

Before Battle of the Sexes, there was When Billie Beat Bobby, the 2001 ABC television movie that first documented that legendary 1973 tennis match between Billie Jean King and Bobby Riggs.

That effort, a deservedly forgotten one at this point, was a sanitized comedy that barely scratched the surface on either of their lives. With the usually great Ron Silver woefully miscast as Riggs and Holly Hunter valiantly trying (to little success) to liven up the proceedings as King, the picture was a pretty piss-poor tribute to one of the all-time great events in sports history.

Now, nearly two decades later, we have a big-budget feature film on King vs. Riggs, headlined by an Oscar-winning actress (Emma Stone), two other Oscar-nominated performers (Steve Carell and Elisabeth Shue) and an Oscar-winning screenwriter to boot (Simon Beaufoy).

The result, Battle of the Sexes, is an improvement over When Billie Beat Bobby, albeit only modestly so. This is not, I suspect, going to be the toast of the Oscars next year.

As the picture, directed by Jonathan Dayton and Valerie Faris, opens, World Tennis magazine founder Gladys Heldman (Sarah Silverman) leads King and other female tennis players in bolting from the U.S. Lawn Tennis Association, which has proposed a tournament in which the female winner would get a tinsy winsy fraction of the prize the male winner would receive. They form their own tennis tour, which draws heaps of attention, including from none other than Riggs.

Riggs, once a tennis superstar in the 1940s and now 55 years old and a hopeless gambling addict, is hungry for a comeback. His first "Battle of the Sexes" against the snobby Margaret Court (Jessica McNamee) proves a walk in the park. Riggs ups the ante, with a far larger prize at stake, and draws the attention of King, whose personal life has been a topsy turvy one ever since falling head over heels for her hairdresser Marilyn (Andrea Riseborough). The rest, of course, is history.

There's a lot to like in Battle of the Sexes. For one, the performances are terrific and convincing, with Stone in far more compelling form here than last year's La La Land. Silverman is a delight as the team's imperious promoter and Austin Stowell is a nice find as Larry, King's unconditionally supportive husband. The picture also perfectly captures the look and feel of the time. 

At the same time, there's a tonal uneasiness in the sitcom-level comedy of the Riggs scenes and the tenderness and sensitivity of much of the King material. Other supporting players, especially Shue (as Riggs' perturbed wife) and Bill Pullman (as Jack Kramer, head of the Tennis Association), look completely lost at sea, saddled with thankless, thinly written roles. But perhaps most egregious of all, the big final showdown just isn't as exhilarating or inspiring a sight as it should be, as portrayed here.

The performances and palpable '70s nostalgia make Battle of the Sexes an entertaining-enough endeavor but it might be best just to check out a documentary on Billie vs. Bobby instead.

B

Review: "Our Souls at Night"

Not long ago, in anticipation of this long-awaited reunion, I went back and revisited 1967's Barefoot in the Park, the Neil Simon comedy that saw Jane Fonda and Robert Redford in the most purely adorable forms of their careers.

Barefoot, I'm afraid, hasn't aged so well. Sure, Fonda and Redford look fabulous and Mildred Natwick is a scene-stealing hoot in her Oscar-nominated turn as Fonda's mama, but it's really among the more thin and turgid Simon works. The star wattage only keeps it alive for so long.

Our Souls at Night, the first Fonda-Redford picture since 1979's The Electric Horseman, is, I'm pleased to report, a real charmer, a modest but sweet film that often soars on the chemistry of its leads.

One evening, Fonda's Addie pays a visit to her neighbor, Redford's Louis. Both are widowed and lonely and, despite living near each other for decades, never really got to know each other. Addie has an initially uneasy proposal, that it might be nice if she and Louis slept together on occasion. That is, not for sex but for company and companionship.

Without too much in the way of hesitation, they do and, slowly but surely, sparks fly. Their relationship is strengthened but later tested by the entrance of Addie's estranged son (Matthias Schoenaerts) and endearing grandson (Iain Armitage).

Souls has a slightly sluggish start and ends on a note that I didn't find entirely satisfying but, on the whole, is quite an enchanting endeavor. Fonda (in a role leaps and bounds different from her dazzling work on Grace and Frankie) and Redford are wonderful as ever and the screenplay, by Scott Neustadter and Michael H. Weber, is observant and full of insight.

One other, minor quibble - if you're going to have the legendary Bruce Dern in this thing, why only give him about three minutes of screen time and not even a scene alongside Coming Home co-star Fonda?!

B+

Review: "Stronger"

Come on, Academy, give Jake Gyllenhaal that Best Actor nomination already!

This year, at last, I suspect it actually happens. This is in part due to Best Actor not being the most set-in-stone of affairs (you've got one shoo-in, Gary Oldman, and then a whole boatload of contenders, including Gyllenhaal, Timothee Chalamet, Bryan Cranston, Steve Carell, Daniel Day-Lewis, Tom Hanks and Andrew Garfield, among others, playing jump ball). What I think also helps Gyllenhaal is his latest picture, Stronger, is much more traditionally Oscar-friendly (and, let's be honest, safe) film than the bolder, more idiosyncratic likes of Nightcrawler and Nocturnal Animals.

Stronger, the latest effort from director David Gordon Green (whose eclectic filmography manages to include George Washington, All the Real Girls, Pineapple Express and Your Highness), recounts how the unassuming Jeff Bauman (Gyllenhaal) emerges a national hero after losing both of his legs during the Boston Marathon bombing in 2013. After regaining consciousness following the attack, Bauman is able to assist the FBI in identifying one of the suspects.

Upon his release, Bauman is cared for by his estranged girlfriend (Tatiana Maslany) and doting mother (Miranda Richardson), who aren't always on the same page as to what is best for their loved one. Bauman's road to recovery, both physically and emotionally, moves a grueling one, as a national spotlight is shone on a struggling man who hardly craves such attention.

Stronger is a modest endeavor for the most part, not quite as ambitious or striking as Green's first pictures but for sure more satisfying than his more recent output. What gives the proceedings a crucial lift are the three central performances.

Gyllenhaal, per usual, completely disappears into his role and doesn't resort to the twitchy gimmicks that a lesser actor may have resorted to in this role. Maslany's portrayal also has a wonderful, lived-in feel - it's a warm and honest performance from an actress who'll hopefully land many more roles of this quality on the big screen. And then there's Richardson, an inspired choice to take on the role of Bauman's colorful Massachusetts mama, a scene-stealing force right on-par with Melissa Leo's tornado of a matriarch in The Fighter.

For these three top-notch performances alone, Stronger (which otherwise isn't all that much to write home about) is totally worth a look.

B+

Review: "mother!"

Move over, It. There's a new, genuinely terrifying and all-around amazing horror film in town.

Darren Aronofsky's latest picture, the much-anticipated mother!, is a certifiably batshitcrazy delight that makes the likes of Requiem for a Dream and Black Swan (both of which I adore) look like entries out of the Shirley Temple filmography. It has the feel of a pet project that could have only come to fruition after the filmmaker first proved himself through less idiosyncratic fare.

Without revealing too much in the way of spoilers, mother! opens on Mother (Jennifer Lawrence) and Him (Javier Bardem), a couple leading a reasonably picturesque life, even though their creaky, isolated house, sorely in need of renovation, is making her uneasy and he's got a wicked case of writer's block. One evening, a Man (Ed Harris) drops by. Much to Mother's chagrin, Him invites this stranger, who's in rough physical shape, to spend the night.

The following morning, a Woman (Michelle Pfeiffer), Man's wife, strolls in. Again, Him welcomes with open arms, while Mother is decidedly uneasy about the visitors. Before long, the children of Man and Woman make their entrance and then a whole host of other shit goes down that leaves Mother all the more antsy and Him all the more elated by the attention.

Since this is an Aronofsky picture, you know there are no limits of audacity to which the filmmaker will take this set-up but even his prior films considered, mother! descends into a hell-like direction that is heaps more rattling and violent than even the wildest of expectations.

mother! is a scrumptious feast for Aronofsky fans in so many regards. While not quite as awe-inspiring as his work on Black Swan, Matthew Libatique's photography on the picture is sublime and the proceedings are also a master class in sound mixing and editing. While the latter half of the film is glorious in its unabashed madness, I found the mother! especially riveting early on, as the filmmaker slowly packs the picture with tension and provides his stellar cast with characters and dialogue worthy of their immense talents.

Lawrence, bewildered and exasperated, and Bardem, intense and irascible, have never been better and Pfeiffer is a fabulous, scene-stealing hoot. While I'm skeptical mother! will have the greatest of box office legs or resonate with an Academy notoriously cool on horror cinema, it would be awesome to see all or any of these actors make an awards season run this year.

Right on the same level as Requiem for a Dream and Black Swan (and this year's other great chiller, It Comes at Night), mother! is an absolute must-see for fans of Aronofsky, his cast and horror pictures in general. CinemaScore be damned!

A-

Review: "It"

More often than not, I enter movie remakes with an awfully wary eye. That is, unless the picture's predecessor was plagued with heaps of unfulfilled potential.

Stephen King's It was an especially prime candidate for a remake treatment.

After all, King's novel is a pretty fantastic one, I would argue not quite among his best but still a powerful and unsettling blend of horror and bildungsroman. The first attempt to bring It to the screen, ABC's 1990 miniseries, was a ratings sensation on the tube, even scoring an Emmy (for its music). In hindsight, though, Tim Curry's chilling and iconic portrayal of Pennywise the Clown aside, the Tommy Lee Wallace-directed production isn't such hot stuff - in fact, it largely moves like molasses, isn't terribly well-acted and all but completely skids off the tracks in the laughable second half.

Given the shortcomings of the miniseries and my affection for the novel, I was very much eager for this new feature film. Ultimately, I'm afraid, this new take on the King tale is really only a small step up from the 1990 adaptation.

Where the Derry, Maine-set novel begins in the late 1950s, this It, directed by Andres Muschietti, opens toward the end of the 1980s, as little Georgie Denbrough (Jackson Robert Scott) faces a gruesome demise at the hands (well, more like mouth) of Pennywise (Bill Skarsgard).

Nearly a year after the unexplained disappearance, his brother Bill (Jaeden Lieberher), determined as ever to figure out what the hell happened to Georgie, teams with his fellow social outcast pals to get to the bottom of the many children who've mysteriously gone missing from the town over the years. This means going mano a mano with the shape-shifting evil that that so often takes the form of that pesky, bloodthirsty clown.

As a sheer coming-of-age story, It is often a real delight.

This troupe of young actors - particularly Lieberher, Sophia Lillis (as Bev, the one female member of the so-called "Losers' Club") and Jeremy Ray Taylor (as Ben, the new kid in town who uncovers much of Derry's spine-chilling history at the library) - are terrific and have dynamite chemistry, even though a couple of the characters here (Stan and Mike in particular) definitely get the short end of the stick and feel underwritten. The picture's best and most compelling scenes are those squarely focused on the kids, without that damn clown gracing the screen.

That's the thing - while there's much to like in this It, I don't think it much succeeds as a horror movie. Where Curry's Pennywise was a genuinely petrifying and inspired creation, Skarsgard's plays more like a cartoon, a Tasmanian devil-like CGI monster that bounces his way around the screen and is really more grating than frightening. While it's a tainted film, Muschietti could have benefited from checking out Victor Salva's 1989 horror picture Clownhouse, which does portray clowns in a piss-your-pants-scary, more nuanced fashion.

In its horror scenes, the picture so often rings like an imitation of some of the A Nightmare on Elm Street sequels, visually grandiose but also bombastic and unpleasant and definitely not very scary. Not helping is Benjamin Wallfisch's loud and intrusive score.

It managed to fall short of even my modest expectations. Still, for the kids alone, the film is worth a look...once it hits streaming and you can fast forward through the horror gunk.

B-

Review: "Ingrid Goes West"

Aubrey Plaza, you rock.

Plaza, due for a satisfying film vehicle after slumming it in a pair of Zac Efron "comedies" and a handful of other middling projects, is dead-on brilliant in her latest picture, Ingrid Goes West. It's a funny, sad, scary, all-around amazing performance that deserves to (but sadly probably won't) be talked up for Oscar consideration.

The Matt Spicer-directed film, which won warm notices at Sundance earlier this year, follows Ingrid Thorburn, a young woman who lives vicariously through social media superstars. Fresh out of rehab after pepper spraying an Instagram idol who neglected to invite Ingrid to her wedding and reeling from the recent death of her mom, Ingrid bolts her humdrum existence for Venice Beach, where the latest apple of her eye -  the glamorous, seemingly perfect Taylor Sloane (Elizabeth Olsen) resides.

In Cali, Ingrid manages to convincingly weasel her way into Taylor's fabulous life and inner circle. She also bonds with her Batman-obsessed (as in, the Joel Schumacher entries) landlord Dan (O'Shea Jackson Jr.), who doesn't hesitate to play boyfriend to Ingrid at Taylor's swanky house parties.

Ingrid Goes West is deliriously fun, fresh and topical over its first hour, slipping only a bit late in the game with a plot turn involving Taylor's insufferable brother Nicky (Billy Magnussen) that rings as uninspired vis a vis the prior proceedings. That said, even if the final half hour loses some of the liveliness and novelty, Plaza's still in there giving 100 percent, able to run a gamut of emotions without once striking a false note.

Also terrific are Olsen, pitch-perfect as the artificially bubbly Taylor, and Jackson, warm and witty as the picture's most emotionally grounded figure. One of the best parts of Ingrid Goes West is that relationship that blossoms between Ingrid and Dan, a bond that builds without the need for any of that pesky social media.

This is in ingenious comedy that sports one of the year's finest leading turns.

A-