Review: "BlacKkKlansman"

As we approach the 30th anniversary of Spike Lee's masterpiece, Do the Right Thing, it seems a fitting time as ever to reflect on the maddening lack of recognition the filmmaker's pictures have earned at the Oscars over his more than three decades in the industry.

Do the Right Thing should have been a Best Picture contender, not the recipient of a mere pair of nominations in Best Supporting Actor (Danny Aiello) and Best Original Screenplay. Likewise, Lee's extraordinary Malcolm X was a far greater achievement than the tedious likes of A Few Good Men and Scent of a Woman, both Best Picture nominees in 1992. Alas, it too scored just two nominations, for Best Actor (Denzel Washington) and Best Costume Design (Ruth E. Carter, only of only two African Americans to ever grace the category).

His 1997 documentary 4 Little Girls aside, no other Lee pictures have earned recognition on Oscar nominations morning.

Three years since his scoring of an Honorary Oscar, Lee's middling fortunes with members of the Academy seem destined to take another positive turn with this year's release of BlacKkKlansman, a picture that was warmly received at the Cannes Film Festival and stateside has earned Lee some of his best reviews in years.

Should BlacKkKlansman indeed prove the toast of this year's awards season, I will be delighted to see Lee bask in his return to critical and commercial favor...even if I happen to think the film isn't quite among his best work. 

In fact, for my money at least, BlacKkKlansman opens on a stunningly dismal and unfunny note with an introduction from Dr. Kennebrew Beauregard (Alec Baldwin, mercilessly hamming it up), who delivers a rambling presentation on the supposed science behind white superiority. Though this intro is thankfully brief, it hints at the picture's central problem to come - the comedy of BlacKkKlansman is generally broad and distracting. 

Its true story, however, is a fabulous one - of how in the early 1970s, Ron Stallworth (John David Washington) is hired as the first black detective in the Colorado Springs Police Department. Miserable in his first assignment, working in the records room, Stallworth successfully requests a transfer to go undercover and is assigned to infiltrate a local civil rights rally. 

Ultimately, Stallworth is reassigned to the department's intelligence division and it is there that he concocts a wild mission to bring down the Klu Klux Klan. He calls the local chapter, pretending to be a white supremacist keen on joining the ranks, and manages to win them over. Of course, Stallworth cannot attend their shindigs in-person, so he recruits his white, Jewish co-worker Flip Zimmerman (Adam Driver) to join in the cause.

Stallworth makes so much progress, he ends up having regular phone conversations with none other than David Duke (Topher Grace), the infamous Grand Wizard of the KKK. Members of the local chapter, however, become gradually suspicious of Zimmerman, whose stories don't always match up with Stallworth's from over the phone. Such doubts come amidst the chapter's plans for a violent attack on a civil rights rally, which coincides with a visit by Duke to Colorado Springs.

BlacKkKlansman sports no shortage of profoundly powerful moments, including masterful monologues delivered by Corey Hawkins (as the towering civil rights leader Stokely Carmichael) and the incomparable Harry Belafonte. And if the picture itself is uneven, it at least beautifully serves as a star-making vehicle for Washington, who is flat-out fantastic as Stallworth and nicely matched with Driver, who has never been better. Laura Harrier leaves a nice impression too as Patrice Dumas, the president of the black student union who becomes romantically involved with Stallworth, even if her character feels insufficiently fleshed out.

Yet, all too much of BlacKkKlansman also left me sighing.

The Klansmen, as portrayed by Ryan Eggold, Paul Walter Hauser and Jasper Paakkonen, among others, are less terrifying or menacing (or interesting) than they are Saturday Night Live caricatures of white supremacists, a batch of dopey buffoons who seem liable at any moment to shout, "dey terk er jerbs!" The picture is ultimately a tonally haphazard blend of labored comedy and compelling drama from a filmmaker who's delivered sparkling comedies and sublime dramas but doesn't quite nail a fitting blend here.

Warts and all, BlacKkKlansman is ultimately worthwhile for Washington and Driver and, on occasion, Lee, who isn't at his sharpest here but still packs a punch here and there.

B

Review: "Eighth Grade"

Please, oh please let this extraordinary film emerge an awards season contender.

Bo Burnham's Eighth Grade, the year's best picture thus far, is a remarkable coming-of-age tale, just as sharp and insightful as last year's Lady Bird. It also happens to boast two performances richly deserving of Oscar conversation - leading lady Elsie Fisher and the superb Josh Hamilton, whose turn marks one of the great big screen dads of recent years.

Eighth Grade centers on Kayla Day (Fisher), a 13-year-old navigating her way through the final week of the hellish nightmare that has been eighth grade. Kayla, like the vast majority of her peers, is infatuated with social media and she goes one step further, constantly posting motivational videos on YouTube, aimed at providing fellow eighth graders with the tools necessary for school survival.

Alas, these videos attract close to zero views and Kayla herself is having the most aggravating time getting through middle school. Her dad Mark (Hamilton) adores Kayla but struggles to connect with her as she spends nearly every minute at home with her eyes glued to either her smartphone or laptop.

The final week proves a roller coaster ride of ups and downs. There are suffocating events, like Kayla's invitation to a pool party hosted by icy classmate Kennedy (Catherine Oliviere), and more positive encounters, like when she meets Kennedy's lovably odd cousin Gabe (Jake Ryan) and gets to shadow a cool high school senior (Emily Robinson). For better or worse, Kayla's world is turned upside down over these final days and through it all, keeping a careful eye on her, is Mark, with all of his unconditional love.

Eighth Grade is often spine-tingling in the way it so vividly and perceptively captures this harrowing time in life and, for every moment that'll leave you erupting in laughter (like nearly every moment featuring Aiden, the apple of Kayla's eye), there's another guaranteed to make you cry. Fisher and Hamilton share a devastating scene toward the end of the picture that recalls Timothee Chalamet and Michael Stuhlbarg in last year's Call Me By Your Name - and frankly, might be even better.

Fingers crossed A24, which has been gangbusters in recent years in generating recognition for its pictures, goes all-in on this masterful film.

A

Review: "Mission: Impossible - Fallout"

Who needs the stale 007 franchise when Tom Cruise is right there, still slaying on the silver screen in the remarkably fresh Mission: Impossible series?

I'm hardly a Cruise superfan - in fact, I'm prone to steering clear of most of his pictures - and yet even I cannot resist the sight of him sprinting around, bouncing from building to building with seamless ease and more than keeping up with co-star Henry Cavill, more than 20 years his junior. That this franchise surrounds Cruise with a dynamite supporting cast (including, for the first time, the divine Angela Bassett), makes the proceedings all the more satisfying. 

While the main attractions of Mission: Impossible are the countless set pieces, with Cruise acting like a madman on 24 Hour Energy, there is a plot in the picture, albeit a convoluted one that's increasingly difficult to keep tabs on. 

Ethan Hunt (Cruise) and his beloved IMF team (Simon Pegg and Ving Rhames, having a blast, per usual) are racing against time to prevent the terrorist group the Apostles from getting their hands on nuclear weapons that, should they be obtained, will be used for attacks on the Vatican, Jerusalem and Mecca. To Hunt's chagrin, the CIA assassin August Walker (Cavill) has been tasked by CIA Director Erica Sloane (Bassett) with monitoring Hunt and his team during the mission.

To dive further into the proceedings, and the plethora of fights, chases, impersonations and so on that arise, would be to spoil the picture's many stimulating pleasures. Suffice to say, if you've gotten a kick out of prior Mission: Impossible sequels, you are guaranteed to have a ball here, even if, for my money at least, this still doesn't quite reach the sky-high heights of the first, Brian De Palma-directed entry. 

While Cruise overwhelmingly commands the screen with his awe-inspiring stunt work, he leaves room for his co-stars to shine, including the alluring Vanessa Kirby as the White Widow, a black market arms dealer; Rebecca Ferguson, back in action after appearing in Rogue Nation; and Pegg and Rhames, instilling heaps of humor into the proceedings. If there's a weak link among the ensemble, it's Cavill, who, with his matinee idol looks and lifeless acting abilities, most recalls an Abercrombie and Fitch mannequin. 

Christopher McQuarrie, back after writing and directing the fun, if inferior Rogue Nation, has improved upon his past contributions to the franchise, packing Fallout with one fabulous, action-packed sequence after another and avoiding the lulls that have at times plagued the series (most notably in the disastrous first sequel).

Mission: Impossible - Fallout is a summer blockbuster that more than delivers the promised goods. And, I mean, it has Angela Bassett, so you obviously need to see it.

A-

Review: "Jurassic World: Fallen Kingdom"

I would say the thrill is gone but, let's be honest, there hasn't been a whole lot of movie magic in the Jurassic Park franchise since Sam Neill, Laura Dern and a dynamite supporting cast had a field day 25 years ago.

The Lost World: Jurassic Park is perhaps the worst of all Steven Spielberg-directed pictures (at least 1941 is an ambitious failure), while I kinda-sorta get a kick out of Jurassic Park 3 and Jurassic World for low-brow thrills. Jurassic World: Fallen Kingdom, the latest entry in this increasingly ear-piercing franchise, operates at roughly the same middling level as those two latter films. If hardly a snooze, there's not a hint of inspiration to be found.

Less a family-friendly adventure than an unhinged monster movie, director J.A. Bayona veers the series into a more cataclysmic, violent direction and the results are only intermittently diverting. 

It's been three years since the ferocious chaos over at the Jurassic World theme park, which has left abandoned the island of Isla Nublar. Stateside, Congress is debating whether the remaining dinosaurs on the island should be rescued from an imminent volcanic eruption. Claire Dearing (Bryce Dallas Howard), the park's former operations manager, has spearheaded a non-profit organization dedicated to saving reptiles and, when the government ultimately passes on such a mission, she is recruited by Benjamin Lockwood (James Cromwell), a former colleague of John Hammond's (Richard Attenborough), to embark on an expedition to move the dinosaurs to a new island sanctuary. 

Concerned Blue, the last remaining Velociraptor, will be difficult to locate, Claire convinces Owen Grady (Chris Pratt), Blue's former trainer, to join her and the crew on the mission. Upon arrival on Isla Nublar, things don't go quite as expected for Claire and Owen, who are greeted by a by a savage crew of mercenaries with more monetary intentions in mind. They've been hired by Eli Mills (Rafe Spall), Lockwood's malicious assistant, to sedate and capture the dinosaurs and bring them back to the states for auction. 

That volcano, no surprise, does erupt, but not before a handful of the reptiles have been captured and voyaged back to the U.S. Claire and Owen sneak their way back to the Lockwood estate, which, before long, becomes a house of horrors, as the latest genetically engineered dinosaur, the Indoraptor, escapes and has no hesitation to inflict carnage on everything and everyone in its path.

Jurassic World: Fallen Kingdom offers no shortage of stimulating set pieces but even its best sequences feel familiar and devoid of real imagination. Where Howard is stronger here than the first time around, Pratt looks bored, this screenplay not providing him the same opportunity as the first to constantly charm and quip his way through the proceedings. The supporting cast is uniformly underused, the most egregious instance being the great Geraldine Chaplin, relegated to the most underwritten of roles. 

If not the abomination of The Lost World: Jurassic Park, Jurassic World: Fallen Kingdom still mostly underwhelms and, more than ever, calls into question the sustainability of this flimsy franchise.

B-

Review: "Won't You Be My Neighbor?"

It feels like not long ago at all that I was a young lad, sitting in front of the tube, absolutely mesmerized by Mr. Rogers' Neighborhood.

Perhaps unlike many fellow fans of my age, I was actually vastly more enchanted with Fred Rogers himself than the puppeteering of his Neighborhood of Make-Believe. During those latter segments, I mostly zoned out, whereas I was downright entranced by Mr. Rogers and his direct, honest and affectionate rapport with me, the viewer. (In my area, PBS aired the program right after CBS did The Price Is Right, so I guess you could say my formative years were spent idolizing Mr. Rogers and Bob Barker.)

Fives decades since the premiere of Mr. Rogers' Neighborhood, and falling the same year Rogers would have celebrated his 90th birthday, Won't You Be My Neighbor?, the latest picture from Morgan Neville (whose Best of Enemies: Buckley vs. Vidal and the Oscar-winning 20 Feet from Stardom are among the best documentaries from recent years), wholeheartedly does the TV legend justice. It's an absorbing, entertaining and deeply affecting look at a man whose kindness and empathy are sorely missed in this trainwreck of times.

Won't You Be My Neighbor? traces Rogers' entry into the modest world of children's television in the 1950s. While trained and ordained as a minster, Rogers is perplexed by the limited and lackluster small screen offerings for kids, programs that generally consist of lame slapstick comedy, pies thrown in faces, clowns haphazardly dancing before the camera, etc. He partakes as a puppeteer in The Children's Corner, a new local children's television program in Pittsburgh, and, though he sticks with the show for several years, ultimately finds the proceedings don't quite live up to the superior vision he has in mind. 

So, Rogers develops a new program, which, over the 1960s, slowly but surely generates attention and acclaim, not just in Pittsburgh but nationally. Unlike most of the garbage infiltrating the airwaves and directed at children, Mr. Rogers' Neighborhood is a thoughtful, warmhearted program that never for a second dumbs itself down for its audience. It also delicately touches upon issues that countless parents undoubtedly haven't a clue how to discuss with their kids. 

Among the most striking moments of Won't You Be My Neighbor? is Rogers' testimony before the United States Senate in 1969. President Nixon has proposed deep budget cuts, including toward funding for PBS and the Corporation for Public Broadcasting. Rogers speaks before the Senate committee, his comments particularly directed at the chairman, Senator John Pastore. Pastore, at this point unmoved by pleas for retain such funding, is ultimately completely won over by Rogers, who speaks to the important of social and emotional education through public television. He even recites lyrics to one of his songs from the show. Pastore's reponse? "Looks like you just earned the $20 million."

Such is among countless moments to treasure in this documentary. His friendship with Francois Clemmons, the African-American vocalist who for more than two decades portrayed Officer Clemmons on the program - one of the first black performers to have a recurring role on a children's television series - is fascinating and we're also treated to a plethora of insightful interviews with Rogers' cast and crew, plus his delightful wife Joanne.

I suspect Rogers himself would have been quite pleased with this project. It's a perceptive and compelling picture, never mawkish, yet immensely poignant. Watching this film and spending an hour and a half with the man, it's hard not to feel some sense of sadness that Rogers isn't around right now, in times sorely lacking his gentleness and understanding. While I'm not exactly attune to today's offerings, I suspect the bulk of current children's television doesn't quite operate on the same level as Rogers' efforts.

More now than ever, we need a little Mr. Rogers' Neighborhood in our lives. 

A

Review: "Hereditary"

Oh, what a pleasure it is to see Toni Collette right where she belongs, on the big screen, in a leading role worthy of her sky-high talents.

Collette, who should've won that Best Supporting Actress Oscar for her devastating turn in The Sixth Sense, has a field day in her latest picture, filmmaker Ari Aster's dizzying horror flick Hereditary. Right up there with the legendary likes of Mia Farrow in Rosemary's Baby and Shelley Duvall in The Shining, this is one of the all-time great performances to grace this genre.

In the film, Collette portrays Annie Graham, wife to Steve (Gabriel Byrne) and mom to teenage son Peter (Alex Wolff) and younger daughter Charlie (Milly Shapiro). Annie is kinda-sorta grieving over the recent loss of her estranged mother Ellen - they weren't terribly close and, as we soon discover, Ellen put her family through a whole lot of hell, especially Annie's brother, who ultimately committed suicide. 

When tragedy strikes another member of the Graham clan, Annie finds herself drawn to Joan (Ann Dowd), a member of a support group she has joined. Joan, who lost both her son and grandson, has been communicating with the latter through a seance. Annie, to the great chagrin of her family, decides she'll do the same at home - and what a poor decision that is, as the house becomes ravaged by malevolent supernatural forces that threaten to bring every Graham down. 

I'm hoping to steer clear of spoilers but let's just say fans of Rosemary's Baby, Poltergeist and The Exorcist are bound to have a blast with Hereditary. Aster has no doubt been inspired by the classics, without ever resorting to rip anything off. The film looks incredible, photographed by Pawel Pogorzelski, and Aster's screenplay, while a sad and scary affair for the most part, hardly lacks a sense of humor. Only the picture's ending doesn't quite satisfy, playing as curiously silly vis a vis the genuine horrors that precede it.

What's especially stirring here is the acting - Collette has never been better and she's matched by an ensemble also operating at the tops of their game. Byrne's understated approach gels nicely with Collette's hysterics, while Dowd is an irresistible, if unsettling delight. Both Wolff and Shapiro effectively contribute to the film's spine-chilling atmosphere.

Hereditary won't be everyone's cup of tea and I do fear its conclusion could overshadow the rest of the proceedings for some. That said, I doubt we'll be encountering another picture this genuinely terrifying over the remainder of 2018.

A-

Review: "First Reformed"

Oh, how I expected and wanted to love Paul Schrader's First Reformed.

I consider Schrader one of the finest screenwriters of the past half-century, his contributions especially to the likes of The Yakuza, Obsession, Taxi Driver and Bringing Out the Dead exemplary examples of his genius on the page. While Schrader's directorial efforts have proven decidedly more scattershot, rarely does he bore and, on occasion, he has delivered a real knockout, with Affliction perhaps being his masterpiece.

The thought of Schrader teaming with Ethan Hawke, an actor I've admired in many pictures, from Reality Bates to Richard Linklater's Before trilogy, for me set expectations rather high for their collaboration on First Reformed, a film that looked positively spine-tingling in its trailer.

Alas, I left First Reformed floored with the contributions of merely one of these two men. For while Hawke's performance as the despondent Father Toller is a truly mesmerizing portrayal, among the actor's most startling work to date, the film around him is a meandering slog that rarely suggests the brilliance of Schrader's past work. 

Hawke's Toller is the pastor of a microscopic church in upstate New York. Still beside himself over the death of his son, Toller has descended into alcoholism and chosen to ignore the illness that is undoubtedly ravaging his body. Toller is sleepwalking through life until the entrance of Mary (Amanda Seyfried). Mary is pregnant with the son of Michael (Philip Ettinger), an environmentalist who can't bear the thought of bringing a child into a world he views as doomed. 

Toller finds himself consumed with reflection on Michael's concerns and is all the more rattled by the discovery of a suicide vest in the couple's garage, shortly followed by Michael's suicide. His health gradually failing and dependency on booze increasing, Toller continues to counsel Mary while also finding himself at odds with Edward Balq (Michael Gaston), a chemical magnate concerned with Toller's newfound interest in environmental causes.

First Reformed is beautifully shot by Alexander Dynan and has that same unbearably dreary look and feel of prior, superior Schrader works. Hawke does heaps of heavy lifting but in the end, Schrader's curiously uninvolving script and the plodding pace of the proceedings left me on the verge of dozing off. The picture may be more dignified than the flamboyant likes of American Gigolo and Cat People but it isn't remotely as compelling.

Hawke's committed turn aside, First Reformed is a monotonous miss.

C+

Review: "Book Club"

God bless Candice Bergen. She may be the lone Oscar-less star of Book Club's quartet of acting queens but, with an irresistibly dry comic delivery and penchant for stealing scenes with remarkable ease, she manages to emerge something of an MVP.

That isn't to say Bergen runs away with the show - how could she, after all, with the comparably sparkling Jane Fonda, Diane Keaton and Mary Steenburgen sharing the screen? Book Club may be a glorified sitcom but it emerges a must-see for these four star turns alone. 

No doubt, you've seen the previews and know what's coming - this foursome of fabulousness reads the notorious Fifty Shades of Grey as their latest book club selection. The sordid trilogy, as expected, will have an impact on their respective lives that opens their eyes and results in loads of laughs. Indeed, there may not be many surprises on the horizon in Book Club but that isn't say the proceedings aren't, for the most part, an absolute pleasure from start to finish.

Fonda's Vivian is the most colorful and carefree of the bunch, unabashedly enjoying the company of men with no strings attached - that is, until a beau from the past (Don Johnson) comes strolling into town wanting something more meaningful than a one-night fling. Keaton's Diane (could they not change the name?) remains uneasy about getting back into the dating game, having a year back lost her husband of 40 years. The dashing pilot Mitchell (Andy Garcia, a romcom natural) enters her life and immediately begins courting her but Diane is slow to reciprocate. 

Then, there's Bergen's Sharon, a distinguished federal judge who hasn't had romance on the brain in ages and whose ex (Ed Begley, Jr.) is now shacking up with a blonde bombshell about a third his age. Sharon makes the leap into online dating, where, among her matches, is the kind accountant George (Richard Dreyfuss). Finally, Steenburgen's Carol has been antsy for months over her stale marriage to Bruce (Craig T. Nelson). Reading Fifty Shades makes her more determined than ever to spice things up.

Among this sea of subplots, Bergen has the funniest moments and Keaton and Garcia have the sweetest. Fonda's a hoot, basically doing a slight variation on her turn from Grace and Frankie, but her scenes opposite Johnson lack the tenderness of the Keaton-Garcia ones. Steenburgen, I'm afraid, draws the short straw. Her dynamic opposite Nelson is a bland imitation of Meryl Streep and Tommy Lee Jones in Hope Springs.

Writer/director Bill Holderman and co-writer Erin Simms lean heavily on their cast to do the heavy lifting - thankfully, they've been graced with an ensemble that's plenty game to lift the ordinary into the almost-extraordinary. 

Book Club is certain to satisfy film buffs (like myself) who crave at least one Nancy Meyersesque picture a year.

B+

Review: "Tully"

With their third big screen collaboration (well, fourth, if you count his producing duties on Jennifer's Body), director Jason Reitman and screenwriter Diablo Cody are more or less proving themselves the James Ivory and Ruth Prawer Jhabvala of suburban dramedies. (Which, I suppose, could make Charlize Theron their Emma Thompson).

Tully, their latest picture, is not quite on the level of their prior efforts, Juno and Young Adult. It lacks the sparkling ensemble of the former and the writing isn't quite as sharp and gut-punching here as it is in the latter. (Nor is this film in the same league as Up in the Air, Reitman's masterpiece.)

That said, this film remains wholeheartedly worth a look, if exclusively as a showcase for Theron, who once again proves herself one of the finest actresses working today. 

Theron is Marlo, a wife and mother of two, about to give birth to her third child. Already exasperated by her two kids, especially her car seat-kicking, chicken nugget-guzzling son, Marlo is approached by her brother Craig (Mark Duplass), who suggests she consider hiring a nanny for nighttime duties. Marlo resists at first - that is, until little baby Mia graces the earth and proves a suffocating bundle of joy. 

Ultimately, Marlo does give in and into her life arrives Tully (Mackenzie Davis, in a fetching, irresistible performance). Like a gift from the heavens, Tully is masterful in not only handling Mia but also providing Marlo with peace and surprising insights about motherhood and the importance of taking care of oneself. Marlo finds herself enlightened and invigorated by Tully's presence - the question is, how long can their bond last?

Tully is especially satisfying and perceptive in its first half, with Theron soaring in this expertly written role. Cody continues to compose rich, shrewd dialogue in a fashion rarely seen in today's comedies. By the hour mark, Tully becomes more haphazard and uneven, until an 11-'o-clock-hour twist instills the proceedings with much of the freshness found earlier. 

Unlike Juno and Young Adult, Tully isn't much of an ensemble showcase. Davis is a true delight, while Ron Livingston has the rather thankless duties of taking on Drew, the amiable, hardworking husband who hasn't a clue about the struggles of motherhood. Lia Frankland is sweet as their daughter Sarah but neither her role, nor anyone else's beyond Marlo and Tully, is much fleshed out.

Tully may be a second-tier effort from its director and writer but it finds Theron operating at the top of her game and sports that dazzling turn from Davis - for them alone, it's well worth watching.

B+

Review: "Chappaquiddick"

In 2016, I fell madly head over heels for Jackie, Pablo Larrain's mesmerizing, sumptuously designed picture which, serving as a career-best vehicle for star Natalie Portman, shines a spotlight on John F. Kennedy's presidency, from its glory days, when the White House was filled with grand entertainment and joy, to the horrors of that fall day in Dallas, Texas and the whirlwind of events that followed. Beyond Portman, the picture sports one hell of an ensemble, including Peter Sarsgaard, in prime form as the grieving Robert F. Kennedy.

John Curran's Chappaquiddick, focused not on John or Robert but Ted Kennedy, is decidedly not on the same sky-high level as Jackie. It is, however, still a spectacularly aggravating and entertaining film and features a gangbusters, Oscar-caliber turn from leading man Jason Clarke. It is also, I would argue, a more satisfying endeavor than say, Oliver Stone's overbaked JFK and the countless Kennedy-themed films and series that have graced the small screen.

As the film opens, it's the summer of 1969 and Kennedy (Clarke), now in his second term as U.S. Senator from Massachusetts, is vacationing on Martha's Vineyard with the likes of cousin Joe Gargan (Ed Helms) and Paul Markham (Jim Gaffigan), the U.S. Attorney for Massachusetts. Also present is Mary Jo Kopechne (Kate Mara), a former staffer on Bobby Kennedy's 1968 presidential campaign.

Amidst a boozed-soaked party, Kennedy and Kopechne go for a drive and the former, more than a tad inebriated, sends the car flying off a bridge and into a pond. Unsuccessful in rescuing Kopechne, Kennedy stumbles his way back to the party and informs Gargan and Markham, who too fail to save Kopechne upon latermentering the scene. Gargan and Markham insist Kennedy turn himself into the police but instead, he returns to his hotel room, leaving law enforcement to discover the car themselves the following morning.

At this point in the picture, the proceedings are rather lackluster, clumsily staged by Curran and not terribly convincing. What happens from here, however, once Kennedy bolts for the family compound in Hyannisport, is absorbing stuff. Clarke has powerful scenes opposite a nearly mute Bruce Dern, playing father Joe Kennedy who, at this point, was on the verge of death. With mere glances, Dern vividly conveys his disappointment in his son, whose actions in his eyes have disgraced the family.

Making for riveting cinema is the public relations nightmare that comes of the incident, as the family's legal team, truly awe-inspiring in how they don't give the slightest shit about Kopechne, vie to not only protect Kennedy but perhaps even make him out of be some kind of hero. A key part of the film is also how Gargan becomes increasingly disillusioned with the family, convinced Kennedy can only save himself by resigning from the U.S. Senate. Of course, this does not come to fruition.

As Kennedy, Clarke rings all too true, portraying the politician as a man with overwhelming daddy issues, scant interest (at this point) in the presidency and an unease over the fashion family allies heartlessly approach such a tragedy. Yet, Kennedy is also plenty self-absorbed and unwilling to allow Kopechne's death to drive a fatal stake through his political career. The supporting players are also formidable, though Mara's turn as Kopechne proves a mostly thankless one - we barely learn a thing about her. 

Chappaquiddick will hardly be setting this year's awards season on fire but, for Clarke's compelling turn alone, it's well worth a look.

B+