Captain America: Brave New World

Re-Heated Leftovers

or

The President's a Red Hulking Jerk (So What Else is New?)
 

The new Captain America movie—Captain America: Brave New World—has been the #1 movie of the past three weekends, so it was about time I checked it out. It's the first new "Cap" movie with the retirement of the Steve Rogers (Chris Evans) character in Avengers: Endgame, and after a Disney+ series try-out, Anthony Mackie gets to stop being called The Falcon and being called Captain America in an actual movie from Marvel Studios. 

 

Too bad he feels like a co-star in his own movie, as the character flails around trying to solve a government conspiracy involving the big dump of adamantium that's been sitting in the Indian Ocean since The Eternals (and that was—what?—four years ago?), while at the same time a villain from the past (2008, specifically, but from another Marvel movie series from a previous studio), who has supposedly been rotting in a secure jail-cell somewhere apparently isn't and has his own plans for—muah-ha-ha—revenge. Already the "Brave New World" title of the movie feels like a stretch as it seems to be recycling old dangling plot-threads from the less-than-successful Marvel movies of the past.

And speaking of recycling, Harrison Ford takes over for the late William Hurt (who took over from Sam Elliott) playing General Thaddeus "Thunderbolt" Ross, who has previously been a thorn in The Avengers' boots and has parlayed that into becoming President of the United States (Ford is President again? Man, we ARE recycling). And as much as Ford tends to dominate the proceedings of the film, he overshadows Mackie's Sam Wilson/Cap and (I think) to the film's detriment.

So, the film begins after the events of "The Falcon and the Winter Soldier" (which I never saw, but it apparently doesn't matter much) where Cap and the new Falcon, Joaquin Torres (Danny Ramirez) take part in an undercover operation in Mexico to stop a mercenary named Sidewinder (Giancarlo Esposito), who works for "Serpent" guess they're bad guys—to recover some MacGuffin (which turns out to be refined adamantium that the Japanese government had secured from that Eternals thing which has now been called "Celestial Island"). Don't worry if all of that sounds new, because it is, and no, you haven't missed anything.

Anyway, mission accomplished with the help of Cap's new, improved vibranium-infused wings from Wakanda and a lot of gee-whizardry. Despite doing well in Mexico, Cap insists that Torres train with one of America's super-soldiers, one Isaiah Bradley (Carl Lumbly, always enjoyable), who was introduced in the Disney+ series. Long story short, he was a super-soldier in Korea, but had been imprisoned by the government for the past 30 years...but isn't now. Cool.

After the successful mission, everybody gets invited to the White House to meet the President (both the U.S. and Japanese variety), but while Ross is giving a presentation on how the world should be safe-guarding and sharing adamantium for the world's benefit (unlike those Wakandans!) and doing one of those "it's-for-your-own-good" speeches that American Presidents do, phones start erupting with a song by The Fleetwoods, which turns some in the audience—including Bradley—into "attack" mode (actually, The Fleetwoods aren't that bad!) and they start firing on the President. A big melee happens and Bradley is taken into custody even though he can't remember anything about trying to shoot the President. It's back to prison for Bradley, and Cap is on the "outs" with Ross because Cap's friend tried to shoot him.

Anyway, you get the gist. An international plot (that may involve World War III!) with personal repercussions for our Captain, and it just gets so complicated with mind-controlling cell-phones, nobody trusting anybody, Ross' potential heart-problems, on top of the lamest of character motivations at this late date—how  now-President Ross feels so bad that he's estranged from his daughter Betty (Liv Tyler) because he tried to kill her ex-boyfriend, Bruce Banner, The Hulk (back before he was Mark Ruffalo) making everything a bit of a mish-mash.

That last bit—the daughter thing—undercuts the movie quite a lot, and although Ford plays it gamely, it's a bit of weak tea for motivation, especially given the higher stakes globally, and finally makes President Ross a bit of a lame character, where his ambitions as President pale to his "just wanting to get along" with his own kid. If it was really such a big deal as the movie makes it out to be, it wouldn't be resolved so soporifically as it is in the movie.

But what am I complaining about, nobody cares much for all that thin "character stuff," as what they really want to see is Ross turn into The Red Hulk because it's promised in the poster and the previews. Given the character's history with the Green Hulk, this is irony with a capital SMASH! and, frankly, has nothing to do with the rest of the movie other than that the same bad guy responsible for all the mind-controlling has been setting up the Third Act Hulkitude as well, just so that...Ross can look bad in front of his daughter, frustrating him into full chili-pepper berserker mode. Oh, and cause all sorts of damage to prominent monuments...and cherry trees.

One senses in that final Cap vs. Red Hulk confrontation that a lot of screenplay back-filling was done in order to bring it about (there are five credited screenwriters), but even given the cheesiness that goes into a lot of the funny-book verisimilitude, the  efforts here strain the goodwill needed in order to accept it. I mean I know it's based on comic books and superheroes, but it takes a Hulk-style leap of faith to accept the ways and means it takes to get there. It takes a lot of the geek-fun out of it to know you're being played. Still, it IS good to see Tim Blake Nelson come back. He's a good actor, a good director, and a heck of a nice guy. He plays evil good, too. But, just as he was ill-served in The Incredible Hulk movie so many years back, he's ill-served by this one, too.

So, it's disappointing, especially because it's Anthony Mackie's first Captain America movie and I've always liked him. And because...legacy. Of all the Marvel properties, the Captain America series was the last of the "majors" to come out before the first "Avengers" movie, and the studio managed to work with its old-fashioned and, frankly, jingoistic tendencies and make it work well. In fact, they did their job so well that the Captain America series was the one trilogy of movies in the Marvel stable that didn't falter in any of its three films. 

 

Now, it has. And that leaves me feeling a bit sad...and disappointed.

A Complete Unknown (2024)

How Does It Feeeeeeeeeel?
or

The Freewheelin' (Inscrutable) Bob Dylan

 

"Seven simple rules of going into hiding: one, never trust a cop in a raincoat. Two, beware of enthusiasm and of love, both are temporary and quick to sway. Three, if asked if you care about the world's problems, look deep into the eyes of he who asks, he will never ask you again. Four, never give your real name. Five, if ever asked to look at yourself, don't. Six, never do anything the person standing in front of you cannot understand. And finally, seven, never create anything--it will be misinterpreted, it will chain you and follow you for the rest of your life."

Bob Dylan

 

Musicians performing on-stage use something called "foldback speakers" so that they can hear themselves accurately against the wash of sound coming from auditorium reverberation or the cacophony of crowd noise fighting against them—modern musicians use ear-buds to have their music pumped backed to them without any deleterious feed-back from similar music sources competing. 

 

That little bit of insider trivia is what I was thinking about walking out of A Complete Unknown, the new bio-pic of a slice of Bob Dylan's life as he was becoming more known and making a name (and history) for himself prowling around the Greenwich Village clubs, riding a burgeoning folk-music wave and expanding the subject matter of the genre like his heroes, Woody Guthrie and Pete Seeger into advocacy-folk or what would become known as "protest songs," which formed the soundtrack of the youth movement of the early 1960's.

 

Dylan has been mixed up with movies before—the documentary Bob Dylan: Don't Look Back, various music videos, he wrote the music for and played in Pat Garrett and Billy the Kid, wrote and starred in Masked and Anonymous, and Renaldo and Clara, and although not mentioned by name is seen through a prism of stories and interpreters in I'm Not There.

Well, this one has his seal of approval, sticks to one actor as Dylan, and covers January 24, 1961 to July 25, 1965 (when Dylan first arrived in New York City at the age of 19 to his controversial performance set at the 1965 Newport Folk Festival). And it does a pretty good job of clearing away all the myths about Bob Dylan, his absences from the public eye (hard to believe these days, he's even done commercials), his changing personas more than Madonna or Bono, and just concentrates on that initial section where he became a performer, then The Brand New Thing, then The Highly Exploitable Thing, to The Voice of His Generation, all the while navigating the rigors of performing, the inanities of being a product, and the desire to start breaking things and doing something fresh.

Frankly, that's enough. It was never his mission to be understood, and the movie never tries to psychoanalyze or explain his actions, but merely the context into which he arrived and the way things changed once he started performing. He came in with talent and a poet's way of putting thoughts into words in a way no one had ever done before, inspired by folk music and its tendency towards metaphor. 

That is immediately recognized by practitioners of the art—Pete Seeger (Edward Norton, wonderfully essaying the man as appeaser rather than rebel) and a hospitalized-by-Huntington's Woody Guthrie (Scoot McNairy, in a non-verbal performance), and he is promoted, signed by a label (Dan Fogler plays Columbia A & R guy Albert Grossman), and starts playing bigger venues, all the while already established folkies like Joan Baez (Monica Barbaro) start interpreting his material for the mainstream. The maxim is "it's the singer, not the song" but Dylan's "voice" (as far as his writing) was so distinct, he bobbed up through the commercialization as the Genuine Article quickly and, with his ungussied-up vocal stylings, bereft of soothing harmonies and homogenizing orchestrations.

So...back to that foldback speaker: Imagine you're putting yourself out there, performance after performance, and you're leading the field. Then, you start hearing yourself over and over again and not necessarily your voice. People are singing your songs, and then imitating your songs—Pete Seeger's "Where Have All the Flowers Gone" begets your "Blowin' In The Wind" and then that begets Phil Ochs' "There But For Fortune"—or imitating your composing-process, and then parroting and parodying your songs and then you're suddenly surrounded by the newest versions of "you" while (as movie-Dylan gripes) "you just want me singing 'Blowin' In The Wind' solo for the rest of my life." It's stifling. It's maddening. It makes you want a change.

But, that's not what your label wants. It's not what your manager wants. It's not what your fans want. They want the rebellion and the "new" sound to be what they're comfortable with...or what they're making money with. You want to create. They want to cash in. Or get their comforting nostalgia. No one gets it.

But it gets creepy. There's a scene in Don't Look Back where Dylan is talking to a fan and the exchange is this:

Fan: I just don't like any of the "Subterranean Homesick Blues" stuff. 

Bob Dylan: Oh, you're that kind - I understand, right now. 

Fan: It's not you. It doesn't sound like you at all! 

Bob Dylan: But, my friends, my friends were playing with me on that song. You know, I have to give some work to my friends too. I mean, you don't mind that, right? Huh? You don't mind them playing with me if they play the guitar and drums and all that stuff, right?

Fan: It just doesn't sound like you at all. It sounds like you're having a good ole laugh. 

Bob Dylan: Well, don't you like to have a good ole laugh once in awhile? Isn't that all right with you?

 

"That's not you." How the "homesick blues" does he know? Because he attended a concert? Because he bought himself a record? It's no wonder that at one point Dylan just blurted "Just because you like my stuff doesn't mean I owe you anything." See it as ingratitude if you must or see it as not "playing the game" but "you gotta do you" because "you" is what got you there in the first place. All artists go through this. Some have even rebelled. Some have got away with it. Some have not. Some have walked the tight-rope of practicality where you're either an "artist" or you pay the bills (you know...like we non-artists do).

A Complete Unknown is wonderful in every way for putting you not in Dylan's head but in his head-space. And if the man is still an enigma after you see it, you can, at least, understand why. If I have anything negative to say about it, it's that Ricky Nelson said the same thing in just over three minutes.* That's efficient.

Now, I've gotta pay the bills, do what's expected of me: how is Chalamet? Spot on. Pretty amazing, actually, but I've never ever been disappointed by a Chalamet performance. Of course, he's prettier than Dylan, but, like Joaquin Phoenix did with Johnny Cash in director Mangold's previous music bio-pic I Walk the Line, he suggests Dylan rather than does a full-on imitation. He has a less-is-more approach which is entirely appropriate for the subject, but there's a nice touch that he brings to his Dylan which is lovely—a defiant, almost predatory stare, observing, analyzing, like a biding-his-time hawk. And, considering his vocal talents in Wonka, of course he can do a dead-on imitation of Dylan's singing style. You have to listen very closely to tell the difference between Chalamet's versions of Dylan's songs and the memories of the real deal.

I mean, the real "real deal."

"I'm not angry. I'm delightful."

Bob Dylan 

*

 

A Canterbury Tale (1944)

A Canterbury Tale (The Archers, 1944) Directors Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger (known collectively as "The Archers") begin their tale where Chaucer did in his "The Canterbury Tales" (their lines only slightly different in translation than the text):

WHEN APRIL with his showers sweet with fruit
The drought of March has pierced unto the root
And bathed each vein  with liquor that has power
To generate therein and sire the flower;
When Zephyr also has, with his sweet breath,
Quickened again, in every holt and heath,
The tender shoots and buds, and the young sun
Into the Ram one half his course has run,
And many little birds make melody
That sleep through all the night with open eye
(So Nature pricks them on to ramp and rage)—
Then do folk long to go on pilgrimage,
And palmers to go seeking out strange strands,
To distant shrines well known in sundry lands.
And specially from every shire’s end
Of England they to Canterbury wend,
The holy blessed martyr there to seek
Who helped them when they lay so ill and weak.

They're setting place, showing ancient maps, and then—at the appropriate verse—show us the pilgrimage as it was, with ox-carts and donkeys, and peasantry making their ways over the hills, then the close-up of a nobleman who sees a falcon high in flight. And—cut! (24 years before Kubrick did something similar)—the falcon is replaced by a fighter-plane that zooms towards us and over the head—cut!—of a British soldier circa 1944 who watches it (in the same frame composition and is probably the same actor, now in modern military dress) and the narration begins again...with another verse over landscapes not too far afield from what we saw before:

600 years have passed. What would they see, 

Dan Chaucer and his goodly company today? 

The hills and valleys are the same.

Gone are the forests since the enclosures came.

Hedgerows have sprung. The land is under plow, 

and orchards bloom with blossoms on the bow.

Sussex and Kent are like a garden fair,

but sheep still graze upon the ridges there.

The pilgrims still wends above the wield,

through wood and break and many a fertile field.

But, though so little has changed since Chaucer's day.

Another sort of pilgrim walks the way.

 

And a tank heaves into the frame and a line of those mechanized vehicles starts to wend its their own way along the pilgrim's trail on the way to Canterbury. As subtle and artistic as The Archers could be, they could also be brutal in how they juxtaposed for contrast, sometimes uncomfortably so, even for modern audiences thinking that sophistication can only be found in late-model movies. But, with A Canterbury Tale, the filmmakers linked the past and the present, while also acknowledging the omnipresence of change. For no matter whether its war or peace, or what happens to the landscape, the one constant are the pilgrims in need of hope and maybe a miracle.

Three people are in the town of Chillingbourne, Kent, a village on the train-track to Canterbury. Two are soldiers, one a Brit, one a Yank, and a "land-girl" who's taking part in helping farmers while men-folk are away to war. They are all "in-service" but beyond that they have nothing in common...except that they're stuck in Chillingbourne. They meet by happenstance when the Yank, Sgt. Bob Johnson (played by Sgt. John Sweet, chosen for "authenticity" rather than, initially, Burgess Meredith) gets off the train too early being lurched awake by the conductor's announcement of "Next stop...Canterbury." He's a stranger in a strange land at the wrong stop in the middle of the night and he recruits help from the other two, Sgt. Peter Gibbs (Dennis Price) and Alison Smith (Sheila Sim) to find lodgings for the night.

One complication, however: while making their way through town to get their bearings, Alison is attacked from the shadows by a stranger who throws glue in her hair. Evidently, there's a lot of that going around as she's the eleventh victim of such an attack—she'll meet other such girls in her farm duties. While she goes through numerous shampooings to try to rinse out the gunk, Sgt. Johnson reports the attack to the local magistrate Thomas Colpepper (Eric Portman), who is curiously unmoved and suggests that women should not be out at night after a black-out curfew. After all, Canterbury itself has just been bombed by the Germans.

Johnson is convinced to stay the weekend and the three determine to investigate who the mysterious "glueman" in town could be. The town is full of potential suspects, clues abound, and it does help to take the minds off things like the war, one's part in it, and its consequences past and future. A little mystery can distract from things of great import, and yet, there's the countryside and its history and the current residents of that storied real estate, which managed to survive Kings, Queens, technologies and even the German war machine. Instead of being a mere stop-over, their encounters and walkabouts bring out a resonance and maybe even a communion with the past.

Bombed out buildings, but Canterbury remains untouched.

For, despite the distraction, these three are in need. Each is suffering a loss, a regret, a yearning that makes them incomplete, even as an indeterminate future threatens all of them. It may be coincidence that they are all there at that time and at that place, but without seeking it out—hell, they don't even know the history of it—for those acres and shrines to echo what they did in Chaucer's time for those who made their own pilgrimages in their time of need. It is Colpepper who clues them in to the storied land and serves as unofficial chaperone for the trio, and indirectly guides them to the path that they don't know they seek.

The Archers, of course, lean into Chaucer and the romance of the land and its past (and the value and benefit of the pastoral existence—which they would continue in the next year's I Know Where I'm Going!—Powell called these films their "anti-capitalist period"), but there's another influence, cinematically. A Canterbury Tale was made in 1944, 5 years after The Wizard of Oz and the story of strangers, bonded together, off on a heroes' quest traveling to a source for "reward or penance" is shared by both.*   

Of course, Wizard is fantasy, a fairy tale. A Canterbury Tale is fanciful. But, both have rich denouements that strike the heart and do so in quite different ways. Even though all the characters in both stories realize their hearts' desires, they come to them not knowing what they do not know. Oz and Canterbury provide the realization of their dreams, but Canterbury has no definite ending (despite an American-bound re-edit by Powell that has more of a conclusion—fortunately, I saw the original British version), the last act is open-ended, with hope for the future, if an uncertain one.

A Canterbury Tale is one of the best movie experiences I've seen this year. It left me completely enchanted.

 * The story even shares the element that both sets of heroes have already possessed what they lack—they just don't know it yet.

The Conclave (2024)

The Mystery of Faith/The Sin of Certainty

or

"The Church Is What We Do Next"
 

The Pope is dead. Time to find a new one.

 

The Catholic church is steeped in ritual and arcana, seeing as how it's been around for 2000 years. Lord knows when all the niceties were developed (as He didn't come up with them), the breaking of the seal, the sealing of the Pope's quarters, the voting in secret among the council of cardinals in a locked, darkened room with no communion to the outside world. 

 

The smoke. 

 

It's a bit like the electoral college, as the Catholics in the world have no say, only the carefully chosen cardinals, get to choose who will be the next successor to Peter, the first Pope. 

 

But, he will be a man. That is the only certainty. Nuns need not apply. It's the way it's always been and, God only knows, it will be that way for a very long time. For God speaks only through the chosen few and only they have the power to change things...if God lets them know. Pity about Him not speaking to women, although a lot of them, Joan of Arc, being a burning example, would contradict that assumption.

Just ask Cardinal Thomas Lawrence (Ralph Fiennes) of The Conclave. He was close to the late Pope, close enough that he'd personally asked to resign his special position as dean of the cardinals. But, the Pope refused him to Lawrence's mystification. Lawrence was having a crisis of faith. As he explains to one of his fellow cardinals, Bellini (Stanley Tucci), what he's lost faith in was the Church, he's never lost faith in God. But, now the Pope is dead, and as dean of the cardinals it is Lawrence's function to convene the conclave of cardinals that will select the next Pope, with all the ritual and preparation and in-fighting and...politics. Lawrence is one of the leading contenders, but he doesn't want the job. Not like this. Not like he is. But, he will conduct the conclave. But, he has doubts.

Apparently, so did the late Pope, enough to demand that Lawrence stay at his post. As hard as it is to separate Church and State, it is damn near impossible to keep politics out of the Church and the vacuum of power threatens to suck in the best and the worst of the cardinals, each to their own nature. The world changes fast and the Church (if it does) is slow to catch up. There are those that would see an Italian pope and only an Italian pope and that the Mass and all business be conducted in Latin—most prominent of them would be Cardinal Tedesco (Sergio Castellitto), who is intolerant of change and resentful of changes that have occurred—have a Friday dinner with him and he'll have the fish.

Then, there are Lawrence and Bellini, progressives, who want to see a more inclusive church, changes in doctrine, less fire and brimstone. And there are the moderates, like Cardinal Tremblay (John Lithgow) and Cardinal Adeyemi (Lucian Msamati), who are highly regarded and well-connected and have a chance at being elected by the conference of cardinals. As they gather from around the world to be locked away in seclusion there is a lot of last-minute maneuvering and...a lot of smoking. It doesn't look to be a slam-dunk for any candidate.

But, Lawrence—who is also a considered candidate and who (of course) doesn't want the job—has begun to hear things. Things like the late Pope having a last-minute conference with Tremblay where ("they" say) he was asked to resign...but refused. An incident in the lunch-room involving Adeyemi and one of the nun-servers raises questions and temperatures. Lawrence pulls the old "we're priests, you're just nuns" argument to obtain information out of Sister Agnes (Isabella Rossellini) about the parties involved. But, he's more than willing to break tradition (and a couple wax seals) to get to the bottom of things.

Several commandments are revealed broken in The Conclave by the cardinal's detective work (good thing Father Brown wasn't there!) including bribery, subterfuge and a few others that might spoil the resolution and there are a lot of Deadly Sins going on (Bellini challenges Lawrence's supposed lack of ambition by asking him if he's thought of what his Pope-name would be...and, of course, he has), but the only one you won't find anywhere is "sloth."

German director Edward Berger (he made the excellent 2022 version of All Quiet on the Western Front) makes sure that the film has the proper solemnity but not so much that you fall asleep in church. The movie is never less than beautifully shot (by cinematographer Stéphane Fontaine)—Rome never looked so good (probably because so much of it's in Cinecittà)—and Berger is less dependent on the single-point perspective than normal although he will go to it to make a grand impact (and, really, how could he help it as most churches are designed around a one point perspective.

But, he also has a cast of character actors who are adept at stealing scenes usually in conflict with Fiennes, who has the God-given power to command your attention. Talk all you want about the work that went into recreating the Sistine Chapel for this film, but you have a marvelous opportunity to see a master class in performing sotto voce that can propel you out of your seat when Fiennes turns it into a bark. We're talking measured performances of actors playing characters hiding something and being pious about it. That's some nuanced acting there.

There's a lot of Oscar buzz around this movie, not undeservedly, but, it's mere murmurs now and we'll see if we still hear it by year's end. Certainly there'll be a lot of nominations. But, voting for the Oscar has a lot of the same background as chicanery voting for the Pope. We'll just see what happens when the smoke clears.

The Critic (2023)

Critic, Critique Thyself

or

The Mystery of the Missing Curtain Call
 

To read online reviews, Anthony Quinn's mystery novel "The Curtain Call" is a cracking good read, set in 1936 London with a background in the theater-world amidst it's denizens, while at the same time being something of a manifesto on giving the downtrodden some agency. It sounds like it would make a great movie.

 

The Critic is the movie based on Quinn's book...and it isn't. A great movie, that is. I don't know what happened, but whole plots, characters, whole gists of the book have gone missing in the transition from print to screen and one can only wonder who the culprit is.

 

Or the why of it. But, someone has done a great crime to the book. And somebody's responsible.*

But, one shouldn't review what isn't there, one should review what is. What we've got is a character study with a little bit of blackmail/murder thrown in. Jimmy Erskine (Ian McKellen) is a renowned theater critic for London's Daily Chronicle, known for his bitchy reviews scratched out with a poison pen (and typed up for submission by his assistant, played by Alfred Enoch). Jimmy relishes his job and his high-handed witticisms ("I do not enjoy the theater. I am the chief drama critic of the Chronicle!") and the perks of having his reserved seats at the theater and reserved table at the club, but his publisher, the Viscount David Brooke (Mark Strong)—having taken over the paper from his late father—has reservations of his own and would like Jimmy to "tone it down. More beauty. Less beast!"

Jimmy, though, has high standards—in everything but the "rough trade" he dabbles in—and between his lack of cooperation in kinder, gentler reviews and his frequent violation of the "morals clause" in his contract, he finds himself sacked. The Viscount has had enough of the paper's "old guard" and wants to bring in fresh blood. For Jimmy, being a pensioner is not enough to keep him in the decadent lifestyle that he's become accustomed to. So he hatches a plot.

One of the actors that he's been regularly slagging in his reviews is ingenue Nina Land (Gemma Arterton), who is pretty and game, and wants nothing more than impress the Chronicle's drama critic—she's a fan of his taste and his writing—but one more bad notice from him and she has the pluck enough to confront the man (catching him trolling in a nearby park) and she makes her case through flattery and some implied blackmail, both of which impresses Jimmy. "There is art in you, Miss Land," he confides in her. "My disappointment is in your failure to access it." He decides then and there to take her under his wing and tutelage. She could be useful.

What he doesn't know is that Land is having an affair with the publisher's son-in-law, a portrait painter of some repute, and that complication makes things a little dicey for what Jimmy has in mind for his scheme to get his old job back. Trouble is, he's a critic, and having observed enough theater in his profession, one would think he would immediately spot a weak plot, even if it's of his own devising.

The Critic premiered at the Toronto Film Festival last year and there was less buzz than murmuring, and so some tinkering and tailoring was done with re-shoots and another ending prepared and there's just enough dissonance in the film that the seams show. One can't fault the performers, all of whom do the job with McKellan deserving the lion's share of the praise for a performance so venal done with obvious relish.

But, it isn't enough. The plot's spread awfully thin and what's there is lingered over and emphasized, like the shot that director Anand Tucker keeps coming back to—an overhead shot that zeroes in right on the performer's forehead (to what purpose, you wonder, other than to show somebody thinking). And you wonder where it started to go south.

 

Any movie adaptation of a book should make you want to go to the source to get more of what drew you to the story in the first place. The Critic makes me want to read "Curtain Call" to see what it is I'm missing.

* Yeah, it sounds weird, but then, so is the source: Plan 9 from Outer Space, Ed Wood's notorious science-fiction opus once dubbed The Worst Film Ever Made. At one point, a detective discovers a corpse in a grave-yard and says (quite seriously) "But one thing's sure. Inspector Clay is dead, murdered, and somebody's responsible." 

 

Well, technically, that's three things, but you can't quibble with Plan 9, or you'll end up wasting your life.  As a matter of fact, it occurs to me that I don't have a post for Plan 9...yet. Well, Hallowe'en month is coming up...