THE MANDALORIAN AND THE GROGU

By Marc S. Sanders

The Mandalorian And The Grogu is an absolutely fun, rollicking adventure with no demands to overthink or criticize.  The film that is spun off from the hit Disney + show more than serves its purpose to just entertain.  It does not require much background knowledge from other Star Wars properties, and it allows anyone to watch the movie without ever seeing an episode of The Mandalorian. 

The armored Mandalorian (Pedro Pascal) roams the galaxy with his little friend Grogu, the “baby Yoda” as many have monikered him, who bears force like levitating powers.  Together, they operate as independent contractors, or bounty hunters, primarily for the New Republic. 

Following a thrilling pre-credits opening complete with snow covered Imperial walkers and plenty of shootouts and explosive fireballs, X-Wing Pilot Colonel Ward (Sigourney Weaver) assigns them to first settle a deal with a pair of Hutt gangster twins who want to reunite with Rodda The Hutt (Jeremy Allen White), their nephew and Jabba’s son.  In exchange, they will provide information on the whereabouts of a rouge Imperial commander.  Mando is ready to abide by the plan even if it means participating in a thrilling gladiator match with Rodda on a neon city planet that looks like the futuristic earth of Blade Runner.  Alas, Mando goes off script. That’s when the gangsters respond unfavorably allowing episodic and combative thrills to uphold this new creation from sci-fi geek loving writer/director Jon Favreau (Elf, the Iron Man films). 

I will not deny that the material of this movie released wide for theaters is not a large step above any of the episodes found on streaming TV.  It does not get weighty in lore and mythical revelations. As well, some fans and keyboard warriors are more than happy to declare Star Wars as “dead” and disappointing and misguided and so on.  Nevertheless, so what?  Find another studio other than Disney that invests so much into sustaining the classic looks and feels of George Lucas’ galaxy from a long time ago in a galaxy far, far away, his “used universe” inspired by classic westerns with Asian influences.  The Stormtroopers of fifty years ago remain.  The ships look beaten up, dented and stained, with the exception of Mando’s newly awarded Razor Crest vehicle, sleek with yellow trim.  Mando and Grogu have that familiar look descending from the classic characters of Boba Fett and Yoda.  The blasters are part of the same family we all know.  So are the droids and cantinas and electronics and set designs. 

I’ve always been a die-hard Star Wars fan.  It has influenced my preferences for storytelling with imagination and invention.  I will not deny that my wish was that this new film was going to delve deeper into the myth of its title characters, especially the lovable Grogu with his baby talk expressions and puppy dog eyes.  I still feel like there is more mystery to uncover about the little fella and while he’s given a lot to do here, I want more from him than just the hop around jumps and waddles he performs in most action scenes.  As best that I can recall, only two other characters in the Star Wars universe bear a resemblance to him.  Where does Grogu come from and why is he so valued to other interested parties that the Mandalorian has had to contend with? 

Unlike most of the Star Trek films, this film does not take advantage of going for big revelations.  Perhaps that is wise so general audiences can enjoy the picture.  Think about it, you can’t necessarily follow along with some of the Marvel and Harry Potter films if you just jump right in the middle of them.  The fact that The Mandalorian And Grogu does not hinge too heavily on what’s come before allows a creative freedom to just make a new adventure.

Jon Favreau set up fantastic scenes of action and excitement with an array of unusual monsters and aliens.  My favorite is the pearl-colored Dragon Snake located beneath a trap door.  It is actually inspired by original artist Ralph McQuarrie who designed much of the original Star Wars trilogy and this creature is a nasty bugger, complete with long fangs, a wide-open maw and a long flexible body.

I really like the Mandalorian side story of this vast universe.  Clint Eastwood’s “Man With No Name” and other westerns clearly inspire the character.  He’s a loner who roams the galaxy’s Outer Rim surviving from job to job.  Even his house originally found on the third season of the TV show bears a similar resemblance to Eastwood’s William Munny’s farmhouse in Unforgiven.  His cape is reminiscent of Eastwood’s poncho in the Dollars trilogy.  Neither character talks much and their distressed earth-toned color schemes are similar.  Maybe I’m sounding a little too personal about this but as a lover of both Eastwood and the original Boba Fett mythos, Favreau’s creation is a brilliantly welcome combination.

Star Wars always works best when the unexpected occurs and Jon Favreau with his co-writer and modern day imagineer Dave Filoni deliver plenty of surprises. There are some fun Easter eggs to uncover for fans of the whole franchise and even collectors of the original vintage Kenner produced toy line.  Because so much was known of what was to come following George Lucas’ prequel trilogy, those films were somewhat paint by number.  This lone story, however, does not rely on what is known to occur at later times in the expansive story cycle of the galaxy. Therefore, it’s not limited by any boundaries.

The soundtrack is an orchestral variety that’s far from the familiar strings and horns of John Williams.  That’s a wise choice as it serves the western motif of these characters and the missions they follow.  Three-time Oscar winning composer Ludwig Göransson crafts a fantasy concert come to life within a Tolkien landscape.  Some numbers feel techno electronic.  Other pieces have a quiet, mysterious aura that complements the mask and body language of The Mandalorian. Newer material completes the expositions of new characters that may be friendly or demand caution upon approach.  All good, consistent stuff that tells a selection of stories.

Some of the dialogue is clunky.  Rodda The Hutt is a little corny in a pre-teen kid kind of way, but he’s also a hellava wrestler with his wormlike physicality.  Very creative fun with his visual designs and movements.  Jabba was lazily resigned to his throne room platform as a clear inspiration of Brando’s Vito Corleone (great stuff).  His son Rodda, flexes muscles, wields weapons and swiftly goes all over the place. 

A purple teddy bear-like guy called Zeb (Steve Blum) from the various animated Star Wars series is a likable comrade co-pilot for the heroes.  (Actually, McQuarrie’s initial concept for Chewbacca.) Like Rodda, he talks like he’s from a Saturday morning cartoon.  That’s okay though.  He’s fun for the kids.

Sigourney Weaver is not given anything to do and per her talents and legendary status with the Alien and Avatar franchises, I would not have minded if she had more impact to the simple story.  I mean this is Sigourney “Ripley” Weaver we are talking about. 

At least Martin Scorsese returns a favor to Favreau (The Wolf Of Wall Street) as a panicky hot dog street vendor with multiple arms and his signature bushy eyebrows. He’s fun.

What I was anticipating from this cinematic adventure is not all here but that did not hinder an exciting time at the movies again.  This Star Wars installment may be simplistic in its storytelling, but all of the images and thrilling action scenes feel fresh while also appearing familiar. That’s a wonderful balance.  It’s not a perfect film and yet I still loved my time with the whole experience, especially on IMAX.

The Mandalorian And Grogu might look just as good as any one of the TV show’s episodes on your flat screen at home, but this movie is so worth seeing with a cheering crowd in a darkened theatre and an immersive, booming audio system. The colors and sounds justify why going to the movies remains vital for our escapes into visual imagination.  Treat yourself to Star Wars again, where it serves its purpose best.  Go to the movies!!!!  You’ll be smiling for over two hours straight, and even on your drive home. 

This Is The Way!

 

UNDER SIEGE

By Marc S. Sanders

Die Hard on a battleship is how to describe Under Siege, Steven Seagal’s best film.  His second best is Executive Decision, and (SPOILER ALERT) he dies in the first ten minutes of the movie.  What does that tell you? 

Before Andrew Davis scored big time with The Fugitive in 1993, he used a lot of the supporting players of that cast (nine in total) to build this action crowd pleaser.  Notably Tommy Lee Jones was selected to be the main villain alongside a kooky Gary Busey.  Jones is smart, silly, downright nuts and dynamic.  He sings, loves Saturday morning cartoons, and even plays the harmonica.  Seagal can’t do any of that, but he’s got some moments of deadpan humor because he sticks to the script by J.F. Lawton (Pretty Woman). 

The USS Missouri is ceremoniously being decommissioned as President Bush has delivered the executive order to have all nuclear missiles removed from naval vessels.  Real news footage opens the film to confirm this was actually happening at the time of the movie’s release.  

On its final voyage to Honolulu, Commander Krill (Busey with a real bad guy name. See you add an R to the word Kill and you great KRILL) is preparing a surprise birthday party for the ship’s colonel.  Krill is going entirely against regulations to welcome a chopper full of catering staff along with a rock band aboard for the festivities.  Playboy’s Miss July, Jordan Tate (Erika Eleniak, who actually was Miss July) is on board too but not so enthusiastic to jump out of a cake.  William Strannix (Jones with another bad guy name; You see if you end a last name with an X it sounds mad man like) is the rock star lead singer and he is just a balls to the wall energetic wild man.

Down in the kitchen is Casey Ryback, the ship’s muscle bronzed cook who doesn’t get along with Krill and his cronies.  As a result, he gets locked in the freezer and conveniently unaccounted for just as Strannix and the catering staff takes over the ship with Krill by his side.  Heavily armed, these guys mean business by imprisoning the ship’s crew while they construct a railing system to haul the vessel’s missiles onto an arriving submarine.  Strannix’ motivation stems from a longstanding gripe following his service as a specialized CIA assassin.  He means to make Honolulu “glow in the dark”.  However, if Ryback can get free, he’ll do everything in his power to thwart the bad guys’ plans, retake the ship, rescue the crew and deactivate the missiles before they reach their destinations.  Fortunately, besides being a talented chef, Ryback was also a decorated Navy SEAL. As the body count increases, Strannix and Krill realize this is not the work of a cook. A microwave bomb is a nice touch.

Under Siege is wholly entertaining and worthy of repeat viewing.  Andrew Davis directs a fast-moving workshop of organized activity that walks you through the various decks and cabins of the ship, actually shot on a Louisiana docked USS Alabama.  Davis had the challenge of manipulating his backdrops and overhead camera shots to make it look like the Missouri was coasting along the Pacific at night.  To me, it looks seamless.  Very impressive exterior work.

Tommy Lee Jones is the real attraction here.  Unlike Seagal, who he hardly shares any scenes with, Jones is just living it up as this guy in a leather jacket, sunglasses and tye dye shirt with a washed out and manic complexion and bulging blue eyes with his growly signature bellow.  He makes sure Strannix is unpredictable and funny too.  Tommy Lee Jones will always be at the top of the list of best antagonists.

Gary Busey is doing his regular thing.  He’s a brat.  The bit grows tired, but Jones makes up for it.

Seagal is just the same personality.  Not entirely ho hum though. He looks better here thanks to a script designed with strategy and tact.  Andrew Davis shows Seagal doing the work, not just slapping a guy into knockout submission with his notorious kung fu inventions.  You see Ryback cleverly build bombs and set up gauntlet approaches for the enemy.  None of his dialogue is anything special and when Ryback is finally face to face with Strannix, knife against knife, but, well, you know who controls the scene.  Jones delivers his natural talent for acting while talking to Seagal’s brick wall.  It works, but Andrew Davis and Tommy Lee Jones deserve most of the credit.

Under Siege is sensational action with a good supporting cast to compromise with Steven Seagal’s unfavorable public ego. It avoids making this picture a ridiculous one-man army, over the top showcase.  Ereka Eleniak is especially memorable, on the level with Sandra Bullock and Rae Dawn Chong in Speed and Commando, respectively.  Not as strong as them, but she has some good moments as she embraces the combat scenes.

There are some overlooked inconsistencies in editing that I caught on a second viewing. In one scene Strannix is wearing a sweatshirt. The very next moment he’s in his jacket again. Things like that. Yet, the stunt work, shootouts, knife fights and explosions are grand to watch. I also love the war room arguments among the military commanders and government officials who stay in touch with Ryback and sweat in suspense on behalf of the audience. Davis’ set up is a hearkening back to Dr. Strangelove.

I saw a prior film by Andrew Davis called The Package, a good thriller with Gene Hackman in the lead. Tommy Lee Jones was featured in that film but regrettably underused having minimal dialogue and no character buildup. You don’t ever stifle Tommy Lee Jones! Never!!!! Ever!!!! Davis atones for that in Under Siege.

This is an action picture that holds up. I miss Andrew Davis. Like Martin Brest, I wish he was continuing to make movies. These are really skilled craftsmen.

ELEANOR THE GREAT

By Marc S. Sanders

In her directorial debut, Scarlett Johansson offers purpose and more to gain and learn about life even when you’re in your mid-90’s.  She directs June Squibb as Eleanor Morgenstein, a widowed ninety-four-year-old Jewish mother who relocates from Florida back to New York City when her roommate of eleven years, Bessie (Rita Zohar), has passed away.   Temporarily, she moves in with her preoccupied daughter Lisa (Jessica Hecht) and her twenty something son Max (Will Price), whose best friend is his cell phone.  Lisa encourages Eleanor to move into an assisted living home, but the spunky, independent woman opts to visit the local Jewish Community Center (JCC) where she inadvertently comes upon a Holocaust survival group.  She certainly doesn’t belong here as she never had to endure that dark period, nor did any of her family.  Yet, before she can excuse herself, she is recounting Bessie’s personal experience of surviving the concentration camps while losing her brother to the Nazis.  It’s Bessie’s story, not Eleanor’s.

Nina is a student at NYU who’s been welcomed to observe this meeting to complete a journalism assignment.  She is a quiet, young girl played with stunning sensitivity by Erin Kellyman (Solo: A Star Wars Story, The Falcon And The Winter Soldier).  The entire group of elders and Nina are completely taken with Eleanor’s anecdote and extend a loving hand of gratitude and support.  When the meeting ends, Eleanor makes a quick exit, but Nina is determined to learn more about her ordeal.  

Nina is enduring an aftermath of grief following the sudden loss of her mother.  Her father is Roger, a famous newscaster played by Chiwetel Ejiofor beautifully staying under the radar of the leading ladies. Roger hardly engages with Nina.  Her world is empty and alone.  Yet, when a bond forms with Eleanor the isolation dwindles. Eleanor doesn’t frown or judge Nina for being gay.  She loves that she’s filled a void her daughter and grandson leave empty, especially around Shabbat.  The two need one another. 

It’s the lie that sets the women apart though.  In addition, Eleanor’s story is catching on with the JCC community and Nina’s NYU professor and class.  More importantly, her school project impresses Roger who sees potential for a televised story that will include the ladies’ newfound friendship, Eleanor’s upcoming bat mitzvah service, and her supposed survival through the Holocaust that never happened to her.  The more this tale evolves among the populace, the harder it becomes for Eleanor to be honest.

Eleanor The Great hinges on the chemistry between two distant generations with very uncommon backgrounds.  For the film to work June Squibb and Erin Kellyman had to be interesting both together and separately.  Tory Kamen’s script explores their respective loneliness just as much as the times they share either in a surprise trip to Coney Island, over a Shabbat dinner, or when Eleanor gets up the nerve to be bat mitzvahed with Nina by her side.

Johansson’s film is not long and therefore not as expansive on dialogue.  She finds scenes to detail the exposition of Kamen’s screenplay with impressive visual performances from Squibb, and especially Kellyman.  We eventually learn how Nina’s Jewish mother passed, but we first learn that she died when Kellyman enters a room in the apartment she shares with Roger.  Scarlett Johansson does not rush through this scene.  There’s no verbiage.  Only coverage with her camera and strong closeups on Kellyman and the decor and props that occupy the room.  It’s enough to get the idea and feel strongly for the character.

The director takes a similar tactic with Eleanor.  The prologue of the film presents an endearing relationship of daily routine between her and her best friend Bessie as they wake up with an energetic early start to their day comprised of breakfast, exercise, a visit to the market and a lively argument with another customer, followed by a sit down on a bench overlooking the Atlantic Ocean.  When Bessie passes, Eleanor returns to these familiar locales only now we recognize the best friend’s absence.  This is all completed in the first ten minutes.  Superb, uncomplicated visual storytelling.

I have two shortcomings with the film, however.  One concerns how the truth is finally revealed.  It’s too contrived and the only time that this story doesn’t feel genuine.  Yet, it does not capsize the movie either.  

As well, a side storyline for Eleanor seems unfinished.  Just one more scene was needed to complete the picture.  It could have even been offered over the end credits.  I’ll explain down below so as not to spoil anything.  Perhaps, the budget on this small project wouldn’t allow it to be shot.

Eleanor The Great is a wonderful surprise for all ages.  It teeters on getting schmaltzy without getting thick, and while you expect the big misunderstanding is going to reveal itself, you’re not eager to get there.  You get taken up in this very special relationship.  When all the cards are laid on the table, the film puts all the weight on Rita Zohar’s character for Bessie to recall her heartbreaking experience.  The last thing that terrible encounter could ever be is weepy or schmaltzy.  Zohar offers complete truth and transparency in a genuinely heartbreaking monologue.  The budget likely wouldn’t allow a visual recap in history for this small film, but that’s a blessing.  We’ve seen literal flashbacks far too often.  Johansson goes for the acting and recollection of the character.  She does not get over inventive with camera work and simply depends on Zohar’s skilled stage performance with Squibb next to her to listen and react.  It’s utterly harrowing and brilliantly descriptive.

June Squibb is lovable but also tough, happy, sassy and suddenly complex, which Eleanor absolutely never wanted to be.  This ninety something year old is not stressing about death like so many other characters in this category. Her conflict is stressed on holding on to her connection to a new friend.

Erin Kellyman is a young actress that needs a huge following.  She has a unique natural beauty; an appearance that doesn’t invite glamour like so many others in Hollywood rely upon. Still, the camera loves her. She’s completely striking with her natural behavior. This is an actor ready for dimensional roles that are summed up over a two hour span, and not in the first five minutes.  It would be a huge regret to overlook the promise of her instinctive talent in front of the camera.  Scarlett Johansson lends every favor imaginable to enhance everything Kellyman can offer.  This actress is this new director’s Jackson Pollack.

This small picture with so much to offer, Eleanor The Great, can be found on Netflix currently (May, 2026).  It’s an absolute treasure not to be missed.

SPOILER ALERT: Eleanor was intent on having a Bat Mitzvah.  We see her discussing her Torah portion with the Rabbi about the deception that Jacob does on his father Isaac, and we witness her practicing for the upcoming event.  However, due to an inconvenient interruption, that service never gets completed.  When all is resolved by the end of the film, we never get to see Eleanor’s bat mitzvah occur.  It’s like Rocky missing the championship fight.  It really had to be there, even if it was filmed with an orchestral score over the scene.  Truly a glaring, regrettable omission.

THE DEVIL WEARS PRADA/THE DEVIL WEARS PRADA 2

By Marc S. Sanders

I love when a movie can teach me about an industry.  Network and Broadcast News dive deep into television news.  Boogie Nights lends a sneaky and empathetic eye to the porn industry.  The Big Short explores the pains of mortgage lending and investments.  Spotlight reveals unwelcome truths within the Catholic Church by way of the press.  The Devil Wears Prada offers brilliant wit that often will leave you uncomfortable while emphasizing the importance of high-end fashion at its centrally located heart in New York City.

I recall watching an episode of Judge Judy.  The cranky magistrate was making light over the dispute between two comic book collectors.  The Incredible Hulk #181, which features the introduction of Wolverine (famously played by Hugh Jackman in the movies).  Judy Scheindlin could not fathom the need for an argument over this item, nor how a mint first edition copy could demand an asking price in excess of $5,000.  The best scene in The Devil Wears Prada parallels this circumstance as the new temp assistant, Andy Sachs (Anne Hathaway in her forever breakaway leading role) scoffs at a meeting run by the infamous Miranda Priestly (Meryl Streep in probably her most memorable performance).  

An underling cannot decide which of two blue belts complement a new outfit.  Andy just doesn’t understand “this stuff.”  Miranda uses her response as a means to explain the purpose a fashion meeting stretches far beyond a belt selection.  The reason they are standing there is detrimental to the outcome of tens of thousands of jobs and a blue sweater is never just a blue sweater.  In fact, Crayola, in case you didn’t know, Andy’s sweater is cerulean.  Cerulean is never just blue, just as a particular Marvel Comic Book is never just 60 cent magazine you roll up and buy at the candy store.

It’s during this moment that director David Frankel provides a visual demonstration. A dress is not a dress without a belt.  A dress and belt are nothing without a jacket.  A dress, a belt and a jacket are not necessarily enough without a hat.  A process is assembled.  

I know Prada was a book first (which I’ve yet to read), but how better to show why the visual medium of film is so vital to exploring what many of us may never be familiar with?  Just as you might not comprehend the importance of the comic book industry, I do not have an appreciation for the fashion industry, but the people who work under Miranda Priestly’s Runway magazine better do so because it represents a “beacon of hope” for millions of women, aspiring designers, and industrialists worldwide.  The items on display may have asking prices in the thousands, but they dictate what all of us wear casually and formally and how affordable all “this stuff” is for our respective demographics.

Andy is a twenty-something Northwestern graduate striving to become a successful journalist in the city.  To make ends meet with her live-in boyfriend Nate (a miscast Adrian Grenier, looking like Hathaway’s little brother despite the midnight shadow), she accepts a temp offer to be second assistant for Miranda Priestley, the devil of this film’s title.  

The first assistant is Emily (Emily Blunt in her breakout role), a nervous and low tolerant British trainer for Andy.  Emily gets twenty minutes for lunch and the prospect of accompanying Miranda for fashion week in Paris.  Andy gets fifteen minutes, and if she’s lucky an invitation to a hideous skirt convention.  Andy is also a size 6, which is now the new 14.  Seriously, what is Andy doing here?

Nigel (Stanley Tucci, who should have been Oscar nominated for this performance) is the top fashion selector keeping up with trends that Miranda will support and approve in the Runway catalogue.  

Miranda, Emily and Nigel – they might as well be speaking a foreign language to Andy.  Perhaps that should be vice versa?

The Devil Wears Prada is a best-selling novel by Lauren Weisberger inspired by her experiences in the Andy role when she worked for Anna Wintour, the famed editor in chief of Vogue. Weisberger’s story lacks a mentor for the novice.  Andy has no choice but to find her way through the endless challenges of meeting insurmountable expectations while trying to balance a personal relationship and friendships as she holds out for a prized opportunity in journalism.  Working for Miranda Priestley or Anna Wintour and living to talk about it can only open doors to some of the most esteemed publications out there.  

The characters of this film, standing on the heels of comedy, are sketched beautifully with genuine realism.  Meryl Streep is so focused on being a demanding, unrelenting, quietly intolerant heathen who knows her job better than anyone.  She is the toughest and most intimidating. Yet, there is no denying she never stops reading the pulse of updated trends and fashion sense.  Miranda knows every significant designer and clothing manufacturer the world over.  If a brand needs to break through, they must know Miranda Priestly and only hope to earn her attention.  Success is earned especially by affiliation with Runway.  Miranda never tumbles from the mountain she stands upon while so few can even intrude within her shadow.  It goes further when you see Streep enter any room, building or show in the entire film.  She doesn’t belong in the settings.  Rather the settings race to surround her.  

I also recognize the expanse of the script by exposing this ultimate power’s concealed weakness.  A late scene in the film goes against the familiar current of Streep’s character and the actress pulls it off with utter heartbreak.  How often do we get to feel sorry for the villain?  Miranda is stripped of confidence, makeup, and fashion, simply at a loss to just be as human as those beneath her.  It’s a shocking and beautifully written scene that Streep shares with Hathaway, devoid of any other kind of familiar armor.

It’s important that Anne Hathaway runs with a looser and more scattered persona.  Andy must be so much more than just opposite of Miranda.  For this story to work, the two women cannot even communicate in the same way or ever share similar perspectives.  Andy has to fail if she is to succeed.  How can anyone be expected to fly Miranda out of south Florida during a hurricane?  How can anyone obtain a copy of the unpublished manuscript of the latest Harry Potter novel? To keep from drowning in any line of work you have to absorb yourself in its environment.  Function with its nature.  The crux of the film is observing if Andy can follow through.

A spin off film focusing on Stanley Tucci’s character would absolutely work.  Nigel comes off like a sidekick, but with a few choice pieces of dialogue.  In a third act revelation, the film paints the picture of Nigel as an endearing sore thumb in a home he was completely uncommon with while growing up.  Tucci plays this man of confidence and knowledge under the radar.  A friend to Andy while never being so overt.  The impression seems quite obvious that Nigel is gay, but his career is his main priority. The argument has come up that only homosexual actors should play gay characters.  Stanley Tucci’s performance is the best, most assured response to turn off that debate.  (He’s married to Emily Blunt’s sister.) How he dresses, walks, talks and carries himself through every scene demonstrates a man of expertise who lives above any prejudice.  He lends purpose to high end fashion, and his service builds the confidence of women who are meant to have power and authority. 

Emily Blunt is the antagonist to Andy but her panicked hysteria is also the comedy found in the film.  Anything Andy considers is unheard of in Emily’s eyes. While Miranda is short on words, Emily exposes how fearful this devil truly is ranging from pouring a glass of Perrier to hanging a coat in the correct closet.  

David Frankel assembles this film with energy.  I especially love the filler montages that start at the opening credits and drive the transitions of the story.  He captures Andy, the lovable ugly duckling, in contrast to every model attired woman making a career for themselves in New York and it works to show how much a fish out of water she is.  Later, after Nigel delivers a complete makeover to desperately hopeless Andy, a new montage of seamless edits has Hathaway’s character walking with utter confidence and determination.  Frankel applies sweeping edits showing Andy walking behind a city bus or building, reemerging on the other side in another fitting outfit of color and vibrancy.  All of these moments define the world of The Devil Wears Prada.  Frankel truly creates a darling visual masterpiece.

The Devil Wears Prada focuses on career opportunities and building poise in a niched industry that is constantly evolving while never waiting for the troops to catch up with the fleet.  It studies the interactions that not only occur in an office but beyond, with high end social gatherings where the best of the best must be caught up with people’s personal dramas while circumventing around competitors who look to reign and cut throats.  Designers intersect with publishers and writers, and we see the back-and-forth responses, especially when the acerbic Miranda frowns at a presentation.  Someone with power and influence has the means of success or failure for the next person who comes through a door.  

As the film moves past its exposition, Andy, the protagonist, is ready to be tested.  I might be describing a fantasy, unfamiliar to any of us, but David Frankel and Lauren Weisberger, with an adapted screenplay by Aline Brosh McKenna, choose to take every bar or gallery or on-site location seriously.  Because they go in a direction where morals, ethics and loyalties can be probed and embraced by an audience.  Personal values and priorities can be questioned either at home, in the field or in the office.  

The Devil Wears Prada goes beyond the clothes these people wear.  Its story justifies why these four primary characters adorn themselves in the garb selected for them, allowing them to command or earn authority.

The newly released sequel, The Devil Wears Prada 2, demonstrates that after twenty years much of the environments and practices of the original are outdated though the world of fashion is unmistakably necessary.  In a post Me Too era where the internet makes the world so much smaller, the industries of journalism and clothing design do not feel as global and exotic.  A tyrant dressed in Prada cannot be so demanding.  She must rely upon herself, and not so much her underlings to get her Starbucks or hang up her coat.  Flying coach, not even first class, might make for a good gag, but…well…that might be pushing it.  Yet, this latest installment offers good ideas and inventive challenges for Miranda Priestly to contend with.

Elsewhere, Andy Sachs might be a well recognized, award winning journalist but with print and article submissions becoming extinct at the mercy of second to second social media news, it’s never enough to hold on to a job.

Runway is in trouble for being associated with sweatshop practices overseas.  Miranda is the scapegoat.  That’s about all you see of that problem because it’s important to speed along to Andy and Miranda working together again.  The writer is quickly recruited for an image repair of the famed magazine and its editor.

Even though the sequel follows similar beats to its predecessor, there are an overabundance of narratives, and they are scattered brained.  It begins with the blemish to Runway’s reputation, then on to getting the gang back together again.  These episodes quickly fix themselves and now the magazine becomes an affected constituent to corporate controls and seizures for the remainder of the film.

Side dishes are too overloaded as well with an unwelcome romance storyline for the career driven Andy.  This bit screams of a producer insisting that Anne Hathaway have a love interest.  Never have the scenes with Hathaway and actor Patrick Bramell, as a high end city property owner, felt like opportunistic bathroom breaks.  

Andy is also given a peer to cope with by the name of Mack (I had to look up the name) played by Larry Mitchell. He wears a Yankees cap. Otherwise, what is he doing here?  Other than Hathaway, he does not share a scene with any other cast member, and he’s there for Andy to commiserate with.  Couldn’t moments like these be shared with Nigel or Emily?  It would only strengthen the script and the appearance of the four returning principal characters. Tracie Thoms makes a welcome return as Andy’s art gallery friend.  Additional moments with her seem inviting but not relied upon.

Kenneth Branagh is here to cash a paycheck as Miranda’s new husband.  I don’t think Meryl Streep ever makes eye contact with him.  The famed, Oscar winning actor/director/writer only serves as a reactionary post for Streep.  Again, a producer who wanted to feel relevant likely insisted that Miranda have a love interest.

These elements are disappointing to me.  Often we see the leading man drive through a career without the need for family or relationships.  Especially in the world of The Devil Wears Prada, where women are never held back from achieving their goals, why are these two self made ladies of influence anchored to answering to a man in their life? There’s enough material to further their fulfillments without these useless characters.

Emily Blunt returns with nothing to do as well.  Even with a twist, that serves no surprise to her character as the stuck-up Emily, she steps into Miranda and Andy’s paths when the film has to wind down with a last button to push.  She’s also wasted in dumbed down tryst with an airhead played by Justin Theroux. This accomplished actor who has an impressive line of work, deserves better.  With practically nothing to do, Blunt should have insisted on a rewrite because her character has become entirely unappealing.

BJ Novack (actor and writer of The Office) does okay with what the script deals to him as oil to water antagonist for Streep’s role.  Yet, he’s also an unnecessary new character; one which could have been covered by Blunt’s character.  

Stanley Tucci is also not given much to do.  However, the new film is wise not to experiment with new angles for Nigel.  What works should be upheld.  It was smart just to let this supporting character remain as is.  Tucci is always wonderful and the film lights up when it circles back to him.

I’ve heard some are disappointed with deviations applied to the Miranda character.  In the first film, she truly is the one you love to hate.  Here, Meryl Streep is ready to respond to a change of climate and thus, Miranda is not as free to be the uncompromising slave driver while also revealing some genuine feelings.  This is the best part of The Devil Wears Prada 2.  It exposes the humanity of a notoriously cold person.  Yet, a wiser choice would have been to dismiss the Branagh character and have Miranda share moments with her twin daughters briefly touched on in the first film but never mentioned here.

Though I never cared for Adrian Grenier in the role of Andy’s boyfriend Nate, the first film leaves open possibilities for their relationship to survive.  Nate was a budding chef which on principle opens a lot of doors for the Prada world. The new iteration could have circled back to Nate being requested to cater one of the many events that occurs in this film, even when the story diverts to Miranda’s Hampton getaway.  Instead, a forgettable guy fills that void for Andy’s perspective.  What was to gain from that?

I was skeptical a follow up movie would work.  Prada doesn’t demand new adventures like Indiana Jones or Batman.  Yet, the new film offers a lot of potential to apply Miranda and Andy to a new internet culture of harassment boundaries to contend with two decades after they first met.  A lot of good seeds left about in the first film are abandoned in lieu of newly irrelevant material and characters.  Had The Devil Wears Prada 2 condensed its ideas the pace and drive would have been much more novel and adorably reminiscent at the same time.  Alas, it’s a size 14 when it should be a size 6.  The Blu Ray release should have a special edition that excises all of this unwanted fabric and size up a dress that’s more sleek and form fitting.  

MY DINNER WITH ANDRE

By Marc Sanders

You know, everything is not an anecdote. You have to discriminate. You choose things that are funny or mildly amusing or interesting. You’re a miracle! Your stories have none of that...It’s like going on a date with a Chatty Cathy doll. I expect you have a little string on your chest, you know, that I pull out and have to snap back. Except I wouldn’t pull it out and snap it back, you would. Agh! Agh! Agh! Agh! And by the way, you know, when you’re telling these little stories? Here’s a good idea: have a point. It makes it so much more interesting for the listener!

  – Neil Page to Del Griffeth, Planes, Trains & Automobiles, 1987

Gene Siskel and Roger Ebert deemed My Dinner With Andre one of the ten best films of the 1980s. It’s unique with a bold attempt at building an irresistible attraction to focusing entirely on a conversation in a restaurant booth between two men over dinner. Nevertheless, I find it to be a swirling black hole descent into a void I could not escape.  I walked into this restaurant with nothing.  I walked out with nothing.

Siskel deemed the discussion between Andre Gregory and Wallace Shawn to be a conversation into “intellectual outer space.”  He’s not wrong.  Especially when listening to Andre speak, anyone with at least a fourth-grade education will likely gather that he proudly shares his exploits in India and wherever else along with his experiences chatting with inspiring scholars and philosophers as the only way to live.  Outer space is an understatement because for most of the time I could not tell you how Andre goes from point A to point Z.  Wallace, patronizingly regarded as “Wally” by Andre, primarily represents the listener.  

You getting all of this Wally? I’m sorry Wallace.

Wallace Shawn’s voiceover explains that he is a playwright who is broke with no prospects on the horizon.  His agent has encouraged him to meet the famed theater director Andre Gregory for dinner.  Wallace is not thrilled about this idea as his last encounter with the man is not fondly remembered.  Yet, as celebrated an artist as Andre is, one day he all but left his career and his family behind to explore the world.  Now he’s back in New York City for one night and he has an interest in meeting up with Wally – a seemingly likable loser in a tan Corduroy suit with a bald head surrounded by frizzy, uncontrollable hair on the sides.  Of all people, Wally had to know why Andre wanted to see him.

My wife and I share a common frustration and we are trying to remind our daughter of it as she is quickly entering college independence. Often when we are in social gatherings, we make the effort to ask about the person we are talking to.  We’ll ask where they originate from, why they took up an interest in movies, books or shucking corn.  We’ll express concern for how their mother is holding up or what their vacation plans are.  Often the response will carry on for ten or twenty minutes with that person talking about themselves and the people in their life.  What’s disappointing is that we don’t get asked about us.  We have a mother.  We go to the movies and on vacation.  We read books.  We shuck corn.  It says a lot about how self-absorbed many of us can be.  That was my impression of the Andre Gregory in this picture.  Wally just sits there sipping his soup and often looks at Andre puzzled as to what point he’s making here.

Frankly, I didn’t like Andre.  He’s a magnificent deliverer of dialogue with a soothingly smooth voice.  The guy should have his own podcast.  Yet, he never stops to come up for air, and he carries on talking about the fascinating people he’s encountered and the exotic adventures he’s experienced.  Everything he says seems so elevated that I questioned if he’s a narrator of extremely tall tales.  Is Andre exaggerating?  Is he lying?  Is he also a storyteller?

As well, I went so far as to question Andre’s ideology.  On a number of occasions, he works fascist terminology into his anecdotes.  He describes someone as handsome and muscular as an SS soldier.  Who does that?  The physique of an SS Brownshirt is the best way to illustrate someone you have met?  Hitler is brought up.  The Nazi party as well, and he speaks freely about these allegories in front of Wally, a known Jewish man.  Someone as learned as Andre Gregory could not conjure up different references to enhance his stories?

When it’s finally Wally’s turn to speak, I’m at least grateful that he challenges Andre. With no money to his name and no immediate prospect of success or deserved recognition he says that he can simply feel fulfilled with a cold cup of coffee in the morning and a book to read. Personally, I need more than that out of life.  I don’t mind saying that I’m a materialist by nature.  I find joy in what I collect.  At least I can applaud Wallace for not subscribing to the babbling National Geographic issue sitting on the other side of the table from him.

By the end of the film Wallace spends the last shred of his money to take a cab across town.  He thinks about the various establishments he visited for an ice cream soda or whatnot, and he declares that he can’t wait to get home to tell his girlfriend about his dinner with Andre.  This is where I’m confused.  Why would Wallace want to talk about that pretentious, blathering organism, with no soul?  Andre seemed ignorant of the guy he calls “Wally.”  He never seems to express any admiration for his friend’s theater accomplishments.  He never carries an interest in what “Wally” is up to or how he came up with an inventiveness to write a particular play.  Most importantly, he never seemed to respect “Wally” for the simplicity he joyfully gets out of life.

Though they are playing themselves, Wallace Shawn and Andre Gregory insist that these personalities are more fictional than realistic.  That’s not hard to believe because the Andre Gregory of My Dinner With Andre exists on such a high plain it seems impossible to live the life he’s leading.  In 1981, when this film, directed by Louise Malle, was released how could a forty something man accomplish all that Andre Gregory had done?  So, I could not embrace this mostly one-sided conversation that’s devoid of sensitivity for his listener.  

I suppose to like My Dinner With Andre you’d have to either at least like Andre Gregory or love to hate Andre Gregory and neither option complemented me.  When you sit down to dinner with someone, the experience isn’t just about the bread basket and catering presentation.  It’s not only about the wait staff and if the scent of the cork is pleasing. It isn’t the atmosphere, either.  

It’s the company you keep that matters.

CHANGING LANES

By Marc S. Sanders

The title is not meant to just be taken literally.  Roger Michell’s film shot on location in New York City pull the fulcrums which alter the destructive paths of two very different men.  The script beckons them to pave each other’s roads they will follow from here on out.  Their destinations can lead to hope or despair.

Doyle Gipson (Samuel L Jackson) is a recovering alcoholic who is ready to close on a house in Queens that his estranged wife Valerie (Kim Staunton) and two young sons can move into.  Finally, the insurance telemarketer seems to be on the straight and narrow.  He doesn’t want a glass of champagne.  He feels like champagne, bubbly and alive.  His AA sponsor doesn’t rejoice in that comment.  Doyle just has to get to family court and demonstrate that he’s a devoted and loving father and ask the judge to decline Valerie’s plan to relocate to Oregon with the boys.

Gavin Banek (Ben Affleck), the son in law and young law partner of Stephan Delano (Sydney Pollack) just has to make a quick appearance in court to undoubtedly prove that his now deceased client intentionally signed off on dismantling his multi-million-dollar trust leaving the proceeds for the law firm to collect.  The client’s granddaughter argues that her grandfather was mentally incapacitated and therefore the agreement carries no merit.  Gavin has all the documents lined up with clear and original signatures from the client.  This should be a slam dunk.

Car accidents never happen at a convenient time. On one rainy day in the city, Doyle and Gavin meet following a sideswipe collision.  Doyle wants to exchange information.  Gavin is good with giving over a blank check and being on his way. Thus, leaving the scene of an accident. 

In the rush of things though, Gavin has dropped the power of attorney file, glaringly noticeable in an orange binder.  Doyle collects it while being left stranded on the freeway.  Being twenty minutes late works against him, and Valerie is granted permission to leave the state.  

Without that orange file, Gavin is short of proving his argument in court.  He has until 5 o’clock on Good Friday to deliver the document to the opposing council and judge or the granddaughter can file a malpractice suit with claims of fraud and possible jail time for Gavin, Stephan and another partner, Walter (Richard Jenkins).

Two separate stories are at play here, running parallel against each other until the lines collide once, then separate and then collide again and again by the hands of the two men working against each other to get ahead.  

Changing Lanes is a study of willpower for Doyle.  Samuel L Jackson is giving one of his best performances.  He’s continuously being tested.  He can have a temper when he’s in the midst of chaos but as his AA sponsor (William Hurt) will remind him outbursts of anger are not substitutes for the bottle.  So you didn’t have a drink!! You can’t exonerate or excuse however else you behave irrationally.

Changing Lanes is morality piece for Gavin.  He has money and power and resources to fix any kind of scenario and circumvent the boundaries of law to Stephan, Walter and his own advantage.  The question is if he should follow through on what’s in front of him.  His code of ethics is tested and other than Michelle, an associate at the firm (Toni Collette), all are telling him what needs to be done. Not what should be done. Including his wife and Stephan’s silver spooned daughter, Cynthia, played with attractive deviousness by Amanda Peet.  A magnificent piece of dialogue that lends justification to commit to what’s not right and sound may be the actress’ best scene of her career.  A gentle, yet direct Lady MacBeth.

Actually, even Michelle, (Toni Collette lending a catalog of subtle expressions) who’s also Gavin’s mistress and in the “I told you so” position, has ideas that triggers a lot of unwanted turmoil for the men.  Changing Lanes truly puts the corrupt in the driver’s seat while leaving the innocents in the wreckage left behind.  What does that say about us as a society?  I guess I’ll need to atone for a lot more than I thought on Yom Kippur, this year.

The men quickly find ways to locate one another and cause harm and setbacks by their antagonism. Some of these scenarios are definitely convenient over the course of an eight-hour day, especially in a populated New York City.  However, the circumstances are at least sensible.  The plausibility should not be questioned however because the script by Chap Taylor and Michael Tolkin is very insightful and reflective.

There’s a million ways Changing Lanes could have ended.  There’s certainly a button well in place on its finality but what remains are the transformations of these two men.  On the surface, in any kind of setting, Affleck and Jackson come from different cloths and it serves the picture very well, because New York is always the battleground for a variety of walks of life.  Watch how the actors argue with each other.  They might as well be speaking different languages because too often people of different backgrounds fail to see what their neighbors are going through.  Doyle and Gavin must go through a lot of pains before they can see a clear sky on a stormy day.

The trailer for Changing Lanes is thrilling but terribly deceptive.  It’ll make you believe this is a kind road rage action picture, complete with Jackson’s signature temper tantrum that’s found in a number of his films.  Maybe the preview convinces you that Affleck looks like the victimized white guy, and that is entirely unfair to an audience and both actors, as well as the writers and directors.  

I’m bold enough to declare that my write up is a much more transparent offering of what to expect from this fine, forgotten film – a highlight for the resumes of every actor here.  Changing Lanes leaves you thinking about what’s just and what can be done right when temptations and tempers do not collide accordingly with our day.

LUCY

By Marc S. Sanders

Only the headlining actors’ names appear before the title of the film, Lucy, but ten minutes into it I should have known I was watching a Luc Besson actioner.  It’s over the top and proudly exaggerated in its fiction like Leon: The Professional or The Fifth Element.  Because this one has Scarlett Johansson and Morgan Freeman talking about science fiction silliness in a brainy kind of way, Lucy is a lot of fun and likely better than those other two Besson flicks.  Just don’t try to comprehend the tech it preaches.  It’s important to remember that Luc Besson wrote it.  So why try in the first place?

Spliced within the first ten minutes of this hour and a half is nature documentary footage of wildlife in the open and nucleus cells splitting apart and coming together and whatever else cells do.  Most memorable is a cheetah pursuing a losing gazelle.  The story however focuses on young Lucy (Johansson), with her blonde crop topped hair suggestively hiding her left eye with a leopard print jacket hanging on her shoulders.  I got the impression that Lucy is a woman of the night in whatever Asian metropolitan city we are in.  I think Taiwan, but the bad guys speak Korean.  

A cad named Frank coaxes Lucy against her will into delivering a locked, aluminum briefcase to a high-rise apartment.  What’s in the case?  Well, isn’t that the go to starting point of so many movies these days? Whatever it is, it gets Frank killed right in front of Lucy.

But wait!!!! We actually get to see what’s in the case, this time.  Four bags of drugs that look like purple pop rock candies.  

A Korean mobster and his army of black suit/black tie cronies (surprised?) force Lucy and three men to be mules for the drugs and make deliveries.  I wasn’t clear on who the buyers are supposed to be.  It doesn’t matter, because poor, helpless Lucy gets to the airport only to get beaten up, forcing the bag of drugs to rupture and leak within her stomach.  

Besson initially showed us the figure of 10%.  Now, throughout the course of the picture that number will climb because Lucy’s brain capabilities are increasing rapidly as she is mobilized with cerebral powers that normal humans could never accomplish.  Apparently these chemicals are byproducts of the hormones that a pre-born embryo experiences allowing it to grow and develop into a fully functional human.  See, we’ve all gotten what Lucy’s gotten, but we’ve never gotten as much as what Lucy’s gotten.  So look out everyone.  Lucy is not coming to The Matrix.  The Matrix is coming to her.  

Morgan Freeman is the renowned Professor Norman, the world’s leading expert on brain activity.  He’s in Paris delivering a lecture on the theory that humans only use a fraction of their brain power to function.  In fact he claims that the sonar capabilities found in dolphins makes them much more advanced than any of us.  I nominate Flipper for President. We couldn’t get much worse.

With the Korean mob on her tail, Lucy goes after the other three mules located in Rome, Paris and Berlin, and recruits a French detective (Amr Waked) to assist her.  He doesn’t do much though.  

Lucy also makes contact with Professor Norman.  Sure she uses the phone to dial him up, but that’s not the only way she talks to him.  Just wait’ll you see.  And wait til you see how she takes on the mob who carry an armory of machine guns and an endless supply of ammo.  Let’s just say the Avengers and the X-Men don’t stand a chance against Lucy.

Morgan Freeman is not doing anything new here.  The script simply demands a wizened expert to intelligently deliver sci fi gibberish like it came out of Johns Hopkins.  Scarlett Johansson is an action star, no doubt.  At least, Lucy’s quick adaptations to her super powers stand apart from her Black Widow invincibility.  I like how she’s a lovey dovey airhead in the prologue of Besson’s movie and then evolves into a kind of walking bad ass super computer once the drugs kick in gradually doing more of their magic on her.

The ending gets really out there.  I never gave up on the movie, but I didn’t care to think through everything I was looking at.  Judging by Morgan Freeman’s face, neither was he.  He just wore the doctor’s coat.  Besson goes all over the place with wrapping up this short story, designed to be a graphic manga novel. 

The cuts and edits are exhilarating and thankfully Lucy spares us of just endless hand to hand combat stuff, like John Wick.  This movie relies more on superpower material trickery.  Still, it really gets out there.  Like out there to other places.  Like out there to other periods of time.

If Stanley Kubrick were to make an action movie…

Look, at least I bought into all of it because frankly if I’d used any more than 10% of my brain, I’d likely tear the whole movie apart.

LEAVE HER TO HEAVEN

By Marc S. Sanders

Martin Scorsese declared that Gene Tierney is one of the most underrated actresses of all time.  It’s likely her femme fatale performance in Leave Her To Heaven supports that argument.  Miguel mistakenly left his Criterion copy at my house and on a whim, I popped it into the machine.  With no knowledge of what the film was about, I gradually found myself stunned as the story initially unfolds as a meet-cute encounter between a charming novelist and a stunning, pleasant woman who get caught up in a whirlwind romance that turns questionably eerie.

The author is Richard Harland (Cornel Wilde).  He meets the voluptuous Ellen (Tierny) sitting cross from him on a passenger train car.  She just happens to be reading his latest best seller, and she takes to him at first sight because he looks strikingly familiar to her deceased father.  It’s also convenient to know they have the same destination at a retreat ranch in New Mexico.  Ellen’s mother, Margaret (Mary Philips), and her adopted sister (or maybe not?), Ruth (Jeanne Crain) are also staying there.  The ladies are actually going to spread father’s ashes high up on a mountain top nearby.

Richard is captivated with Ellen but respects her boundaries when he learns that she’s engaged to marry Russell Quinton (Vincent Price), an imposing man who is running for district attorney in Boston, Massachusetts.  That changes very quickly upon Russell’s surprise visit one night, where Ellen announces in front of everyone, including Richard, that she is now engaged to the writer.  Richard may be caught off guard, but he’s thrilled to spend his future with this alluring woman.  

Everything seems idyllic.  Ellen caters to his every whim without even be asked. She cooks and cleans for him and insists on not hiring a housekeeper to do such chores.

Richard is also quite fond of Ruth and Margaret, and he’s certain that Ellen will take kindly to his younger brother Danny (Darryl Hickman).  Danny resides at physical therapy home in Georgia.  He’s unable to walk but hoping to soon.  That doesn’t hinder his enthusiasm for his new sister in law and more time with his brother.

Everything seems perfect, and yet there are expressions and random observations about Ellen that leave all but Danny and Richard with trepidation.  Ruth and Margaret are kind people, but they seem to have reservations about Ellen’s intentions.  Who should Richard be cautious of though?  

Leave Her To Heaven relies upon a diabolical personality hiding in plain sight.  It begins with a lawyer telling some folks the story of Richard’s time with Ellen.  Richard arrives at a lakeside dock in Maine, and then he is on his way by canoe to visit a woman at a getaway cottage on the other side of the lake.  He’s been through some kind of ordeal.  It’s not clear what woman he’s going to see and why, nor what he’s recently endured.  The lawyer’s story has much to spell out.

Growing up in the 1980s and 90s, this film noir feels like it carries influence towards more modern classics like Fatal Attraction and The Hand That Rocks The Cradle, and even the recent sleeper hit of 2025, The Housemaid with Sydney Sweeney and Amanda Seyfried (which I highly recommend). Especially effective is how trustworthy John M Stahl’s scenes of exposition seem.  At any point his film, adapted from the novel by Ben Ames Williams, could have steered in the direction of glowing optimism and promising possibilities.  Having not known where the story was going to take me enhanced my experience with the picture.  Gene Tierney’s lovely and later disturbing composition kept me alert and when later moments occur that leave no doubt of what her goals are, the suspense held on to a haunting pinnacle.  

The third act relies heavily on Vincent Price’s contributions, and he is a superb antagonist.  He’s far from the eerie B-fest persona that made him famous, but he is largely intimidating.  Still, his material is written to be extremely contrived as the screenplay resorts to lopsided courtroom drama.  Leave Her To Heaven is fully aware it’s not following legitimate protocol in a standard trial.  The courtroom setting operates more like a conduit to tie up loose ends and ensure all the pertinent characters get on the same page.  With Vincent Price driving the narrative, the thrills remain upheld.

The Technicolor on the Criterion edition deserves praise. For a film noir from 1945, this restoration looks entirely modern and and with the exception of the courtroom scenes, never feels outdated. When you’ve run out of Alfred Hitchcock material to bite your nails on, Leave Her To Heaven is a very good and solid alternative.  

Best advice, be careful when you fall in love at first sight.

STAY IN THE CAR

By Marc S. Sanders

Calvin Ghaznavi directs a seven-and-a-half-minute short film called, Stay In The Car, that’s long on tension while limited on dialogue.  

Not much needs to be said to understand that a fifteen-year-old girl named Salem (Lara Hunter) is alert, yet terrified, while being left to her own abandon in the front seat of an El Camino.  It’s the middle of the night and her strung out mother (Ashley Alva) is on a mission with a stranger (Timothy V Murphy) sitting in the passenger side.  The title of this of this picture tells us what Salem is instructed to do.  The conflict is if Salem will oblige.  

Amanda Ross was inspired to write this haunting anecdote based on a real life experience.  Lara Hunter is her real life daughter reenacting the scenario.  Hunter’s expressions of fear and confusion are striking.  We only know so much as what she sees.  Perhaps Salem will become a witness brought in for questioning about this night where her mother and this stranger visited a hotel and returned with a bloody wrench.  At another stop, one less person returns to the car.  That’s all Salem knows.  That’s all we know.  

Ghazvani is very focused on primarily providing close ups.  We don’t know how the adults know one another or what they are striving for.  We don’t get to see the back seat of the car, or where it’s traveling to next.  All we know is that Salem likely relies on teenage fun like wearing colorful wristbands. The hula dancing ornament on the dashboard doesn’t belong in this scenario either. It was there from another time; maybe Salem and mom picked it up at novelty store during a happier time. It’s convincing that Salem does not belong in a tense filled situation like this.  Salem’s normality has suddenly turned nightmarish.

Stay In The Car does not so much explain a story as it offers a perspective where a child is submerged in a circumstance of darkness, wet roads, violent aftermaths, distant sirens and overwhelming uncertainty. Ghaznavi and Ross should expand on the seeds of what they’ve created.  There’s potential for a thrilling and thought-provoking story at play.  What happened before Salem (or Amanda) stayed in the car?  What happened afterwards?  With less than eight minutes to see for myself, I’m dying to know more.

FLOW (Latvia)

By Marc S. Sanders

It’s fair to argue that there is more imagination in less than ninety minutes of the 2024 Oscar winning animated feature, Flow, than a combined ten movies out of the Marvel Cinematic Universe.  Even more incredible is there is not an ounce of dialogue, nor a shred of a human narrative weaved into the storyline.  Assembled with the resources of twenty-two different production companies, I declare that Flow is an apocalyptic film, completely humane with the absolute absence of humanity.  

A small black cat roams a dense jungle area, maybe located in Western Asia, with only a need for exploration.  When the yellow eyed feline is done for a day, it routinely retires to an upper-level window in an abandoned house.  Someone, at some time, had an affection for cats as our main character is surrounded by carved out statues of fellow felines. The only threat is when it gets pursued by a pack of enthusiastic dogs.  The cat has the speed to its advantage though, and it’s an absolute treat to follow the rapid trajectory through a dense green jungle, up trees, across branches, under leaves and up and down hills.  

Cat’s normality changes however when a flooding deluge overtakes the land.  Soon there’s no longer any dry ground to toe upon or a tall enough height to evade the sudden depths of ocean water.  

Salvation arrives when Cat boards a beat-up sailboat along with a capybara, a lemur, a secretary bird and a golden retriever.  Five different creatures will have to hold out for survival in a vehicle, unfamiliar to them, while learning to argue, cooperate and work together.

The craft of Flow is like no other I’ve ever seen.  The animation was not completed with computer technology.  IMDb states that it was done by means of a “Blender” method, which I’m not entirely clear on.  However, I don’t require a description.  The finished product had me entirely immersed in this perplexing world.  I was as confused and worried as Cat, not knowing what, how or why the world suddenly changed and what can happen now.

Director Gints Zilbalodis, also one of the writers, includes perilous moments for our animals when a wave will tumble the boat suddenly, or an aggressive rainstorm will arrive.  A member of the boat will often find themselves tossed into the depths.  

It’s always a little alarming when a new animal boards the vessel.  Especially nerve wracking is when Cat suddenly falls into the water among some of the most colorful fish ever.  Cat has an undying resilience, but treading to the surface and getting back on the boat is never easy. Zilbalodis’s camera goes well under the surface and then back up just as you might when treading in the ocean.  To swim in the ocean is not for the lazy or relaxed.  Your body must always work hard.  Trust me when I tell you I often felt a lump in my throat each time Cat’s perspective submerged into the dark aquatic depths with an absence of sound from a breeze or another animal cry.

The behaviors of the creatures seem to happen so involuntarily with an intrinsic nature.  Both the sleepy capybara and the long-legged secretary bird find a way to control the sail of the boat.  The bird can be especially set in its way.  Cat and dog seem to develop a trust for the how the boat is steered by their fellow navigators.  Lemur likes to keep to himself with the trinkets he selfishly hoards.  His most curious item is a handheld mirror where he finds someone that looks just like him.  

I was curious how the adventures of Flow would conclude.  This is an unusual world and surely these creatures cannot last forever on a distressed sailboat with no food and no destination in sight except for a far away tower peak way beyond the visible limits of open water.  I developed such a concern for each animal in this story, especially the cat.  The helplessness of the meows and the retriever’s woofs had me terribly worried.  When cat or one of the other animals gets separated, I was nervous if that is the last we’ll see of the comrades.  Flow is a quietly beautiful picture, but it is also especially stressful.  Being lost and confused with limited resources and no help has to be one of the most frightening circumstances for any species.  

Homeless or not, all creatures have an environment they grow accustomed to.  When it is taken away, it’s hard to rely just on instinct for an unwelcome change or interruption.  Even a prehistoric looking whale endures a similar experience to the other animal characters.  Yet, intuition and a will to trust has to motivate us to take chances and accept the necessity of risk.  This solemn black cat has more courage than almost any talking Disney or Warner Brothers animal I’ve ever seen before, and its petite kitten size with solemn yellow eyes never sheds confidence.  This creature knows the luxury of fear and surrender is never an option, not even when its friends are in danger.

The artistic design of this water world is so absorbing.  Flow is full of gorgeous color as well as lack thereof.  Every branch or leaf or sea creature or rain drop tells a story and enhances this world without compromise.  The murky depths of the water show no bottom.  When cat is underwater, often it feels like there is no top or anything waiting for his return.  Nothing is simply black.  Rather, underwater is only what can be seen in front of our eyes.  Sometimes cat gets drifted off of the screen.  Now I feel lost because cat is my leader.  I want cat to find me.  I have no capability in finding cat and if I don’t, I’m resigned helplessly in an endless, inflexible void.

Gints Zilbalodis’ film, produced out of the country of Latvia, is a masterful and crowning achievement.  I urge you to carve ninety minutes out of your day to watch this glorious picture on the biggest screen you can find with the crispest surround sound set up available.  You’ll find yourself on a tour of a place on the earth untouched by humans, while seeing how other creatures capably survive together.

One of the greatest animated films I’ve ever seen or been touched by.  

Flow demonstrates there are no limits to our storytelling imaginations or abilities.  

And…suddenly I’m a cat lover!