DISCLOSURE DAY

By Marc S. Sanders

A day before I saw Steven Spielberg’s latest sci-fi project, Disclosure Day, I witnessed the aftermath celebration of the New York Knicks’ NBA championship win.  People of New York City took to the streets to celebrate.  By and large it appeared jubilant, loud and celebratory.  However, to no surprise, there was a faction of miscreants who used this momentous occasion as an opportunity for property damage and chaos.  School buses and police cars were destroyed and burned while fists and flames happily flailed in the air.  Sixty-Five people were arrested. You can easily find all of the footage online because our present age allows us to witness every action of newsworthiness.  This was a response to a basketball championship, fifty-three years in the making; my whole lifetime thus far.  I’m happy for the Knicks and their fans, though I could care less.  I don’t watch basketball.  Comparing this to the end of Spielberg’s new film, I’m skeptical the real-life response would be as similar and inspiring as the film’s breathtaking, epic conclusion.

Disclosure Day is seeped in government conspiracy and the revelation of extra-terrestrial life discovered on Earth.  Spielberg’s concept was shaped into a screenplay by David Koepp and it hinges on many of the same story beats that Close Encounters Of The Third Kind delivered.  A few different walks of life suddenly find themselves on the run while an antagonistic entity will go to great lengths to censor or eliminate these individuals before reaching their end goal and destination.

Josh O’Connor is who we first meet as a young scientist named Daniel Kellner.  He seems to have arrived from a prior film because he carries a MacGuffin in his backpack after escaping from a clandestine organization headed by a sinister Englishman named Noah Scanlon played by Colin Firth. Noah urges Daniel to handle the item he carries delicately.  The slightest amount of pressure could be dire.

Funnily enough, we first see Daniel under duress as he sits in the stands at a violent, caged match wrestling competition.  This film was released two days before Donald Trump’s absurdly notorious UFC event on the White House lawn.  Assembly in barbarianism.  I dunno.  Just seems too ironic when you witness the ease of this film’s wrap up on an opposing end of the spectrum.  Watch the film and perhaps you’ll understand the sad irony.

Jane is Daniel’s girlfriend, played by Eve Hewson (daughter of U2’s Bono).  She was once studying to be a nun and as she learns more about Daniel’s drive, she questions her faith and the validity of religion, particularly Christianity.  I like this angle the same way I appreciated it in Robert Zemekis’ Contact.  Has God created life elsewhere in this endless environment we call the universe?  Heck, I’ve always wondered why there were never two dinosaurs boarding the ark ahead of the great flood.  Is the bible THE BIBLE?  Cuz if so, where’s the T-Rex?

Elsewhere, a cheerful and manic meteorologist named Margaret Fairchild (Emily Blunt, who is now a front runner for an Oscar), broadcasting locally out of Kansas City, Missouri, is suddenly exhibiting a variety of strange phenomena following the arrival of a cardinal who lands on her kitchen table.  She can read the minds of people she encounters and can fluently speak any foreign language including Russian, Korean and an indescribable clucking/chirping dialect just before fainting on live television.  From there, all she knows is that she must find a way to hit the road and drive.  Where?  Even she doesn’t know.

An ominous phone call from a man named Hugo (Coleman Domingo, one of my favorite character actors) tries to comfort a terrified Margaret as he insists she make the trip to see him.  Hugo has also filled Daniel in on Margaret’s experience.  Whatever these men know, they now have assurance that what they must share with the world has to happen now.  Margaret is the last remaining piece of the puzzle.  Jane and Margaret’s boyfriend Jackson (Wyatt Russell) are the skeptics.

There’s a lot to recognize in Disclosure Day.  Yet, the mystery of why we are running with these characters and what secrets they carry feels positively fresh and captivating.  When the wrap up arrives, I’m exhilarated and I want to know more, and see as much as possible.  Across the fictional globe of Spielberg and Koepp’s story with an apparent Cold War threat on the horizon, no one standing in front of a cell phone or television can look away and therefore I yearn for a united response as imagined here.  

Chatting with Miguel after the film we both wonder what would truly happen.  Sadly, radicalism would factor and pillaging would abound.  It’s part of human nature to resist one another and push against campaigns.  After all, it happens following presidential elections and sporting victories.  A newly released podcast with Spielberg discussing Stanley Kubrick informs that the eccentric director filmed the first landing on the moon.  Has to be true apparently because 2001: A Space Odyssey was released a whole year before that historic moment.  Right? PEOPLE PLEASE!!!!

Within the confines of this story, the unheard-of revelations display an assembled united response.  Not likely. Nevertheless, I’m not complaining.  For now, this is science-fiction.  Talk to me in a hundred years and perhaps Close Encounters… and Disclosure Day will be prophetic, like Network is for reality TV and modern-day journalism.  The real question, based on the harshness of mankind, will it always be a fantasy? Sadly, I think I know the answer.  Optimism can only go so far.

So, there’s a lot to think about, and Disclosure Day captured me quite emotionally with fear and curiosity.  It’s been a while since I was so deeply interested in the direction a movie was taking me.  I recognized the tropes of Spielberg and all the Twilight Zone stimuli, but I was also wise enough not to read or view much advance press for this movie.    

Beyond the enigmas, this is a superb and thrilling adventure.  Spielberg directs action scenes that feel newly inventive.  You have seen heroes stuck in a car on the tracks with the train bearing down on them.  However, in Steven Spielberg’s hands this feels new and exhilarating.  I was literally slamming my hand on the armrest as this blaring centerpiece prolongs. This scene alone earns accolades in visual effects, stunt work, editing, cinematography, and sound editing.

Another moment shows a random extra zapping out of existence when he picks up a significant prop.  The audience I was seated with gasped with complete shock.  Steven Spielberg always finds a way to incorporate his visuals with the means to advance the story.  He threatens me with props.  He stuns with sight and sound like few directors can offer. He uses another original score from John Williams to build and uphold tension with atmospheric lens flares and bold, dark hues from his resident cinematographer, Janusz Kaminski (Oscar winner for Schindler’s List).

The cast is doing superb work here. My wife, a big fan of The Devil Wears Prada, saw the sequel just three weeks prior and somehow didn’t recognize Emily Blunt in this picture.  It lends to how well the actress hides behind a mid-western American accent with a character buried in startled confusion.  Margaret’s special talents come through seamlessly as she diverts from speaking English to Russian and Korean without dropping a beat.  Blunt interacts with nearly every extra that appears on screen to demonstrate her character’s special talents, and each exchange appears unique from the rest.  She exhibits a wealth of tempos.  Blunt serves as another way the film’s mysteries unravel.  Soon, she might have all the answers to share.

Josh O’Connor is quite good as the running man and shares an effective chemistry of nerves with Eve Hewson.  Colin Firth makes a welcome return as a determined villain.  Initially, he comes off as the man with a drive of no compromise to stop the hero.  His antagonism shows in expressions of pain and great lengths he executes while maintaining a pursuit.  Later, he provides weakness and passion in his quest.  Coleman Domingo is reminiscent of Francois Truffaut from Spielberg’s first alien exploration. He’s the man who knows answers exist. He’s the lynchpin to how everything fits into place.  A man who tells the principal characters to operate on blind faith while he prepares for their arrival.  All of these actors enhance the dialogue of Koepp’s script with intrigue and engaging drama.

Disclosure Day is a wonderful experience of suspense with a passionate hunger for curiosity.  Though it all looks familiar, the film grabbed me on a personal level. It is fondly reminiscent when my twelve-year-old self would happily escape from government agents on my bicycle or find solace in the elements of a popular tune from a Walt Disney picture.  This movie convinced me that whatever answers are out there, they are valuable enough to uncover by even leaving your loved ones behind and trusting a calm, unfamiliar voice or an innocent, indescribable creature to lead you to a salvation.  

Is this fiction?  Not to me.

About the only thing that doesn’t seem real is when people stop what they’re doing to watch and listen together.  Once again, though, Steven Spielberg gives you hope.

FIVE EASY PIECES

By Marc S. Sanders

Some films simply focus on the internal struggle of a character.  There might side component figures, but those are not fully formed because they exist to shape the main character we are directed to observe.  In Taxi Driver, Paul Schrader and Martin Scorsese scrounge up several people from a seedy New York City underbelly to intrude upon the life of isolated and angry Travis Bickle, the Vietnam war veteran.  All walks of life enter his cab and leave it.  Travis sums up the various individuals by his own twisted meter.  Some he’ll follow.  Some he’ll abandon.  Eventually, he’ll even protect someone vulnerable to the salacious world he occupies.  

Bobby Dupea, played with heartbreaking brilliance by Jack Nicholson, the main character of Bob Rafelson’s Five Easy Pieces, journeys down a similar path.  However, he’d be apt to abandon everyone.  One problem is he can’t escape from himself.  He could leave his personal jacket behind in a restroom and face a bitter cold, but he’ll never be able to shed his own skin.  

Bobby lives with an airhead hick waitress named Reyette (Karen Black in an Oscar nominated role), but he doesn’t value her.  He cheats and boozes around with the next dingbat woman who approaches him in the local bowling alley (Sally Struthers). Whatever is currently in Bobby’s life is one more chapter that’s left behind as a means to gain further mileage away from where he originates.  It’s hard to comprehend how Bobby, a young man with the potential to be a celebrated concert pianist, could flee from a past and dwell within a mundane life as a worker in a California oil field.  Otherwise, all he’s doing is bowling and drinking at night with his buddy Elton (Billy Green Bush) while never thinking about Reyette. Bobby is a problematic guy, never wanting to challenge complexities in relationships or advance his gifts of talent.  Bobby Dupea is never destined for self-comfort or pleasure.

Carole Eastman’s script, with input from Rafelson, examines what I believe many people are too proud or reluctant to admit.  Try as they might they cannot come to grips with the life handed to them, albeit with extraordinary talent or simplicity.  Reyette is happier to be a greasy spoon waitress with a penchant to sing the songs of Tammy Wynette.  Bobby has so much more potential but he’s that much more unsatisfied than Reyette.  

Often within the film there are visual allegories to Bobby’s struggle.  He nurses a bottle of booze while driving on the freeway with Elton.  Traffic is at a standstill.  No one is going anywhere.  There’s no escape, and about the only action anyone can take in this stationary position is to honk their horns with intolerable impatience.  Bobby can’t even settle for that, however.  He storms out of the driver seat to wail at the other cars.  When he sees an old piano resting on a moving truck, he climbs aboard and starts to play.  Nicholson’s body language doesn’t show a man at peace with the instrument though.  Bobby appears like a crazed madman using the piano as a means to drown out the bellows of the automobiles and he does not even show care when the truck exits the freeway leaving Elton far behind.  Bobby Dupea has no sense of direction.  

Elton has a child with his wife and there’s a moment where he displays his paternal affection.  Elton possesses value for someone.  Bobby, however, is beyond feeling.  Reyette tries to hold on to Bobby and find purpose in a life with him.  She’s uneducated and uncultured in art.  Yet, she’s ready to bowl with Bobby and accompany him in life.  Bobby is only content, never happy, unless he’s frustrated with her.  She gutters the ball down the lane all night and only on the last round does she finally get a strike?  Why should Bobby celebrate?  The strike was for naught.

When Bobby’s sister tells him that their father has suffered a stroke leaving him handicapped and mute, he’s conflicted about making the drive to Washington state to see him.  It’s a return to a life he could never find comfort in despite the musical talent he earned from a lineage of artists.  The people who live there are eccentric and maybe too philosophical. There’s nothing there that Bobby finds enriching.  He certainly doesn’t maintain a relationship with his father.  Yet, he decides to make the drive up the coastline by almost making a clean getaway from Reyette who he reluctantly welcomes to tag along.  Now he’s trapped in a car with someone he feels he has to be with but never wants to be around.  How does he resolve his dilemma? He picks up two women stuck on the side of the rode, only to find one uniquely irritating by harping on the filth of the environment as she attempts an escape to the apparent purity of Alaska.  Bobby knows this woman won’t find her utopian salvation, just as he will never get there either.

Bobby fights against standards.  The well-known diner scene (one of my favorites in all of movies) has him revolting against a server’s adherence to menu policy with a crass comment directed at her followed by a chaotic clearance of the drinking glasses on the table.  This man can’t decide what makes him happy, but he also cannot endure the tolerance of how others live in this world.  Nothing offers salvation for him.

At the Washington home, he comes across a student named Catherine (Susan Anspach) who is married to a dweebish fellow – a violinist with a sprained neck.  Catherine appreciates Bobby’s calm interpretation of playing Chopin, but she knows she cannot go further than that with him.  Bobby can’t confound her reasoning.  The answer for Bobby has always been to leave everything behind.  Why can’t Catherine do the same?

He also can’t find a way to connect with his father.  His sister assures him that dad can hear him, but the bearded expression stays the same and the best that Bobby can do is say he can’t stay in anything he’s at.  The monologue that Jack Nicholson performs to his mute father is such a departure from so many of his other crazed roles peppered within his body of work.  This is a weak man; a man who can deliver an endless number of communicative notes on the piano but cannot find the words to express himself, because he’s at a loss of what to say and uncover what he wants. His devices leave him to either rage or let it be, or maybe it’s best if he leaves.

Bob Rafelson’s choices for this film must be praised.  For a film about a pianist, there’s more selections from the twangy tunes of Tammy Wynette than there are from the piano.  Quite a contrast of Midwest country music against the eloquence of classical pieces that the main character was raised on.  

When Bobby finally sits to play Chopin for Catherine, you never actually see Nicholson play the piano.  Rafelson turns his camera away from Nicholson to pan over the various photographs hanging on the walls of the room. The long ancestry of the Dupea family is shown.  Yet, because there is no passion from Bobby, there is nothing to see. Rafelson never shows Bobby’s hands touching the keys.  When he boards that truck to play while sitting in traffic, Rafelson shoots Nicholson from the car positioned behind the truck.  The camera never boards the truck with Bobby.  I don’t recall ever seeing even a glimpse of eighty-eight keys during the entirety of the film.  The piano haunts Bobby Dupea.  It never compliments him.

Five Easy Pieces arrived after Jack Nicholson’s scene stealing comedy in Easy Rider demonstrated how well the famed actor could carry a picture.  This guy was a dynamo.  He could be loud and brash on the back of a motorcycle, or he could evoke crazed lunacy through outbursts or torturous, quiet solitude.  Nicholson’s performances are magnetic because he uses his fellow actors to enhance his characterizations.  Actors like Karen Black, Billy Green Bush and Susan Anspaugh serve as sounding boards for Bobby’s struggles.  Other than the monologued confession that he delivers to his father, all others aid Nicholson to convey his assortment of frustrations in scene after scene.  

With an astute vision from Bob Rafelson, the director effectively shares how Jack Nicholson’s Bobby Dupea knows nothing is as simple as the five easy pieces beginners use to learn to play the piano.  

Once a master, but always enslaved.

SEND HELP

By Marc S. Sanders

The best way to get back at your boss?  I guess you could hope for the slim possibility of surviving a plane crash with him. Then he has no choice but to surrender to your survival instincts on a desert island off the coast of Thailand.  That might deliver a more effective act of vengeance than bad mouthing him online or deleting a promising report that could advance his Fortune 500 company into greater profitability.

In Sam Raimi’s latest horror/slapstick adventure, it’s a blessing for the mousy computer nerd known as Linda Liddle (great name for Rachel McAdams’ character) that she didn’t end up in a skyscraper with twenty terrorists on Christmas Eve.  She likely would not have been as resourceful as she is within the dense jungles of an island populated by wild boar, bugs, and assorted feastings with conch and berries.  Linda is a huge fan of Survivor.  She even went as far as submitting an audition tape demonstrating her abilities to live off of the outdoor elements. She didn’t get on the show, but her efforts are about to pay off.

Bradley (Dylan O’Brien) is now her boss after inheriting the position from his deceased father.  He’s a chauvinistic and conniving jerk.  He disregards Linda and overlooks her for a deserved promotion following seven years of accomplished desk work under dad’s leadership.  The frat buddy who’s only been with the company for six months, and steals credit for Linda’s hard work, cuts in line.

A business trip aboard a private jet nosedives into the ocean leaving only Linda and Bradley as the washed up survivors.  He has a badly injured leg and no knowledge of working in the outdoors.  On the other hand, Linda quickly builds a fire and shelter while also rummaging for various sources of food and water, including a bloody hunt for wild boar.  

From this point, Sam Raimi has lots of fun with his signature scare jumps and zoom-ins to startle you, prompting screams of laughter like you did when you saw Evil Dead and Drag Me To Hell.  This thriller veers down paths least explored. A premise like this could never occur so conveniently in real life, but I had a blast watching Send Help, particularly because this bonkers script from Damian Shannon and Mark Swift can never, ever be trusted.   With Raimi as director, these guys rely on your expectations that stemmed from a million other pictures like The Blue Lagoon or Castaway.   Though I was surprised not to hear a single reference to Tarzan or Gilligan’s Island.  Standard romance and crazed killer material has hardly ever been served up like it is here. The creators of Send Help manipulate you with fresh and shocking ideas.

Bravo to Rachel McAdams, the marquee actress listed above the title, for braving a tremendous, completely unglamorous role. She is stunning at going against type.  She presents a clumsy, insecure outcast with no fashion sense and an ugly mop of a mess of hair.  She’s even got a hideous looking zit on her cheek.  Mean Girl Regina George would have a field day tormenting poor Linda.  This script gives the actress so much to do.  An incredible monologue at the midway point leans towards the twisty ending, but also allows for an illustrious recollection, on an intense level comparable to Quint’s USS Indianapolis anecdote from Jaws.  McAdams is truly one of the most unsung actresses working today.  Just a skilled performer with a wide berth of range and no two of her characters ever look the same.  In Send Help, she’s offering hard hitting drama and suspense as well as ridiculous comedy.  She goes to limits that Jack Nicholson and Gene Hackman provided during their careers. Rachel McAdams is the second coming of Kathy Bates from Misery. 

Dylan O’Brien is a new actor for me. He’s a perfect cad, with a silver spoon of privilege wedged deep down in his throat.  You hate this bastard he plays right from the start bringing what sounds like a ho hum script to alert life.  Against McAdams, there are echoes of Michael Douglas and Kathleen Turner in both Romancing The Stone and The War Of The Roses. This new couple go to both extremes of those opposite sides of a romantic face off.

Sam Raimi builds a playground for these pawns to roam around in where they get poisoned, vomited on, attacked, splattered with blood, and put in various stages of peril. He’s almost playing a board game as he uses Linda and Bradley to spell out the rules and boundaries that must be observed while they wait to be rescued. To win will mean they either work together or go against each other.  

Send Help veers in so many different directions that it’s nothing but outlandish fun where you ask what could possibly happen next.  You think you’ve seen this movie a dozen times before, but then it is daring enough to invent its own twists.  With only a cast of two you’re conflicted by who you should root for.  This story is completely expansive in imagination, and daring in execution.

Having recently seen Backrooms, I applauded the idea, but I frowned on a stapled conclusion that settles for the monster chasing the poor victim.  Send Help breaks conventions set up in the first half.  It was such a pleasure to not have everything figured out, where the filmmakers took me on a ride far beyond a merry go round.  The scenario is implausible, but the character instincts and circumstances are marvelously intelligent, compelling and totally surprising.

This might be on my top ten list for 2026. 

MASTERS OF THE UNIVERSE (2026)

By Marc S. Sanders

You should never expect much from a movie about a hero who calls himself He-Man and allies with guys known as Ram Man and Fisto.  If you are demanding too much, it’s not the movie.  It’s you. 

Based on the famous Mattel toy line and after school cartoon of the 1980s, an updated cinematic interpretation of Masters Of The Universe arrives in theaters.  It’s fun, designed for all ages and is proudly self-deprecating and stupid.  I mean all of this as a compliment.  The MacGuffin is the well-known power sword.  Why does the villain, Skeletor, want possession of the weapon and control over all of Eternia?  Teela, the warrior goddess, played by Camila Mendes sums it up perfectly.  “He’s bad!” 

Okay, then!

Director Travis Knight clearly wants to salute all of the action figures and animated episodes that never weighed heavily into drama and concluded with a valuable lesson.  Prince Adam, who is destined to be He-Man, the most powerful man in the universe, is never mired in unbearable anguish like Bruce Wayne or Peter Parker.  This invented fiction has the powerful Sorceress of Castle Greyskull (Morena Baccarin) sending young Adam to Earth after Skeletor and his minions besiege Eternia. He’s played by Jared Leto, who you’d never recognize behind an effective hooded skull head with beady red eyes.

On Earth, Adam (Nicholas Galitzine) is separated from the power sword, and years go by where he is relegated to a dead-end cubicle job.  He hopelessly searches for the item online while reminiscing of where he came from.  Shortly after he finds the sword, a beast of a man attacks him on the city streets and then he’s escorted back to Eternia by Teela.  Once Adam is caught up with everything that’s occurred in his absence, he must find a way to wield his sword so that he can be transformed into the heroic He-Man and rescue Eternia back from the clutches of the vile Skeletor.

Masters Of The Universe never hesitates to poke fun at itself. Skeletor delivers an evil laugh and when no one joins in, he whines about it.  He exacts his frustrations with his underlings but it equates to terminology on a nincompoop level.  Sidekick Evil Lyn (Allison Brie dressed bewitchingly) offers up apologies but she never gets slinky and sly like Michelle Pfeffer would. 

You just gotta laugh at all of this.  Either that or walk out and see the Brendan Frasier WWII film Pressure in the theater next door.  This fantasy is especially designed for its longtime fans and the children they passed their toys and playsets down to.  It is unfair to expect anything more.

Idris Elba is here as mentor Man At Arms.  He’s doing comedy. Elba is not trying very hard because nothing in this script demands impactful dialogue or emotions.  At best, he’s a depressed, hungover drunk who has lost his way.  That’s fine.

Camila Mendes does the best work of the bunch.  She looks primed for a promising career, and I would not be surprised if she earns her own action franchise one day. 

Nicholas Galitzine is likable but he’s not effectively dorky enough with the part.  It could be because he’s not as strong an actor as a Chris Hemsworth or a Channing Tatum.  At the start of their careers, they would have taken this material further.  Galitzine is fine but not as talented or endearing as those other guys.  His physique does not promise a “He-Man” either.  He’s not tall enough. He’s too petite to be the actual He-Man – the MOST POWERFUL MAN IN THE UNIVERSE.  It’s forgivable but it could have been better, stronger, and more imposing.

The designs in makeup, costumes and set pieces are wonderous.  The vehicles make sense for fantasy and look familiar enough for the toy collectors. The names of people like Trap Jaw, Tri-Klops and Moss Man, earned by the appearance of these silly warriors and the aesthetics, all work nicely.  Eternia is not as breathtaking as Thor’s Asgard, but there’s plenty to take in. Castle Greyskull is not as colorful as the memorable toy but it’s a giant of a structure. I would have liked to explore more of it actually. Have the drawbridge come down. Show me the trap door in the floor.  Skeletor’s lair, Snake Mountain, is magnificent and brooding. This might all be CGI, but the designs are magnificent. More features from both well-known settings would have been welcome though. When you see the internals of the Death Star in Star Wars, you see how things operate. The lairs of Eternia needed more of this.

Masters Of The Universe is a fun romp.  The film could have been at least a half hour shorter in run time by offering a little less on Adam finding his self-identity and purpose.  When the adolescence of this movie attempts to get in touch with its feelings, the movie (not the story because there isn’t a story) drifts. Try all you want, but I will not take any of this seriously.  So, abandon all the heaviness.  It does not work.  Some lines have a little sexual innuendo. Forgive it. Remember, there are characters named Ram Man and Fisto!!!! To ignore that would have been a disservice.

Travis Knight keeps the movie engaging when he circles back to the various battles and ships and swords and laser guns and silly Loony Tunes dialogue.  You realize this when dorky Adam raises the sword and declares “BY THE POWER OF GREYSKULL…” Every time that happened, a kid sitting in front of me raised both fists in the air, blocking my view for a second. I did not mind one bit. Masters Of The Universe touched someone.

Go see it.  It’s fun!

ENEMY (2013)

by Miguel E. Rodriguez

DIRECTOR: Denis Villeneuve
CAST: Jake Gyllenhaal, Mélanie Laurent, Isabella Rossellini
MY RATING: 8/10
ROTTEN TOMATOMETER: 72%

PLOT: A humdrum history professor seeks out his exact look-alike after spotting him in a movie.


Enemy is like a Twilight Zone episode written by David Lynch, and directed by Paul Thomas Anderson. The best thing about it: it kept me guessing right up until the hair-raising, goosebump-inducing final image. The worst thing about it: TOO MANY QUESTIONS LEFT UNANSWERED.

A surreal opening sequence involving a high-roller peepshow and a live spider sets the tone for this mysterious mystery full of mysteries. The premise is immediately captivating, at least for me: what would you do if you spotted your double in a film you’re watching? Not just a very close look-alike, your EXACT double, your doppelganger. How would you react? What would you think? Long lost brother? Insane coincidence?

Jake Gyllenhaal plays Adam, the man who is watching a movie and unexpectedly sees himself in a movie he’s rented. He tracks the actor down, calls him up. The actor, Anthony, is skeptical. Adam’s nervousness about the whole endeavor doesn’t help his case any. Anthony eventually wants to meet. What would you SAY to your double? How would you act? It’s all extremely intriguing.

Director Villeneuve paints the screen with images in pallid browns and beiges. City skylines are seen against murky, muddy, cloudless skies. Adam’s entire wardrobe seems to consist of white shirts, brown pants, and a brown sportscoat. Not really a spring man, apparently. There may be a reason for these color choices, there always is, but I’ll be jiggered if I can figure out what it is, aside from the effect it had of making everything feel…sludgy. To what end? No idea.

There are periodic shots or sequences recalling the peepshow from the opening sequence, and I’m not sure what THOSE are supposed to mean. It seems fairly obvious at first that it must have been Anthony, the actor, seen in the crowd at the beginning, even though we don’t know it yet. But, if that’s true, why is ADAM dreaming about it? Another weird touch: Anthony likes blueberries. Adam visits his mother, who tries to give him blueberries; he says he doesn’t like them, but his mother insists he does. A current of fear coils and slithers under the surface of this movie like a snake hiding under a rock, waiting for nightfall.

What’s going on here? Is Adam gaslighting HIMSELF? The movie is VERY cagey for a while, because the “Shyamalan” factor comes into play: what if they’re both the same person? For a while, the film never shows the two men together in the same shot, so the question hangs in the air. Even when we DO see them in the same shot, I found myself thinking: “Well, ‘Fight Club’ had them both in the same shot, and look what happened THERE.”

I won’t reveal the precise nature of what’s going on, because, at this point, I’m still not sure I understand it all myself. I can say that it kept me interested the whole way through, but it didn’t answer questions I really, REALLY wanted answers to. (No, I don’t require that all movies answer every question. The reason I love movies like “Prometheus” and “Under the Skin” is specifically BECAUSE a lot goes unanswered. But this one left me wanting more.)

And then there’s that last, completely out-of-left-field, borderline repellent final shot. What the HELL does it mean? Do these two men share a common psyche, separated only by physical distance? Is it intended ONLY to shock, with no real meaning? It worked on the level of shock, but upon reflection, I still can’t fathom its meaning.

So. If you Netflix this movie, give it a whirl. You’ll be captivated. You’ll be intrigued. It works on that level EXTREMELY well. Just don’t expect everything to be wrapped up in a nice bundle. This movie is designed to be discussed and debated afterwards.

BACKROOMS

By Marc S. Sanders

I just learned that a twenty-year-old kid named Kane Parsons was approached by studio A24 to turn his online experimental videos of quiet, empty stillness into a cinematic feature of bottomless madness.  The movie is Backrooms, the sleeper hit of 2026, and it is reminiscent of the unexpected impact The Blair Witch Project had back in 1999 when young filmmakers were inventive enough to rely on hand held cameras to obscure what an audience will see while also being convincing enough to ensure everyone was aware of an abnormal and haunting situation.  Backrooms works, but not as well as Blair Witch or Paranormal Activity, both of which offered intriguing exposition for the thinkers. 

A dated video tape from June, 1990 introduces an opening sequence that is entirely disorienting within an empty and seemingly endless office space blanketed in yellow wallpaper with the ear-worming hums of fluorescent ceiling lights.  Our guide is a terrified young man with a handheld video camera who is hopelessly lost within this labyrinthine maze of no escape.  There are odd placements of props, signage and furniture. Doors lead from one room to another, but there does not seem to be a final destination in sight.

I accurately predicted the “Juke Joint” of Sinners would eventually make it to Universal’s Halloween Horror Nights.  Well, it’s likely we will soon be invited to roam the terrifying office maze of Backrooms. 

Chiwetel Ejiofor is Clark, the owner/manager of Captain Clark’s Ottoman Empire.  He’s also the infamous pirate mascot who promises “No Credit. No Hassles,” at this furniture store that sells a large inventory of stools, sofas, beds and lazy boy furniture.  The kind of crap you’d find in waiting rooms or model homes.  The stuff looks cheaply crafted and easily affordable, but also easily unwanted.  He also lives in the store following a bitter divorce caused by a violent temper and a drinking problem teetering on excess.  

Clark regularly visits Mary (Renate Reinsve, Oscar nominee for Sentimental Value), a therapist and the author of a collection of cassette tapes to help people compartmentalize their personal problems.  These self-help tapes can be yours if you call the 800 number on your screen now. Operators are standing by!! Mary is dealing with her own personal trauma, which I was not entirely clear on.

Effective horror will usually leave you a little shattered while you reflect on what you just witnessed.  Essentially, horror is dark fantasy with a handful of hanging threads that depend on you tying them together long after you have left the theater.  As our main characters uncover a portal in the downstairs showroom of Clark’s furniture store, Backrooms depends upon how your mind regularly struggles with memories and personal pains. The residual imagery of what used to be right in front of you might appear a little distorted and even a little more the next time you recollect. Do I sound vague? Well, isn’t that what you expect from a horror movie?

Initially, Clark literally walks through a wall into what feels like another dimension – this labyrinth of lemon colored office space.  Nonsensical piles of furniture are discovered. Some objects are partially absorbed into the floors, walls and ceilings.  There’s even a STOP sign standing upright?!?!?!?  It’s funny that Clark mentions earlier how he wanted to be an architect and yet this strange dimensional world makes little sense from a geometric perspective.  Walls move uphill.  There are tiny doors.  Tunnels are discovered.  Sloping floors into darkness spark curiosity.  There are also narrow hallways.  A swimming pool? A musical cardboard cutout? To mess with our auditory system, random noises or nonsensical music chimes in at times. Dirty laundry is found with a repugnant smell. Amidst that pile of clothes might even be a familiar t-shirt.

Why?

A lot of what is seen is never explained and that’s okay.  This film is comprised partly of shaky, crackling handheld camera material, and standard shooting to aid with exposition and character development. I had recollections of story beats from the TV show Lost and films like The Shining, The Cell and of course The Blair Witch Project and Paranormal Activity.  Even a moment from Willy Wonka And The Chocolate Factory came to mind.  (“Oh, you can’t go back.  You have to go forward to go back.”) 

I have never played Minecraft. What little I know makes me consider if this young director, now the youngest to ever have a film earn over $100 million at the box office, branched his storytelling ideas off of what he might have constructed in Minecraft, or some similar kind of software.

I went into Backrooms knowing nothing about the film.  I had not seen a trailer, commercial or read anything about it.  I knew only to expect some disturbing suspense.  The film starts out that way, and while I was as curious as Clark and Mary to cover more ground within this devoid maze, I started to become too relaxed with the picture.  I guess because there was not enough to uncover.  As plain as Kane Parsons’ bright environment of nothingness intends to be, I think it quickly exhausts itself of invention. 

The last third of the film starts to offer more than a series of blank walls.  Tangible evidence of what strings are being pulled present themselves. Unfortunately, Backrooms bottoms out into a tired “monster pursuing the victim” narrative.  I’ve seen too much of that, and while I won’t spoil the creature of this feature, the imagery looks like something yanked a show airing on the Cartoon Network at three in the morning.

Kane Parsons’ best work presents itself when he’s demonstrating the possibilities for why this discovered dimension offers obscurities.  His film begins to shred apart though when he needs to tell his story and table the showmanship.  

Backrooms will be a much better and more effective movie when I reluctantly walk through it at Halloween Horror Nights.

TO DIE FOR

By Marc S. Sanders

Gus Van Sant’s To Die For has to be one of the most wickedly delicious satires of the last thirty years.  Buck Henry adapts Joyce Maynard’s novel that takes a bite out of the juicy apple that savors fame and popularity.  Nicole Kidman delivers my favorite performance of her extensive career with one of the few comedies on her resume.  The film stands the test of time because in an age of social media influence and YouTube stardom, it perfectly reflects the vanity that our modern cultures strive to uphold.  It’s a proud demonstration of exaggerated egotism.

Kidman portrays Suzanne Stone, a peach of a preppy gal who costumes herself in candy colored business suits and wardrobes.  Suzanne aspires to become the next Jane Pauley, minus the flab or Connie Pauvich – sorry Chung, Connie Chung.  Therefore, she’ll stick with Suzanne Stone and not her married name Suzanne Maretto, adopted following her nuptials to her sweetheart of a guy, Larry (Matt Dillon). Maretto does not have the roll of the tongue stage name that the alliterative SS of Susan Stone provides. Larry is a sweet and naive guy who helps run his Italian family’s restaurant with mom and dad (Dan Hedaya, Maria Tucci) and sister, Janice (Illeana Douglas, always an amazing character actress, normally in smaller roles than what she offers here.)

Suzanne’s rise to the top has to start somewhere in the small hometown of Little Hope, New Hampshire.  So, it’s best to seek out an opportunity at the local public access TV station run by Ed Grant (Wayne Knight) delivering magnificent facial expressions of puzzlement and uncertainty in response to Suzanne’s onslaught of ideas and suggestions.  Eventually, Ed surrenders to Suzanne and gives her a short section at 9:00 PM to deliver the weather report complete with cardboard cutouts of the sun, and clouds.  Her mom, dad and sister (Holland Taylor, Kurtwood Smith, Susan Traylor) are gleefully proud to watch from the comfort of their home.  So are Larry and his folks.  Janice is suspicious and concerned, though. 

When Suzanne recruits three burnout high school students, Jimmy, Lydia and Russel, (Joaquin Phoenix, Allison Foland, Casey Affleck) for a documentary project, things may become murderous as a means to fuel the engine of ambition.

Buck Henry’s script outline works partially as a documentary.  Between staged scenes among all of the characters, the perfectly coifed Suzanne is speaking directly towards the camera eager to share everything that’s wonderful about her.  She does offer a moment to shed a tear for her dearly departed Larry though, but the chin quickly pops back up and the white teeth shine between the pinky lip gloss. 

Caught while casually ice skating at the Little Hope rink, Janice reflects on Suzanne’s short marriage to her brother.  Jimmy is dressed in a prison jumpsuit, with a mop in hand and a buzzcut while offering a perplexed recollection of his time with her.  Poor white trash Lydia reminisces about her fondness for Suzanne.  This “starlet” of the public access airwaves with a perfect figure, and a glistening smile with a saccharine sweet inflection in her voice had an impact on all of these people.  Both sides of the family go on a daytime talk show to share their points of view.  Suzanne’s dad was especially concerned about his little girl marrying Larry because his family feels like an extension of the mafia.  By the way, dad opposite dad, Kurtwood Smith vs Dan Hedaya, is casting brilliance.

Shortly after Suzanne begins speaking directly to me, I cannot help but think about Erica Kirk, Charlie Kirk’s widow, who bravely headlined speaking engagements in front of tens of thousands of people, dressed in the finest glittered outfits with the perfect shades of blush, mascara and lipstick and every strand of hair perfectly in place.  She has notoriously been questioned if her grief for her assassinated husband is genuine.  Regardless of where your politics stand or how you regarded Charlie Kirk, there’s no denying the false advertising of Erica’s anguish amidst the pompous display of fireworks and showmanship in the aftermath of her husband’s violent death.  Suzanne Stone is unquestionably the precursor to, former fashion model, now mother of three, Erica Kirk’s campaign to stay relevant.  It’s uncanny, and Joyce Maynard’s character invention is a very frank reflection of people’s yearning to be known above all the rest. 

With news cameras present at Larry’s gravesite funeral and then on the steps of the courthouse, there is Suzanne ready to speak directly to the camera, adorned in her Easter pastel colored best, ready to declare her innocence and sorrow after she’s considered suspect number one in Larry’s unexpected murder.  How the crime is carried out is salacious beyond just another burglarized home shooting.  For Suzanne, however, it’s perfect fodder for showmanship.  Suzanne is much more interesting as a murder suspect than a cutesy weather girl in a mini skirt and high heels.

Gus Van Sant recruited composer Danny Elfman to score the film and while his easily recognizable notes and chorus harmonies sound like they have been pulled from his other works in Beetlejuice and Edward Scissorhands, it works as the most appropriate accompaniment over the opening credits that play over a series of front-page newspaper articles.  Much of the exposition is covered by quickly glancing over these headlines that imply something sinister has occurred with this “pure as the driven snow” young girl and her newlywed husband whose worst mistake was to fall head over heels in love at first site.

Buck Henry echoes some themes of a May/December seduction that sent The Graduate into the pop culture stratosphere to amplify the shocking drama of crime in a small town.  The aftereffects are altogether different in To Die For, though.  Beyond Suzanne’s immediate family, most adults can see right through her act.  On the other hand, Larry, along with the three high school students, are susceptible to her conniving web.  Suzanne knows just how to pull at the heartstrings. 

In a YouTube world, Suzanne Stone would be at the very top of the food chain.  No one would be able match her.  Nicole Kidman is masterful at her timing.  She’s hypnotizing with her assertiveness and confidence.  She may not have a journalism major, but Suzanne Stone believes she has the skills and assets to dethrone the Barbara Walters of the world. 

Like Paddy Chayefsky’s Network appears uncannily prophetic, To Die For equally has achieved that plateau.  I recently watched a Netflix documentary called The Crash that focuses on a social media addict who was found guilty for killing her boyfriend and a friend after crashing her car into a brick wall.  It was not challenging to determine that the act was certainly intentional and the egotistical young girl was sentenced to fifteen years to life in prison.  Now, the debate rages about how much is this convicted murderer entitled to for the newfound fame and attraction this documentary has generated to her advantage while unforgivingly resurfacing unwanted heartache for the victims’ families.  The girl is interviewed in prison with makeup on and a false and overly dramatic sense of “regret” and “grief.”  It’s no surprise that she is reportedly the “It Girl” in the prison where she is serving time.  With a societal zest for reality television and true life crime stories, even stemming back to the OJ Simpson bruhaha, so many people shamelessly carry the Suzanne Stone gene.

Other stories came to mind while watching To Die For, including the musical Chicago which follows a very similar trajectory – fame might be the one factor that could exonerate you for murder.  Heathers explored the need for popularity, attention, and public sympathy by only just attempting suicide. Faye Dunaway’s character in Network (still the best satire, in my opinion) pounces on a man’s mental ailment to generate viewership and ratings climbs for programming success.  Notoriety can be a terrible sin. Yet, notoriety offers a wealth of advantages.

To Die For is shocking, hilarious, and much more relatable than it ever was when released in 1995.  It’s a comedy of ridiculous truths that will leave you thinking. Wisely, Gus Van Sant runs the closing credits of the film over an ice-skating routine performed by Illeana Douglas which is likely one of the most inspiring closing scenes you could ever find in a movie.  As insightful as Joyce Maynard might have been with her published novel, there’s no way her final pages could equate to how karmic Van Sant and Henry opted close out their film. Larry’s sister, Janice finally gets her moment in the spotlight for all the world to see.

MOONLIGHT

By Marc S. Sanders

Within one of the most crime ridden and destitute neighborhoods of Miami, Florida a black youth named Chiron does his best to survive bullies while evading the drug fueled temper of his mother, Paula.  Barry Jenkins shot his Best Picture Oscar winner in twenty-five days.  The film’s pace is sluggish, but the sum of its three acts is very effective.

Chiron is portrayed by three actors, each depicted on the marquee poster for the film as a combined amalgamation of one face – truly one of the best ever designed still photo ads for a film in recent memory.  You have to take a beat to study the crafted image before you realize it is three different generations staring back at you.

As a pre-teen, the character is identified as “Little” played with calm astuteness by Alex R. Hibbert.  This boy is defined more by his blue backpack, neat haircut and conservative clothes than any of the few words he has to say.  The environment he roams on an everyday basis identifies him more accurately.  Little is always running and hiding from bullies while also being teased.  He doesn’t seek support, but a drug dealer named Juan (Mahershala Ali, in his first of two Oscar winning performances) welcomes Little into the home he shares with Teresa (Janelle Monáe, truly the most underrated member of this cast).  

There’s only a minimal amount of information to learn about the central character and what’s most important is during one of few moments he speaks.  Shortly after Little participates in a silly group comparison of young boys who reveal their privates, he asks Juan and Teresa what does the word faggot mean?  I won’t share the response, but I certainly approve of Juan’s simplistic description. There little dimension to such an ugly word.

Sadly, life is rightfully confusing for Little.  Paula worries about her son only when she returns from an overnight stupor when he hasn’t come home because Teresa prepared a supper and bed for him to stay overnight.  

A terrible irony is that there is a small degree of common separation between Juan and Paula.  I’d argue Little never experiences disappointment with his mother because how she carries herself is never unchanged.  Rather, it is regretful to learn what is realized about Juan – his mentor, who has fed him, taught him to swim and assured him that any confusion he might have with personal identity is nothing to be ashamed about.    It’s hard to trust someone who seemingly offers affection when an ugly accuracy accompanies the image.

In his teens, Little goes by Chiron (Ashton Sanders, who delivers the most heartbreaking performance of the three actors in the role).  The backpack is now grey, not blue, and school and life at home are twice as harsh.  Paula is completely undone with addiction that torments her son for whatever scrapes of money he has in his pockets.  From the beginning Naomie Harris plays Paula, which is an entirely unidentifiable character from her Moneypenny iteration in the James Bond films.  She’s erratic and physically bathed in sweat as she yearns for a fix. Apparently, Harris shot all of her scenes in just three days during a tight promotion schedule for SPECTRE. Her work is astonishing.  

One less positive influence is absent from his teenage life which is never explained.  Likely, Jenkins wants to demonstrate how quickly people are expelled from a survival of the fittest contest located in the run-down projects of broken homes and crime.  What Chiron experiences in just the two short days of this middle section is tender and trusting one moment, but unforgiving following the next sunrise.  

Chiron’s sexuality becomes more tangible with Kevin, his childhood best friend (Jharell Jerome).  Loyalty is tested later on followed by Chiron’s level of tolerance to be a victim.  I’d argue that violence usually stems from purpose.  It’s fortunate that Barry Jenkins offers enough of a back story before we see a brutal attack occur to close out this chapter.  Jhraell Jerome demonstrates a breaking point for a boy who’s not yet a man.  His silence is consistent with that of Alex Hibbert’s portrayal.  However, tears, hand holding, a quiet, homeless night on the beach, and eventually rage say more than enough.

The final act is when Chiron goes by the name of Black in his early twenties.  He’s portrayed by Trevante Rhodes.  His behavior is mostly consistent with the other two interpretations.  Still, by no fault of the actors, I find this portion to be significantly weaker than the other two. Black reunites with Kevin, following both men serving time.  Kevin is now played by André Holland.  He manages a diner near Atlanta.  

I do not believe Black (or Chiron) makes peace with his past demons.  I do not believe Barry Jenkins ever aimed for a resolve.  He’s staying physically fit while being independent and adopting a similar appearance to Juan.  I was not clear on it, but I believe he follows Juan’s unfortunate career path as well. Is that good, or worse than ever?  As well, an encounter with Kevin before the film comes to a close could leave you feeling unsure about Chiron’s future.  Yet, there is no promise of a future in this world.  

Rhodes and Holland are fine actors. I simply found their conversations to be stale and uninteresting. Holland owns the most dialogue and unfortunately Trevante Rhodes upholds Chiron’s minimal expression. That grows tired by this point. He’s a damaged individual, but to offer this small slice of his early adulthood should have had more to say than just a slow-moving conversation in a diner booth. Still, one of Chiron’s last lines of dialogue says so much. It just takes a little too long to get there.

Moonlight is a complex watch, broken up into three short one act plays focusing on one person’s torrent youth.  The world he’s beholden to is always challenging and devoid of relief.  It’s not easy to watch a child endure these conditions where your positive influence is a criminal and your best friend must use you as an expense for his own survival, regardless of any affection he can offer.  

The cast is exceptional.  However, as impactful as Marhersha Ali is during his twenty minutes of screen time, I never felt like he provided enough for the widespread acclaim that followed this film’s release.  I think the script shortchanges his character. His role is quite significant to the central character, but his presence feels insufficient.  

The supporting work of Janelle Monáe and Naomie Harris are the standouts.  I actually wish their maternal roles were further explored.  Both women are short on tolerance for pity. Neither will weep for Chiron’s anguish. One operates with an affectionate purpose and the other is wired for impatience and abuse.  

Moonlight certainly belongs to the three men who play Little, Chiron and Black.  Barry Jenkins would not allow the actors to meet in person on set.  He wanted the performance of the respective episodes of this boy’s life to play without any outer influence beyond the script and his personal direction.  Wise move.  Nothing is mimicked.  Yet, the responses and behaviors of Chiron add up sensibly as the young man experiences a rough adolescence. Chiron gets chased, pushed, punched and verbally abused.  However, when he finally fights back, it’s not in a similar kind of method with fists and name calling.  Chiron goes a step further.

Moonlight is a very special film that explores how a boy can ever be expected to survive when the nature to be a criminal appears to be his only destiny and his sexual orientation is unaccepted.  The odds of just feeling content are not favorable for some that reside under a moonlight amidst isolation or with limited companionship.  By the time the film concludes perhaps it’s at least positive that a quiet, young man from the projects can offer up a sad truth about himself beyond what shows on the surface.

THE MANDALORIAN AND 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.