Category: Marc’s Reviews

YOUNG GUNS

By Marc S. Sanders

In the late 1980s a novel idea hit the screens.  An MTV interpretation of the Old West with a rock anthem soundtrack of electric guitars and drums. A far separation from Ennio Morricone’s unbeatable spaghetti western approach.  

The film was Young Guns, featuring handsome stars like Emilio Estevez, Kiefer Sutherland, and Lou Diamond Phillips.  They were each different kind of gunslingers in their own right while delivering stand out personalities.  The film has some problems in editing, and some sequences do not work.  Yet, it remains stylish with impressive set designs, props, costume wear, and an especially appealing array of performances from the whole cast.  

Billy The Kid aka William H Bonney is one of the most notorious outlaws in American history.  Emilio Estevez brilliantly turns the gunslinger into a quick draw joker with an addictive cackle and an adorable smile.  William is taken in by the mentoring John Tunstall (Terence Stamp) who already oversees a collection of orphaned young men.  He’s teaching them to bear responsibility on his farm while they learn proper manners at the dinner table and how to read.

A neighboring industrial enemy, L.G. Murphy (Jack Palance) commissions his men to gun down Tunstall.  Billy and the rest of the gang are then deputized by the local Sheriff to issue warrants for the arrest of the killers.  However, Billy repeatedly exercises his own form of justice by killing one guy after another with his pair of six shooters.  Soon after, the boys are on the run by horseback while creating a whole bunch of mayhem.

I never considered Young Guns to be a perfect film, but I like it a whole heck of a lot.

There are moments that serve no purpose, like when the men get high on peyote, introduced by the Navajo, Chavez Y Chavez (Lou Diamond Phillips).  It’s not amusing.  It’s not quotable and the scene runs too long as we watch the cast walk and talk while in daze.  Frankly, most movie scenes of just watching people get high are boring.  Often, they go nowhere and I’m not sure how to respond. It’s like I’m the designated driver fiddling with my car keys at a drunken binge fest. This is no different.

As well, there seem to be gaps within the body of the story. I know it is inspired by the Lincoln County War, but it’s never entirely clear why Tunstall and Murphy are at odds with each other.  We just have to accept that the two elderly men of equal proportions are against one another.  Still, Palance versus Stamp is a very inviting conflict to look at. (Supposedly, the real John Tunstall was only in his mid-20s.)

Young Guns has a very cool polish.  These cowboys are downright attractive, sexy like Hollywood movies tend to offer, and I love how they handle each other, their horses and their pistols.  Every time a six shooter whips out of a holster and clicks, the movie becomes more alive.  The guys look well-worn within this environment, close to the Mexican border of the 1870s.  The image is just as effective as Clint Eastwood appears in his various assortment of westerns.  

Billy The Kid, over this film and its sequel, is Emilio Estevez’ best role of his career.  The actor has such a cocky, nervy way about him and his over-the-top laugh is impossible to forget.  A favorite scene in all of movies emerges when Billy toys with a bounty hunter in a saloon.  Estevez delivers much fun before gunning the guy down. I never tire of watching that moment.

Kiefer Sutherland is second in line with a graceful sensitivity as the educated and poetically romantic Doc Scurlock.  You worry about him and his courting affair with a young Chinese concubine that is owned by Murphy.  Lou Diamond Phillips specializes in knife throwing as Chavez, the token Navajo.  His presence belongs here as an unpredictable sidekick.  

The best surprise is delivered by Casey Siemaszko as the virginal, boyish illiterate Charlie.  Some gunslingers were afraid to ever become outlaws.  Charlie is ugly and dirty, bumbling and sweet, reminiscent of Fredo in The Godfather films.  Siemaszko never became as established as the others in the cast, but he’s a good performer who delivers panicked fear and brings the glamour of Young Guns down to a semblance of reality.  

Young Guns is a style over substance product.  It has potential for a stronger storyline, but the dialogue works and the cast is stellar, which also includes Dermot Mulroney, Terry O’Quinn and Charlie Sheen.  The sequel is actually better as it commits closer to the intrigue of Billy The Kid.  

Not perfect, but this is a fun escapist western experience.

RAMBO: FIRST BLOOD PART II

By Marc S. Sanders

David Morrell’s literary character Rambo (no first name in the book, First Blood) cinematically survived his first post Vietnam adventure to spill buckets of bloodshed for many more follow ups.  Sylvester Stallone hit box office gold when he signed up for Rambo: First Blood Part II.  The Vietnam War was long over leaving an endless supply of storyline threads for Hollywood.  Who better to go back there with a ripped upper torso, a bow and arrow, a bayonet knife that won’t carve your steak but will hack up the cow, and a lot of firepower?

Green Beret John Rambo is specially recruited by his former C.O., Colonel Trautman (Richard Crenna) for a solo mission into a Viet Cong camp where American POWs might be held captive.  He’s got thirty-six hours to get in and out.  There’s a catch though.  A mercenary led operative named Murdock (Charles Napier), who hides behind a desk, a white collar and necktie specifically instructs Rambo to only survey the area and take photographs.  Under no circumstances is he to engage the enemy or escort any prisoners back to his rendezvous point.  Thing is that Rambo is not much of a photographer.  

James Cameron is credited as one of the screenwriters and apparently Stallone modified the script from there.  This bloody sequel is entertaining but I always found it a little mundane despite all the action.  

Just as the movie is about to grow a brain and intelligently debate with itself about how so many American soldiers were disregarded following the war, it stops talking and only resorts to one action set up after another.  Crenna and Napier potentially engage in a worthy debate focusing on government mistrust and moral servitude before the moment is cut short.  Trautman is the easily assumed ally of Rambo.  Murdock is the antagonist, but truly I have to ask why.  What is the motivation not to side with Rambo’s efforts to literally rescue half a dozen abandoned soldiers?  First Blood Part II cuts the argument short and never returns to settle the discord. 

There is perhaps only 5 or 6 lines in the last forty-five minutes of the picture.  There’s a melodramatic closing monologue from Stallone’s morose character.  Otherwise, this movie would prefer not to think.  Sadly, there is a lot to consider here, but the explosives and machine-gunning filibuster, insisting on holding the floor.

The action is categorized in a series of episodes.  A five minute section offers a variety of ways Rambo covertly takes out Russian military soldiers who are maintaining a stronghold with the Viet Cong.  It’s clever how one guy is taken by surprise when a mud caked Rambo guts him with his knife.  For another stooge, he’s literally sucked away into the mouth of a cavern.  You don’t even see Rambo.  How does the hero get around with enough time to set up these sophisticated traps?  This is all cool to look at but I would have liked to have learned more about how the Russian General (Steven Berkoff) formed an alliance with the Vietnamese.

Later, Rambo uses his endless supply of arrows to blow away acres and acres of marsh and tall grass.  I buy one man army tropes in movies.  Yet, I still question how a guy on two feet can set ablaze the equivalent of five football fields worth of territory.  How does he always manage to get in range? 

A war copter hovers over a river.  The henchman riddles the surface with bullets, and Rambo LEAPS from the depths INTO the chopper.  I mean he flies up like Superman.  Another moment has him submerged and then he pops out of the water with perfect aim to mow down a mob of men.  How did he know where to shoot?

I guess all of this is entertaining.  I just don’t relish it like I’m expected to because I’m asking too many “how does he…” questions.  My suspension of disbelief doesn’t have a high level of tolerance for what Rambo is apparently capable of.  David Morrell’s character was somehow blessed with superpowers, practically!  

With Rambo serving our country, how in the hell did we ever lose the Vietnam War? Seems damn near impossible.

First Blood embraced a common problem with veterans who were disregarded by the institutions they swore to defend and serve.  It’s a terrible blemish on our country’s patriotism.  An awareness was offered in that film amid all of the believably capable action scenes.  Part II clearly shows a lack of concern.  POWs get rescued but they are not even given an opportunity to reflect and speak.  Their bearded and malnourished figures speak for them in close ups.  I didn’t think enough was delivered for any semblance of a message that was asking to be heard.  Instead, we get a Stallone showing off a bronze, ripped chest, red bandana and a slew sophisticated weaponry. Rambo looks sexy here, and that does not sit right with me.

I can rewatch Rambo: First Blood Part II.  I just can’t feel for any of it.  I think I was entitled though.  Moreover, those that served in this awful conflict are deserving of a product that would better honor their sacrifices.

BEFORE THE DEVIL KNOWS YOU’RE DEAD

By Marc S. Sanders

When it comes to crime – New York crime – few directors come as close as Sidney Lumet to make an audience feel the authenticity of its trappings.  Maybe only Martin Scorsese can stand next to Lumet.  Either with crime on the streets (Dog Day Afternoon, Serpico) or within the courtrooms (Find Me Guilty, 12 Angry Men), or both (Night Falls On Manhattan), Sidney Lumet hones directly upon how the plans should operate and when everything should unfold or derail.  

With the last picture before his death, Before The Devil Knows You’re Dead zeroes in on crime within an educated Irish family nucleus.  Andrew (Phillip Seymour Hoffman) has it laid out perfectly for his younger brother Hank (Ethan Hawke) to commit the perfect robbery. No one will get hurt and the insurance company will cover any loss.  The approximate take is around six hundred thousand. These guys carry their own desperate reasons for even considering such an idea, but Andy knows nothing can go wrong.  Hank has some trepidation though, because the target is mom and dad’s jewelry store.

Kelly Masterson’s script shows how quickly everything comes undone with bloodshed and unaccounted for details that could lead straight back to the two brothers.  It’s all told through three different perspectives – Andy, Hank and their father Charles played by Albert Finney.  Often, Lumet will return to the very same scene you saw moments earlier to show two sides of a phone call or in what direction one character goes versus that of another following a particular action that has occurred.  The timeline even jumps back in time a few days to show the direct perspective of any of these three particular characters ahead of showpiece scene – the robbery. Charles was retaking his driver’s license test. Elsewhere, Hank was struggling to pay spousal and child support with an angry ex-wife (Amy Ryan). Andrew was scheming and committing other clandestine acts both at work and in his free time.

However, Masterson’s script weaves all of these side details into how much more complicated this botched robbery becomes in the aftermath. All of what they commit following the robbery compounds into potentially making it worse for everyone involved.

Some of the breadcrumbs don’t carry enough water at times though. You might have to tolerate the characters being more intuitive than they likely should be.  Andrew leaves a business card with a side character.  When the film circles back to this item, it seems a little too easy for someone else to get wise about what has transpired.  I just chose to go with it.

Marisa Tomei is also part of the cast, caught in a love triangle as Andy’s wife and Hank’s mistress.  Tomei is really good, lending some authenticity with unscrupulous nudity in scenes with both Hoffman and Hawke.  This storyline serves as character exposition and only briefly scrapes against the crime drama at play.  It could have been excised from the film, but because the dialogue and scenario is written and performed so well, it effectively held my attention.

Albert Finney is magnificent as the patriarch owner of the store.  Simply his devastated, echoey breathing and the way he fumbles to put his eyeglasses on to learn more about what has occurred is absolutely genuine.  A late middle-aged man discovering horrible truths.  Finney plays it beautifully.  That being said, I wish the film offered more backstory to his character.  There are few hints suggesting how he regarded Andy as the first born who needed be thrown to the wolves and learn to fend for himself.  Contrarily, Hank is the younger and more disappointing son.  Yet, the script is short on material that further explores the relationship between the father and his sons.  I felt the film demanded more because Charles is quite significant to the conclusion of the story, which carries an unexpectedly abrupt ending.  

The acting and assembly of time and perspective are so finely tuned by the whole cast under Lumet’s direction.  Still, Before The Devil Knows You’re Dead needed another twenty to thirty minutes of storytelling.  One character runs out of frame with an unfinished storyline.  Another, seems too hasty in making a final decision with an easy convenience.

Don’t get me wrong.  I strongly recommend this last effort from Sidney Lumet.  It’s a unique crime yarn with an especially conniving Phillip Seymour Hoffman doing some of his best work.  The set up had me riveted and I couldn’t wait to see how all these terrible scenarios were going to fix themselves or make things horribly worse.

A SIMPLE PLAN

By Marc S. Sanders

“Three can keep a secret if two are dead.”  – Benjamin Franklin, pictured on the one-hundred-dollar bill

A murder of crows is made especially prominent at the beginning of this dark, wintry fable from director Sam Raimi and writer Scott B Smith, based off of his novel, A Simple Plan.  

On the afternoon of New Year’s Eve Day, Hank, his brother Jacob and Leon get swerved off a slippery Minnesota road while riding in a beat-up pickup truck. They come upon a crashed airplane buried under a blanket of snow in the woods.  Besides the pecking crows feasting on the corpse of a dead pilot, they uncover a duffle bag with over four million dollars; tons of bales of strapped hundred-dollar bills.  What should they do? Report the discovery to the police or secretly keep it to divide among themselves?

Hank (Bill Paxton) is the educated sensible member of the trio.  Jacob (Billy Bob Thornton) is his dim-witted brother.  Leon (Brent Briscoe) is Jacob’s loudmouth drinking buddy.  After much debate, the men agree that Hank will hold on to the money until springtime.  By then, if no one is looking for the loot, then it surely can be shared among them.  

Easier said than done.

This is one of Bill Paxton’s best roles, not only because he’s a fine actor, but his character is constructed beautifully with one internal conflict after another.  He carries an appearance of a doting husband to his pregnant wife Sarah (Bridget Fonda, who I wish never retired from acting) and he’s well-liked by the folks of this town.  He’s also a protective brother to Jacob.   However, money changes people and hypocrisy and plotting turn this good man corrupt.

Billy Bob Thornton is brilliant in an Oscar nominated role. It’s not easy to portray the sweet dumb guy when your career has demonstrated how insightful you are as a winning screenwriter and actor (Sling Blade).  Jacob looks “lived in” within this sleepy town with a pair of broken eyeglasses, an old parka and boots.  He’s the troublemaker and the sheriff knows this schlub can’t take care of himself.  As Hank changes one way over the course of the film, Jacob literally transitions in a completely opposite direction of character.  Both approach their tests of ethics and morality differently, and it’s fair to say that a gift of simple logic and sensibility can be more of a curse rather than a blessing.

Bridget Fonda operates like a conniving Lady MacBeth as Hank’s wife Sarah.  She’s adorable and sweet as the happy couple await the delivery of their first child any day now.  What good fortune to come upon this money to help with living a lifetime of comfort and joy.  Sarah knows this is all going to work out, but what’s important is that Hank covers his tracks while also being especially cautious of Leon and Jacob’s reputation for carelessness.  Sarah has an answer for everything and a proactive approach to handle this surprise windfall.

Yet, the luck of one man is the demise of another, and another and maybe even another.  

A Simple Plan is anything but.  Too many people know what is discovered.  Even the inconvenience of snow-covered plains work against any kind of airtight solution.  Snow leaves tracks.  What if someone lets a simple, but curious, word slip?  What if someone wants his share sooner than agreed upon?  What if someone is in the wrong place at the wrong time? 

Scott B Smith changes the tune of his script over and over.  First, it questions the morality of man.  Later, it traverses into crime and cover up.  After that, A Simple Plan hinges upon survival while questioning a series of costs.

Because most of the characters in this small Minnesota town are blue collar and not formally educated, you might believe they lack the intuition to properly guard themselves or the ones they hold dear.  On the surface, this is a friendly community, and everyone bears a facade of innocence with Happy New Year greetings. Actually, desperation only enhances the thinking abilities of these people to do the most twisted of acts to protect what they consider their rightful, personal entitlement.  

Each act of extreme behavior seems justified in the eyes of Hank, Jacob, Sarah and Leon. I mean this is four million dollars we are talking about here.  Try to see it their way, and you’ll know what I mean.

WAKE UP DEAD MAN

By Marc S. Sanders

Benoit Blanc is back with a new mystery to solve in Wake Up Dead Man.  With three films, all directed by Rian Johnson (Knives Out, Glass Onion), Daniel Craig’s eccentric detective now belongs in the ranks of Sherlock Holmes and Hercule Poirot.  He’s a pleasure to watch with a smirk on your face.  Ironically, he doesn’t make his entrance until at least a third of the picture is complete.

Josh O’Connor is Father Jud Duplenticy who first reveals a wide berth of exposition ahead of the murder mystery that awaits us.  He’s a catholic priest who works hard to contain his temper that might resort to raising his fists.  He’s been assigned as the assistant minister to a church in a small New England town where everyone knows one another, especially repulsive Monsignor Jefferson Wicks (Josh Brolin).

Whodunit mysteries should never be spoiled.  I certainly wouldn’t imply how this film wraps up.  I also do not want to reveal who the victim(s) is/are.  I urge you to see Wake Up The Dead Man because this puzzler of a story is as gleeful as the title itself.

Like the Agatha Christie film adaptations from the 1970s, Rian Johnson does his best to provide a lineup of suspects with celebrity familiarity including Brolin, O’Connor, Mila Kunis, Kerry Washington, Thomas Hayden Church, Cailee Spaeny, Jeremy Renner and a standout performance from Glenn Close who steals much of the film away from the rest of the cast.  After seven nominations spanning over forty years, give her the Oscar already.  She’s eerie and needling, spooky and fun.  As Detective Blanc continues his investigation, a character tells him this all seems like something straight out of Scooby Doo.  Glenn Close, donned in black with an elderly bleached facade certainly feels like she’d come in contact with the animated pup and those meddling kids.

Rian Johnson writes with that classic narrative that Agatha Christie or Arthur Conan Doyle adopted, only it’s modernized.  The director of The Last Jedi even throws in a Star Wars reference and the joke soars.  The writer/director crafted this script as an invitation for hair raising merriment with his design.  If you can’t be a part of a mystery dinner theater party, he ensures that you can participate in this one.

An old church, priests who curse, habitually pleasure themselves and confess to an abundance of sins, a gothic tomb, a dark basement with a repulsive bathtub, a bar with a photograph of clues, startling entrances, unconventional dialogue and a quizzical murder weapon function like page turning literature.  Even better is to understand how impossible the first murder can be under the limitations of a locked door mystery.  How can someone be killed right in front of our eyes when no one else is in room?  The answers await and thankfully the revelations are not far-fetched.

Wake Up Dead Man is a fun time at the movies.  It’s coming to Netflix on December 12, 2025.  Nevertheless, I encourage you to go your local cinema.  The crowd we saw it with was responding consistently with us, and that only enhances the experience.

TAPAWINGO

By Marc S. Sanders

It’s amusing to say that Jon Heder (Napolean Dynamite) becomes a bodyguard in Tapawingo.  He plays a weirdo who headlines a cast of familiar faces, who also portray weirdos.  Yet, come what may, he is in fact a bodyguard named Nate Skoog (a weirdo with a weirdo’s name) who lives with his mom (Amanda Bearse) and her boyfriend (John Ratzenberger).  By day, he works in the mailroom for Amalgamated Insurance.  Nate has not hit the ranks of earning a shirt that bears the company name.  His boss gives him hope though as he assigns Nate the lofty responsibility of picking up his nerdy son, Oswalt (Sawyer Williams), from school.  Nate uses his dune buggy to handle the task.

The city of Tapawingo is notorious for its family of bullies known as the Tarwaters.  Nate is given a warning.  He’s to stop giving Oswalt rides to his tutoring sessions for their sister Gretchen (Kim Matula).  Let me be clear.  Young teen Oswalt tutors Gretchen, a twenty-something tough chick, dressed in black who moves with an attitude and a strut.  When Nate witnesses two Tarwater heavies beating up on Oswalt, he runs into action with his own technique of martial arts. Suddenly, he becomes protective of the kid.  It doesn’t help that Nate’s dune buggy runs over Gretchen’s Doberman.  Well, the Tarwaters move up the food chain and bring in their bruiser brother Stoney (Billy Zane) to make sure their policy stays in line.

Tapawingo is proudly oddball, strange, stupid, silly, slapsticky and really, really, out there.  Following the surprise response of the cult hit Napolean Dynamite Jon Heder moved into more mainstream fair and became a marquee name of sorts.  It’s fortunate he returns to his roots.  He’s on a very short list of comedians who could pull off this material.  Tapawingo is funny.  Very funny at times.  The blessing is that it does not overstay its welcome because of the stupidity of it all; how the actors portray the characters, how writer/director Dylan K Narang shoots his setups and close ups and how the absurdity of the script never stops to think.  Comedy like this only has so much fuel to drive a certain distance.  This gonzo kind of writing that lacks any kind of insight or symbolism operates like another kind of Abbott & Costello routine.  Eventually, you’ll want to move on.  In the moment, it’s a lot of fun though.

Jon Heder invents his own kind of character brand with a stoned kind of look on his face.  Nate Skoog doesn’t so much move.  Rather, the world around this nincompoop circulates around him.  With his buddy Will Luna (Jay Pichardo, playing a different flavor of weird with a Rambo wardrobe on his bearded scrawny physique) these dorks spend their time answering ads to serve as hired mercenaries.  They are marksmen at launching firework sparklers from a distance. Believe me when I say though that Nate and Will are the poster boys for gun prevention.  Maybe even butter knife prevention if there is such a thing.  Otherwise, they are playing bingo at the rec center or maybe wrestling by way of whatever they think wrestling should be.  A pair of overweight, goateed twins (George and Paul Psarras) demonstrate what the contact sport should look like in the foreground. 

Even Gina Gershon invests herself by hiding her signature glamour.  Caked in colorful makeup with a hairsprayed zig zag formation of dirty blond locks, I did not even recognize the actress who made big splashes in movies like Bound, Face/Off and Showgirls.  Her character’s name is Dot and I’d love to know if she took inspiration from Pee Wee Herman’s girlfriend, Dottie, in Pee Wee’s Big Adventure.  Dot resides in the background of Nate’s meandering life.  She’s seductive…I guess.  It’s another oddball within Nate’s world where stimuli is not so much a priority.  Nevertheless, Gershon is hysterical in a clownish, buffoon like role.

Billy Zane is the villain of this silly picture.  Bald, clean shaven, husky and dressed in black, I don’t think the guy has more than ten lines.  It’s his presence that says it all as he sits behind the wheel of an emerald, green Mustang.  I’m glad he’s here.  He headlined Waltzing With Brando (which I loved), while Heder played the supporting role.  Now the pair switch positions.  Newman and Redford, Lemmon and Matthau, Zane and Heder.  It works.  By appearance, method, and physique, these guys are so unlikely to work together, and yet that generates inventive comedy.

Tapawingo operates like one of those B-movie 1980s comedies (Better Off Dead, Real Genius) that you’d rent when The Goonies or Gremlins was checked out at the video store.  It carries no charm.  No sensitivity.  No romance.  The adventure is pratfallish and deliberately lethargic.  It’s strength comes from its characters that leap out of a comic book or a Saturday morning cartoon.  Jon Heder’s approach to live action animation is a winner.  He’ll make you bust a gut.  He doesn’t have to say a word.  Simply a close up of him staring into a void will generate the laughs. 

The brains lie in the bravery to do something as zany as Tapawingo.  Go into it with an open mind.  Better yet, take your thinking cap off and just observe.  It’s a lot of fun.

Oh yeah.  The soundtrack is killer with the help of Pat Benatar and Quiet Riot.

WICKED FOR GOOD

By Marc S. Sanders

Wicked For Good is a crowning achievement in fantasy and musical wonder.  It soars across a wide expanse of never-ending settings within the wonderful world of Oz and delivers a series of messages to walk away with.  Try not to think about Wicked the next time you turn on CNN or FOX News.

Jon M Chu directs again after Wicked Part One.  Both films were actually shot as one large project but then divided.  I was suspect when I heard this was how the Broadway musical was going to be done for film.  Was there that much material, interesting enough for two full-length movies?  With a pair of new numbers drafted by original composition writer Stephen Schwartz, the answer is a profound yes.  This may be Act II of the musical but it does operate as a sequel. The new film leaps in time from when our host of characters were young students at Shiz Academy.  All are adults now with respective responsibilities and therefore they’ve grown and changed.  Sadly, but wisely, the film moves in directions that are parallel to many current events happening today. 

The wise animals of Oz are being oppressed.  The first film hinted that animals should be seen not heard.  The second part of the story executes that mantra all too realistically as they lose their power of speech and are destined not to be free but rather caged like in internment camps.  Those that have not been taken are performing mass exodus under the newly constructed yellow brick road. 

Untrue propaganda sweeps through Oz as Madame Morrible (Michelle Yeoh) uses the false influence of The Wizard (Jeff Goldblum) to unite the kingdom into believing the empathetic green skinned Elphaba (Cynthia Erivo) is the Wicked Witch of The West, on mission of terror.  Citizens of Munchkinland and the Emerald City believe the lies and live in fear of her presence.  Glinda (Ariana Grande), decked in beautiful pinks with a sparkly wand and a convenient flying bubble craft, serves as a poster girl for hope with the illusion of having enchanting powers to protect.  Elphaba’s sister Nessarose (Marissa Bode) succeeds as the governor of Oz following the death of the girls’ father.  Nessarose has grown coldhearted, particularly to her one true love Bok (Ethan Slater), who by decree must remain held captive under her authority.  He’s literally forbidden to immigrate by train. These are not the students of Shiz that we grew up with. 

I hate to use Wicked For Good as a metaphor for political purposes, but that’s exactly where my mind went to, and I’m grateful for it.  I believe there is much wrong occurring each day in the United States and throughout the world. I’m at least thankful that artistry like cinema and stage prevents us from burying our heads in the sand.  Conveniently, there’s a triggering and emotionally engaging storyline to hold on to.

Wicked was spawned off of L Frank Baum’s classic fairy tales. Part of the fun is seeing how these new stories are threaded towards his classic story of a girl from Kansas who arrives in Oz and befriends three unusual charmers while on her journey to meet The Wizard.  I’d argue that more people are familiar with the classic Warner Brothers film from 1939 than Baum’s series of books, and this Universal picture seems to adhere to the original production especially.  Elpheba delivers a new song called “There’s No Place Like Home” that’s woven beautifully into the picture.  Glinda sings about “The Girl In The Bubble” to emulate her personal conflict with how she is meant to serve.  Classic lines like “I’m off to see The Wizard” are provided.  Hints at a lion (voiced by Coleman Domingo) being fearful, along with a character’s heart becoming too small are referenced with weighty importance.  Another character is asked if he’s lost his mind.  It’s satisfying how original the Wicked properties are while being comfortably familiar.

The cast is sensational.  Cynthia Erivo is a wonderful performer who hides in her role with an American accent and her Broadway voice to belt.  She performs so convincingly that it becomes easy to look past the green skin and watch the woman who is challenged.  Michelle Yeoh and Jeff Goldblum have those unusual appearances and distinct personalities that serve a fantasy world like Oz.  Marissa Bode demonstrates tremendous strength as the disabled character who probably traverses through the biggest change of the whole cast.  Ariana Grande is a terrific actor and a lovely singer.  As I noted about the prior film, her Glinda is not my favorite, though.  The three others I saw on stage performed with a bubblier delivery and did not rely so much on Grande’s hair flip.  Jonathan Bailey is a dashing and charming hero, carved out for the prince of fantasy.  Ethan Slater’s Bok suffers through unwinnable oppression, and thus his character is more tragic this time.  It’s crushing to see, but his performance is completely relatable.

I watched the first film as a refresher ahead of seeing For Good and it occurs to me how triumphant these films are.  This whole story could have been contained in a ninety-minute Disney blueprint.  Yet, Jon M Chu, along with Stephen Schwartz want to entertain the audience through the narrative. So, it will stop where we are reading the movie, allowing us ample time to witness the world around us and what these characters of fantasy endure.  It’s odd sometimes to see the street toughs of West Side Story break into song as they are trying to knife one another in the streets.  In Wicked, it is never strange to see a witch or a munchkin or a prince break out into harmony to express their happiness, anger, sadness or wickedness.  The music and vocalizing build the vivid textures of the sets into grander designs. 

I can be told what happens next in the further adventures of Elphaba and Glinda and just move to the next chapter until they live happily ever after.  It’s better if the characters take their time to share as many thoughts and emotions as they can through song, dance, visual effects and action.  That’s what sets musicals apart from other fares of drama and comedy.

The Wicked films, and more importantly the musical, will remain timeless as much as Star Wars, Star Trek and Harry Potter.  They will never be dated.  They will only capture the hearts, laughs, tears and harmony of further generations to come decked in their favorite shades of green and pink.

THE RUNNING MAN (2025)

By Marc S. Sanders

Everything you see in the remake of The Running Man belongs.  So why doesn’t any of it work?  I think director Edgar Wright needs to have his feet held to the fire.  He made this movie with his eyes closed and his ears muffed.

Like the Stephen King (or under his pseudonym, Richard Bachman) story and the original 1987 picture with Arnold Schwarzenegger, a violent game show called “The Running Man” occupies the airwaves in a dystopian future.  Modifications from the first film are done to separate this picture from that one.  In the last film, contestants were violent criminals on the run to win freedom from incarceration.  Here, anybody can try out to win the cash prize of a billion dollars.  I’m not sure which is more faithful to King’s novella.  

Ben Richards (a name which always gets me thinking of The Fantastic Four; Ben Grimm, Reed Richards) is played by Glen Powell with a handsome athletic build but not the muscular physique of Schwarzenegger.  Powell looks more like an Everyman who auditions for one of this future’s various twisted game shows, hoping to win cash prizes that will rescue his wife and sick baby girl from poverty.  He never intended to get thrust into the ultra-violent “Running Man” though.  The object is to outlast and survive for thirty days while sadistic headhunters attempt to find him and deliver a gruesome televised slaughter.  The producer, Dan Killian (Josh Brolin), foresees a ratings bonanza with Richards as his most wanted runner.

Glen Powell needs to enhance his career with his sudden popularity.  Between this film, Twisters and Top Gun: Maverick he is playing pick-up sticks on resurrected franchises, and he ends up being completely unmemorable and uninviting.  Other than a square chin, there’s nothing special about this guy and I never once felt empathy for his role here.  He does not convey fear or anger or humor like a Bruce Willis, a Tom Cruise or even an Arnold Schwarzenegger.  He’s boring.  Edgar Wright’s script with Michael Bacall does not help the actor either as The Running Man is neither quirky or offbeat like a dystopian action picture or a standard Edgar Wright piece (Scott Pilgrim Vs The World) should promise.

The most exciting ingredient is Coleman Domingo, one of my favorite actors working today.  He is so magnetic in anything he does that I can practically guarantee whatever pizzazz he brings as the larger-than-life game show host, Bobby T (Yes!  That’s his name!), carries no impact.  This script gives him nothing to do other than wear a purple sports jacket while belting out “WELCOME TO THE RUNNING MAN!!!”  If he was simply given all of Richard Dawson’s dialogue from the first film, Domingo could have elevated this drippy picture into something engaging and fun.

Lee Pace (The Lord Of The Rings) is fully masked until the third act and has little dialogue as he’s the hero’s main hunter.  Why waste such a charismatic actor?  He’s dressed in black with a black mask.  What’s fun about that? Josh Brolin sits behind a desk as the puppet master producer.  He plays his part like Josh Brolin on a press tour stop on The Today Show.  He’s really not acting at all.

It’s an eye-opening surprise to see Sean Hayes (Will & Grace) make an early appearance as another game show host for a different show.  This should offer magnificent promise.  Brilliant casting for an over-the-top comic performer.  I was waiting for Hayes and Domingo to get into a sparring match of egos for attention in this television world.  You know what happens, though? Sean Hayes is never seen again following his appearance ten minutes after the film begins.  Another overlooked waste of talent.

William H Macy is a good character actor for this kind of film.  Too bad he’s also given little to do other than to tell the hero to go see the guy played by Michael Cera.  Why not cut out the middle man and let Ben Richards just deal with Macy’s character? The Running Man is far from the leaner film it could have been.

Some of the action scenes in this violent tale work, and some don’t.  When Ben Richards catches up with Cera’s character, a run/hide shoot out in a two-story house plays like a video game with bannisters that come apart and rapid machine gun fire.  It’s edited quite well.  Later though, there’s a battle that occurs in the cockpit of a jumbo jet.  Gravity is disabled while gunfire and fisticuffs are at play and everything shakes and bounces so much that it’s hard to tell who gets the gun and who is shooting who.  This looks like the filmmakers were pressed against a deadline and just didn’t clean up or tighten the scene into something coherent.  I just stopped trying to focus on the film and waited for the scene to end with another escape by the dashing Ben Richards.

This screenplay feels like it was made up on the fly.  Glen Campbell is awarded several scenes to speechify melodramatic gargle.  Is there a noble cause that we are to learn about from The Running Man? Just as the third act is about to start, he hitches a ride with a young girl who we have never seen before.  Nor has she been referenced anywhere thus far.  Yet, she’s got something to say with some kind of cause on her mind as well.  This nameless sidekick takes over the movie for the next twenty minutes and then parachutes into open sky never to be seen again.  What was the point of this detour? Moreover, what the hell was she ever talking about?

This Running Man had all the ingredients to work with a stellar collection of fine actors who were up for the task of wit and satire amid ridiculous violence and totalitarianism.  With Edgar Wright at the helm, the new Running Man could have been a harkening back to Paul Verhoven’s ultra-violent tales of gonzo media silliness found in his movies like Robocop, Starship Troopers and Total Recall.

Sadly, Glen Powell is uninteresting, and the more amazing talents of the supporting cast were handed lackluster and witless material.  

The Running Man marches at a speed of sluggishness.  Better to turn off the TV and read Carrie or Misery.

CHRISTY

By Marc S. Sanders

Boxing movies are nothing new.  The best ones depict the fighter surviving personal battles outside of the ring.  That was likely true with the fictional Rocky Balboa.  It might have also been what kept Jake LaMotta alive well beyond his demons.  It’s definitely a fair argument for Christy Martin, the first boxing champion to bring the sport into the mainstream for females.

Her story comes to the big screen with an astonishing Oscar caliber performance from Sydney Sweeney.  I saw Christy a week ago and I cannot stop thinking about it.  The material within this biography from writer/director David Michôd is entirely familiar.  Still, the character of Christy and what she endures is worthy of a movie.

Beginning in 1989, eighteen-year-old Christy Salters haphazardly begins her climb up the ranks with small time underground fights in her Virginia hometown.  She’s not educated and she’s not embarrassed about being in a relationship with her girlfriend.  Her bible loving mother Joyce (Merritt Weaver in an authentic, all too real and villainous role) says otherwise. She’d take her daughter to the local minister to draw the gay out of her if the girl wouldn’t rebel with a temper inflamed by F-bombs.

Christy is summoned for higher stakes fights in Texas.  She wins that one and then is connected with Jim Martin (Ben Foster) who witnesses one hard swing from the girl in a sparring match. He commits his entire life to being her coach.  Ask Jim and he’ll say he made Christy what she becomes, a near undefeated champion adorned in signature pink and on the cover of Sports Illustrated – a first for a female boxer.  The film reminds the audience that Jim’s perspective is hardly true.  This jerk nearly screws up Christy’s chances of getting a lucrative contract with Don King (Chad L Coleman) which included pre-fights ahead of Mike Tyson’s Vegas appearances in the ring.  If only Jim’s laziness and procrastination were his worst qualities, though.

Christy becomes an emotional challenge to watch as it progresses. David Michôd’s film burrows into the dark underbelly of athletic success. Once Jim and Christy are married, a limited lifestyle cages the young phenomenon with the husband/coach’s monstrous tendencies.  The torment that victimizes this woman is beyond compare as she must succumb to demonizing sex slavery for his twisted, intoxicating yearnings, as well as for anyone he collects money from who ready to engage in brawls with her, in dirty hotel rooms.  Working in her corner at the fights, Jim does not protect Christy against opponents that she is clearly no match for.

Christy is physically abused and mentally tortured by Jim, and maybe by other intimidating powers like Don King.  Chad L Coleman delivers a brilliant and familiar persona to King.  The boxer is also financially getting ripped off, despite opening a Florida gym in her name with Jim listed before her on the front door.  

It’s astonishing to see how much peace Christy can find in a boxing ring alone against an opponent.  At home, she can only acquiesce to what’s demanded or forced upon her.  There’s no fight at home.  Only surrender.

I had recently seen Sydney Sweeney host Saturday Night Live.  It was one of many terrible episodes in the show’s history because the writers only catered to Sweeney’s youthful glamour and looks.  There was a skit taking place in a Hooter’s restaurant where her character was collecting the biggest tips based upon how she filled out the signature uniform.  It was lousy, unaware and insensitive writing.  Actors like Anne Hathaway or Natalie Portman were never treated this way on the program. None of the skits gave Sweeney something unique and worthy of what she’s capable of.

In Christy, with a white trash twang, and a puffed up brunette curly hair style (later it becomes blond corn rows), Sydney Sweeney is doing what Meryl Streep would have committed to in a physically taxing role like this.  Sweeney demonstrates a focused young girl going after what she wants even if it means she has to make up for her husband’s shortcomings as a negotiator.  He’ll beat the shit out of her, but Christy Martin matures as Michôd’s film progresses with intense training moments and riveting fight scenes that have Sweeney in action.  

Ben Foster is that committed actor who never looks the same in two different roles.  I didn’t even recognize the former Disney kid until I saw his name in the end credits.  Outdated polyester clothing and track suits from the 1990s do not hide that paunch, ugly belly.  Christy’s winning purses of prize money cannot conceal his bleach blond combover or his trashy southern accent.  Yet, he is nothing but noticeable when he is on screen.  Foster is the worst kind of cad with a terrifying grip on his wife and her career.  A terrible eyesore within the presence of the film.  Jim Martin is none too bright, but he knows how to hold a wrenching grasp and he’s entirely frightening.

Merritt Weaver is the quiet antagonist.  Unlike Foster’s character, the mind games that Joyce plays on her daughter are not so intentional as they are natural.  This mother refuses to see beyond the expected dominance of a man to uphold a catholic home, devoid of sinful lesbian practices.  It’s awful when a mother will side with a daughter’s abusive husband. Weaver’s portrayal of Christy’s bible committed mother demands to be hated.  

Ahead of seeing this film, I knew nothing about Christy Martin.  So, when a shocking moment occurs in the third act, my jaw dropped at the direction of the scene.  An action occurs and Michôd’s camera seems frozen in position as a character paces in and out of the room.  Then the character returns and commits a much uglier act.  Then the back-and-forth pace continues with a harrowing stare down before exiting to take a shower.  I know Christy is just a movie.  Yet, I cannot recall the last time I felt so helpless as a witness to what I was observing. I wanted step into the screen and lend aid. I only hope that when the film comes out in digital format, some insight is provided into how Sydney Sweeney and Ben Foster circumvented around their clashes of characters.  All of it feels too real.

Sydney Sweeney is also convincing as the battering boxer.  Like most films that cover sports, there are typical training and fighting montages here.  Sweeney is not afraid to behave ugly for the showmanship needed to be in an elite ring.  There’s one expression she delivers in a blink/miss wide shot lens after she knocks out an opponent.  It feels so organic as a bloodied Sydney Sweeney outstretched with her gloved fists, prances around the ring, gives a shoulder shrug and sticks her tongue out.  This actress knew exactly how to play this character, soaked in sweat with blood streaking out of her mouth and nose absent of any kind of humility that would show weakness in a champion fighter.

I am afraid though.  Christy is currently not the box office titan it deserves to be and come awards time, I’m certain Sweeney, Foster, Coleman and Weaver will be wrongfully overlooked.  Sydney Sweeney, a producer on the film, was asked what her reaction is to the sluggish financial returns.  Best she could, she replied by saying not all films are made for the money.  Some need to be made for the art.  I’ll go a step further and declare that Christy serves as an advocate for awareness of domestic violence and prevention.  Amazingly though, this film executes astounding triumphs for those underdogs who have next to nothing.

Christy is one of the best films of the year.  

HIGH PLAINS DRIFTER

By Marc S. Sanders

Because Clint Eastwood’s career of acting roles is thematically the strong, silent type, it’s easy to appreciate that in one film he may be The Man With No Name, while in another picture he’s simply The Stranger.  In the second film he directed, High Plains Drifter, he’s an intimidating force riding on horseback into the lakeside town of Lago.  

He may enter the saloon for a beer and a bottle and then cross the street to the barber for a shave and a bath, but you likely do not want to ever involve yourself with him.  He is also horrifically unkind to one of the few women in these parts.  Let’s just say it ain’t no roll in the hay.  This Stranger is a scary dude in a black hat.

The townsmen recognize a convenience in this man’s arrival though.  He’s demonstrated what he is capable of and therefore he appears to be the one qualified to kill three outlaws who were just released from prison with vengeance on their minds as they make a return to Lago.

There’s a hint of supernatural play in High Plains Drifter.  The Stranger recalls a harsh night when the local Marshall had been whipped to death by the townsfolk.  Could the Marshall be the Stranger?  Perhaps.  The victimized Marshall is portrayed by Eastwood’s long time stunt double and occasional director Buddy Van Horn (Pink Cadillac, The Dead Pool).  While that bloody slaughter occurred, the townsfolk simply watched with no offer to help.  For a while, High Plains Drifter was rumored to have been inspired by a real-life rape from the mid-1960s which ultimately led to the need for calling 911 in the event of an emergency.  Art imitates life even in the Old West.

The Stranger agrees to help the town prepare for the outlaws’ violent return, but like a fantasy character he makes special requests of his own including reassigning the sheriff’s badge to the town dwarf, plus taking whatever merchandise he wants from the mercantile and occupying the two best rooms in the hotel.  Also, he gives instructions to load up on a large supply of red paint.  Is the town of Lago getting what they bargained for or are they dwindling into a worse fate? Could be a deal with the devil or as Jewish mysticism might imply, the town of Lago might be inheriting a gollum.

Clint Eastwood salutes his prior directors that prepped him to become an esteemed filmmaker.  Don Siegel’s (Dirty Harry) and Sergio Leone’s (The Dollars spaghetti westerns) names are engraved on tombstones within the nearby cemetery built for the set.  Eastwood adopts some of their famed techniques while not setting himself apart from what those influencers accomplished.  He was still finding his footing behind the camera. High Plains Drifter is just a tale of revenge with recognizable set ups found within typical Hollywood westerns.  

Visually, the film starts out mysteriously with The Stranger’s arrival out of a sun soaked desert boil.  The photography looks deliberately grainy before the modern twenty-first century film restoration appears. Not a word of dialogue is uttered until after the picture has run for over seven minutes.  

Lago becomes a town with a new kind of identity later in the film as mandated by the script.  This is where Eastwood finds opportunity to do things with his western that his earlier pictures had not offered yet.  A bloody, hellish war is expected.

High Plains Drifter traverses in different directions while primarily staying in this one small town and you may wonder what this storyline has to do with that storyline.  Well, the commonality of its various parts is The Stranger’s arrival.  

You’ll may question who this unnamed man truly was by the time film ends.  Maybe it was not a man at all.  There are moments included by Eastwood’s direction to question what precisely occurred.  

Is High Plains Drifter a western or is it a ghost story? Like me, perhaps you’ll uncover moments that support either argument.