Category: 2026

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!

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.

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!

 

THE DEVIL WEARS PRADA/THE DEVIL WEARS PRADA 2

By Marc S. Sanders

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

STAY IN THE CAR

By Marc S. Sanders

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

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

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

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

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

MELANIA

By Marc S. Sanders

Self-absorption is an expense of time for the outsiders looking in.  At an hour and forty-one minutes, the time I spent to watch Melania Trump’s documentary, Melania, was a terrible cost.  

The First Lady’s exploration of herself covers her personal experiences in the twenty days before the second inauguration of President Donald J Trump on January 20, 2025.  Frankly, after the movie kicks off with a needle drop of The Rolling Stones’ Gimme Shelter (a favorite of mine), the mundane slugs on an endless runway.  

Brett Ratner, the director who nearly destroyed the celebrated X-Men franchise and delivered too many Rush Hour films, covers Mrs. Trump walking in slow motion…a lot…like way, way, way too much.  The first five minutes, even after the credits have finished, show Melania walk down hallways, step into elevators, step out of elevators and walk down more hallways into parking garages adorned with Trump campaign posters (great art direction) to get into a limousine that takes her to the airport to board a corporate Trump plane. Then we get to see her stride down the middle aisle that divides impeccable white leather, upholstered chairs.  It’s like…MELANIA IS REALLY DOING ALL THESE THINGS.  And I get to see it???? Me??? Really???

She’s a rock star or a superhero or perhaps she is simply MELANIA, because no one else could ever be THE MELANIA.

The main subject explains in monotone voiceover how she wants to cover the time she invests as a philanthropist and businesswoman in the days leading up to the inauguration.  So, we get right to the important things first like deciding if her evening gown is tight enough around her waist and neck, and if the lapels on her suit need to be bigger.  Hopefully, the designer can alter the collar on her white blouse.  Plus, how should the shoulders look?  There’s much to talk about.  So, Ratner is wise enough to return to these pressing topics later when Melania single-handedly decides that the white band around her infamous lampshade hat, worn on Inauguration Day, is not narrow enough.  Business! Philanthropy!

Staged interviews with young ladies looking to earn a position as Melanie’s personal assistant are weaved into the picture.  I learned that the job is simply not 9-to-5 work.  

I cannot say I’m a fan of Melania Trump.  I do not think I’ve been a fan of any First Lady.  I don’t know much about any of them.  Though I was impressed when Arnold, Dudley and Mr. Drummond got to meet Nancy Reagan on Diff’rent Strokes with her Just Say No campaign.  Reader, as an eleven year old it had an impact on me.  It was straightforward, simple and to the point. Plus, she was friends with Mr. T.  So, job well done Mrs. Reagan!  Now, I was curious what could I gain from our current First Lady.  Here was her opportunity to show us her very best.  

Melania does a zoom call with the First Lady of France to declare her push for her Be Best campaign.  The logo is written in blue crayon font.  It’s cute.  It’s eye catching and I never learn anything about it.  I’m guessing it is aimed at children, but what is it precisely doing to benefit children?  What tactics are being planned? What’s being executed?  What events are taking place?  Will Melania at least go to the Kids Choice Awards and get a pie in the face on Nickelodeon?  C’mon Melania!  Do it in the name of Be Best.

The most admirable moment in this self-described documentary is when Melania gets a visit from Aviva Siegel, an Israeli kidnap survivor from the Hamas attacks on October 7.  She wears a shirt that shows an image of her husband Keith who was still in captivity at the time of this filming.  This scene occupies about three and a half minutes of the entire movie.  Aviva is welcomed to cry on camera while Melania’s profile is shot from across the sofa in a New York high-rise apartment.  Melania doesn’t cry, doesn’t quiver, doesn’t ask a single question that I can recall serves any kind of consequence.  Yet, the one-time fashion model complements Aviva’s shirt and how it looks on the poor woman.  No promises or assurances are made in this brief moment.  They sit on a grey sofa.  Not a bed.  So, don’t expect bedside manners.

On to the party planning for the inauguration dinners and celebrations plus more wardrobe insight customized exclusively for the First Lady.  My wife watches reality shows showing home decor and reconstruction.  My parents would watch Lifestyles Of The Rich & Famous during the decadent 1980s.  What those programs accomplish that Ratner and Trump do not are the whys and hows.  Why did this millionaire need that kind curtain.  What drew them to those colors and patterns.  Why call the yacht this particular name, and so on. Melania simply goes for the gold trim in the napkins and tableware.  

She loves fashion designer Hervé Pierre’s evening gown, white with a black zig zag of fabric down the front and a high slit at the leg.  Now, let me tell you.  This is a dress!!!! It’s gorgeous and she looks gorgeous wearing it on the evening of January 20, 2025.  Yet, for a film that devotes so much to this object how about telling me something about the inspiration for the design.  If you’re going to invest so much into this piece of craftsmanship, then at least go deeper than having the woman literally look at herself in a mirror.

As the film is winding down a part of the country is on burning uncontrollably.  The California wildfires that displaced so many people were happening ahead of Trump’s inauguration.  Melania takes it upon herself to sit cross legged on a leather sofa in her ready room in front of a flat screen to watch the happenings unfold on FOX News.  An expensive piece of artwork dangles behind her head.  Her voiceover tells us that her heart breaks while Ratner gets close ups of her stunning blue eyes adorned in perfectly coifed mascara.  It’s ridiculous how hollow this looks.  An absence of emotion and sincerity.  You could have avoided making so light of this terrible period by just not having her reflect at all.  Melania is generous, however.  She allows her heart to break.

The First Lady’s husband makes appearances insisting to his wife that he won in landslides across various states.  We see him test one of his staffers who is unable to explain why championship sports are scheduled on the same day as the inauguration.  Is this anything that anyone can learn from?  Brett Ratner arguably has access to most of what the Trump staff and family can extend, and this is a nothing piece of nothing.

Melania mentions how her loving mother passed away a year prior and how she ran a fashion business that inspired her daughter to follow a similar path.  Where and when was this business in operation?  What was the name of it? The son in law Donald tells us that they loved her very much and she was a hell of a woman.  Melania’s dad will reside at The White House.  What else can we know?

Barron is Melania’s son with Donald.  He never speaks.  He’s shot from a distance. Never shows affection for mom and dad, but mom hopes he chooses a path that makes him happy.  Finally, a parent admits it!!!  

Melania’s attempt at bi-partisan openness has her attending Jimmy Carter’s funeral.  I’ll say he’s one of the worst Presidents in American history.  However, his philanthropic work following his service is second to none.  Unquestionably, a good soul.  Melania cannot even say that.  Brett Ratner is not insightful enough to prompt the First Lady for a few words about Carter’s contributions.  

Towards the end of the film, portraits of Jackie Kennedy, Eleanor Roosevelt and Mamie Eisenhower are shared.  Why?  I dunno.  I guess I’m supposed to gather that Melania Trump carries on a legacy.  Do Melania or Melania or these filmmakers know the specific contributions of Mrs. Kennedy, Mrs. Roosevelt and Mrs.  Eisenhower, and what they personally mean to them?  Truly, I can’t say off the top of my head.  However, I’m not a First Lady making a movie about myself or my esteemed position.  So, tell me what it means to you.  Allow me to learn more than how your hat or your suit or your gown should look on you.  

Be Best? How?  

Homes are burning?  Anything you gonna do about it?  

A husband remains missing?  Is there someone you can call?  I mean I’m aware of the obstacles that come with politics and international affairs, but maybe this worried wife could gain from prayer with a Rabbi and you by her side.  

I’m never expecting Melania Trump to singlehandedly fix the world.  All I’m asking for is what she declared herself to be.  A businesswoman and a philanthropist.  

Mrs. Trump is a Michael Jackson fan, and her favorite song is Billie Jean.  She barely flexes herself in the back of her limo to sing along.  So, I get it when that song comes on at the beginning of the film.  It might be the most genuine, insightful portrait of the whole documentary simply because it shows a small shred of natural humanity in the woman.  That being said, why open the movie with the Stones’ Gimme Shelter?  It’s gritty and gives me images of struggle, doom and grit.  A dirty, garage band kind of song.  The outer shell of Melania Trump is anything but a single riff or note of the Stones’ song. So why?  I guess because the rights to use the number must be expensive, and money is no object to this superhero’s fanbase.  The sacrifice this woman does from one outfit to another, from one limousine to another, from one estate to another.  

No!  Being First Lady is certainly not a 9 to 5 job.

Ratner concludes Melania by shooting his subject leaning on her fists against a glass table-topped desk for professional photos.  She looks like a superhero ready to take on the world.  Honestly, if Melania Trump were to enter a phone booth to change into her costume and don a cape, she wouldn’t be able to find the door to let herself out.  

FORGOTTEN FORTUNE

By Marc S. Sanders

Forgotten Fortune is a welcome film that brings attention to the unwelcome ailments of dementia/Alzheimer’s disease. Yet, what writer/director Esteban “Stevie” Fernandez Jr demonstrates is that a diagnosis does not end the value of life.

Brian Franks (Brian Shoop)  is a retired mailman.  One morning during one of his dementia induced walks, dressed in full uniform, he comes upon the aftermath of what looks to be a murder, committed by two men.  It’s hard for the local police and his adult children to believe his story though, considering his age and condition.

Only when clues are uncovered following the unexpected death of his best friend, Leo (Lou Ferrigno), does the reality of seeing these two men Brian insists on witnessing appear to convince everyone else.  Now it is up to Brian and his pal, Larry (Jimmie JJ Walker), to solve the mystery and catch the culprits.

Forgotten Fortune is produced with simplicity, not a lot of aggressive beats in suspense or action.  The attempts at humor want to go no further than PG rated material, with the most risqué beat stemming from someone peeing loudly while wired by the cops. 

Fernandez is interested in sending a message about how to live a new normal with the elderly in the family and he spices up his message with some adventure.  I appreciate the sensitivity devoted to dementia and Brian Shoop plays it well.  He’s likable as the straight man to this trio partnered with Walker and Ferrigno.  I do wish the undertaking relied more on the recognizable strengths of these fellows. 

Ferrigno, who I had the pleasure of meeting in person, is still the muscle man and he’s got comedic chops (The King Of Queens).  Jimmie Walker with his “dyn-o-mite” personality still transcends generations long after Good Times ended.  He might be pigeonholed to that role, but he owns it all by himself and no one can take that away.  These three guys are such an odd match up that there is real promise in blending their career defining histories together.  I wish Fernandez would have depended more on why these guys are truly beloved within the world of pop culture and their devoted fans. 

Forgotten Fortune stands out among a crowded assembly of films because of its focus on a very real and likely fate for many people.  Aging is the one thing that none of us can escape, and a large percentage of the world population experience the side effects of that situation.  Yet Alzheimer’s and dementia should not make any of us or our loved ones feel any less than what we once were.  Intelligence and instinct can remain and therefore trust and faith should be upheld.  That’s the forgotten fortune of this film.