THREE BILLBOARDS OUTSIDE EBBING, MISSOURI

Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri (2017)

Rating: 8/10

STARRING: Frances McDormand, Woody Harrelson, Sam Rockwell, Caleb Landry Jones, Lucas Hedges, John Hawkes, Abbie Cornish, Zeljko Ivanek, Clarke Peters, and Peter Dinklage

RATED R for language (including racial slurs and some sexual references), bloody images, some violence, and emotional content

Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri starts out almost flawlessly but can’t quite stick the landing.

A darkly-comic film that’s said to be a major contender for year-end awards, Three Billboards is about as good as can be for probably the first hour—the cast is perfect, the writing is superb, the cinematography is excellent, there are laughs as well as moments of genuine, tear-jerking pathos to be had—but it doesn’t quite deliver. Where fellow awards contender The Shape of Water had a strong finish after a somewhat rushed and cluttered first act, Three Billboards has a magnificent first hour and then can’t quite figure out where to go. It’s a shame, but it can’t fully mar my impression of a movie that was near-perfect early on.

Raped While Dying.

Still No Arrests?

How come, Chief Willoughby?

Those are the phrases the quietly-furious Mildred Hayes (Frances McDormand) pays to have posted on three large advertising billboards on a back road of her rural podunk Missouri town, Ebbing, nearly a year after the violent death of her teenage daughter Angela. While the road is no longer the major thoroughfare it once was, when the words are obligingly posted by advertiser Red Welby (Caleb Landry Jones), within hours, the entire town of Ebbing is in an uproar. Mildred’s quietly suffering son Robbie (Lucas Hedges) is picked on at school. Her hard-drinking ex, Charlie (John Hawkes) comes by to tell her how enraged and ashamed he is. People on the street start talking and pointing. Local news crews come asking for interviews. And Red, the advertiser, faces boycotts and anger for helping Mildred. After all, everyone knows about Angela’s tragic passing, but they also know Bill Willoughby (Woody Harrelson), the police chief, a decent man who has recently been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. One particularly ticked person is police deputy Dixon (Sam Rockwell), a hick-dumb good ol’ boy who still lives with his momma and worships Chief Willoughby. As Mildred, Red and Chief Willoughby feel the heat, all these inter-connected characters are forced to do some soul-searching even while the prospect of solving the mystery of Angela’s killer seems as distant as ever.

Let’s get this out of the way real quick: despite the murder-mystery that is the first domino in this series of events to fall, Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri, is not a whodunit. Whoever so horribly violated Angela and then killed her – and thus scarred Mildred and her family in an irrevocably way – is a dark mystery that gnaws at all the major characters, but it doesn’t define the movie. Mildred’s angry, desperate, last-gasp act to have the billboards updated with her furious messages and the havoc it creates in a small circle of characters is what writer/director Martin McDonagh is really going for. And it’s tremendous in conveying that.

But, again, that is all there is to Three Billboards. In hindsight, it seems almost obvious that the movie doesn’t go anywhere besides small-town-in-an-uproar, because that’s really the only direction it can go if it’s not going to go the whodunit route, become an investigation movie, an action movie, or (least likely, but still not out of the realm of possibility) a romance that springs up to help Mildred cope with this tough stage of her life. It does offer some characters the chances to turn some personal emotional and psychological corners, but it does so in a quieter way than one might expect or want. Shoot, Three Billboards does stray toward convention with a late minor revelation that could have proven a more black-and-white ending, but also would have made this strongly acted and well-made film suddenly feel more like a far-fetched episode of Law & Order: SVU.

Still, if you’re here for small-town kerfuffle, you’ll get it here (Mildred gets a reprimanding visit from her former parish priest, and has a wild run-in with her dentist, about her peace-disturbing billboards). If you’re looking for some tense drama, you’ll get that, too, most notably in a devastating one-take scene where Deputy Dixon has a fit of grief-driven rage in the middle of the town. If you want emotional drama, the Hayes family has a scary domestic confrontation, and Chief Willoughby’s progressing cancer tugs the heartstrings (Abbie Cornish, as his long-suffering wife, has a heart-shattering soundless reaction when she gets some bad news). And if you are here for various in vogue socio-political commentaries about police, color, class, gender, small-town Southern traditionalism, or even the stigma of having some you love be the victim of a high-profile crime, you’ll get that, too.

Does it get a little preachy? Yes. Would that take any more away from the film if it had somehow had a more satisfactory ending? No.

Overall, writer/director McDonagh is to be praised, as are his actors. Frances McDormand fits the role of the brittle, quietly seething Mildred like a glove, the natural steel in her eyes making us believe every bit of her small-town stubbornness, snark, and fury. Woody Harrelson, too, is perfectly cast, delivering one of the performances of his career as the witty but haunted man who’s staring his own mortality in the face. The actor, who has a tendency to seem like every role he gets was made for him, has been getting some Best Supporting Actor buzz, and I’d love to see him get an Oscar nomination for this fine, scene-stealing role. Fellow Best Supporting Actor contender Sam Rockwell is surprisingly affecting in a memorable turn as the maladroit Dixon, the dumb-hick-cop-caricature turned on its head. Younger actors Caleb Landry Jones, Lucas Hedges, and Samara Weaving all make memorable impressions, and former Oscar nominee John Hawkes makes the most of a few pivotal scenes. The movie’s failings are the fault of the writer, not the actors, who make up one of the year’s finest ensembles. Only the great Peter Dinklage doesn’t have the effect desired, if only because he is sadly under-served by the script, which gives him a relative cameo in a role that goes nowhere.

In Summary

Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri, is a mouthful of a title, and it’s an intriguing, deeply-felt, and at-times hilarious look at how one woman’s stubborn, angry, outside-the-box act turns a small town on its head, and affects a wide range of people. The movie begins with a first hour that feels pretty much perfect, and, while it doesn’t quite follow through in delivering the most satisfactory ending, I still see why the movie’s a major Oscar contender. The cast, which includes a gimmie Best Actress nominee (Fargo’s Frances McDormand) and dueling worthy Supporting Actor contenders (Woody Harrelson and Sam Rockwell), is phenomenal in a series of multi-dimensional, well-written roles. The cinematography and score are solid. The socio-political commentary is there without smacking you in the face. Best of all, this is an ORIGINAL work—not based on anything. Seriously. I went out of my way to see this affecting dramedy, and I’m glad I did.

Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri (2017)

Directed and Written for the Screen by Martin McDonagh

Rated R

Length: 1 hour, 55 minutes

THE SHAPE OF WATER

The Shape of Water (2017)

Rating: 8/10

STARRING: Sally Hawkins, Michael Shannon, Richard Jenkins, Doug Jones, Octavia Spencer, and Michael Stuhlbarg

RATED R for language, nudity and sexual content, and violent material including bloody images and scenes of torture

The Shape of Water sniffs greatness, but it doesn’t quite reach it.

From the weird and often wonderful mind of Mexican auteur Guillermo del Toro (Hellboy, Pan’s Labyrinth, Pacific Rim, Crimson Peak), The Shape of Water wants to be a lot of things. First and foremost, it is a tale of forbidden love, a deep connection that springs up between two beings of different species. The second most prominent and familiar aspect is that of a thriller, with themes of government secrets, paranoia, espionage, and military-sanctioned torture. It is also a study in loneliness, about individuals who feel different and disconnected from those around them for one reason or another. In addition, because the main characters live in an apartment above a movie theater and often watch or reference classic movies on TV, it’s clear there is a love letter to cinema packed in here, signed affectionately by Mr. del Toro. All these elements are interesting, and make for a full movie-going experience, but, for this reviewer, it was a little too much. The many plot strands allow for a number of effective characterizations (and the actors are terrific), but arguably the most important plot strand (and the movie’s main selling point), the cross-species romance, doesn’t get the time to truly develop against all this other material. Perhaps it would have been different in a longer movie, or in a film where the main romantic couple could, you know, talk to each other.

After all, the protagonist, Elisa Esposito (Sally Hawkins), is mute, the apparent victim of a childhood attack that left her with prominent scars on both sides of her throat. The object of her affection is a startling aquatic humanoid creature (Doug Jones, Mr. del Toro’s usual muse, under tons of makeup) who is the object of study in the secretive government lab in which Elisa works as a cleaning lady. When we first meet Elisa, she has a routine down pat. She sleeps through the day, wakes in the early evening to boil eggs, has some “adult quiet time” in the bath, picks out a favorite pair of shoes, and visits her neighbor Giles (a warm, wonderful Richard Jenkins), a gay artist who shares Elisa’s love of old cinema (the movie takes place in the 1960s). Elisa then takes a bus into work, where she meets up with the feisty Zelda (Octavia Spencer, supplying most of the film’s humor), who chatters away as the two scrub floors, toilets, and even, on occasion, the top-secret lab rooms. Elisa and Zelda are supervised by the smart, quiet Dr. Hoffstetler (Michael Stuhlbarg), who himself is overseen by the stone-faced, moody government spook Strickland (a reliably scary Michael Shannon). After an accident in which Strickland loses a few fingers, Elisa and Zelda are rushed in to clean up the mess. It is there that Elisa discovers the creature, whom Strickland claims to have discovered and captured in South America. The creature cannot speak, but it picks up some of Elisa’s sign language easily enough, and Elisa learns that they share a mutual love of eggs and music. But when Strickland gets orders to have the creature killed so it can be taken apart and studied, Elisa panics, and, with her friends, she begins devising a plan to have the creature freed in the ocean.

That might sound straightforward. That is a basic synopsis—it’s also the movie I thought I was going to get. But The Shape of Water is not just focused on Eliza, but breaks off to follow Giles, Strickland, and even Dr. Hoffstetler into their personal lives. Sometimes this is effective (such as in Giles’ repeated failed attempts at getting a painting published for an ad company, or Dr. Hoffstetler’s growing suspicion Russians are spying on him) and sometimes it is not (scenes of Strickland’s home life – including a cold and manufactured sex scene between him and his wife (Lauren Lee Smith) – add nothing to the film).  But it does detract from the romance at its center. Again, Elisa can’t speak, and neither can the creature. And (thankfully) Twilight this isn’t. We don’t get long scenes of characters staring into each other’s eyes or attempting to define their feelings. But we also get little build for Elisa is going out of her way to sneak into the high-tech lab safe-room to visit the creature, laying out eggs for its enjoyment, and even bringing her record player in to serenade it in its water tank. One wonders if the movie would have been more successful overall (given its many plot strands) if the connection between the two was not intended to be romantic but more of a kinship, simply a good-hearted desire to save it from government experimentation and exploitation. This would still have captured the audience’s interest and had us rooting for her to sneak the creature to safety before Strickland can kill it, but might not have raised expectations for us to feel something more. Similarly, the “love of cinema” aspect feels tacked on. Except for one luminous fantasy/dream sequence, the idea that Elisa lives above a movie theater adds nothing to the movie.

Still, the movie may only be missing a small handful of Elisa- and- creature-based scenes from being great. The creature is a gorgeous sight to behold (kudos to Jones for sitting through what must have been a marathon makeup job every day), and there are a couple other brilliant visuals.

The government/lab thriller works, Elisa’s relationship with Zelda works, and our peeks into the lives of Giles and Dr. Hoffstetler are effective. The movie is clearly not only a commentary on cross-species/forbidden lovers but also on different types of loneliness. Those who cannot speak are lonely. Those with an unrequited crush or a misunderstood sexual orientation are lonely. The wives of brooding, deadbeat husbands are lonely. It can even be hard being the one near the top of the food chain, when your life, reputation and even freedom are based on the whims of those above you. Again, kudos to all the actors for their heartfelt, lived-in work.

In Summary

The Shape of Water ranks near the top of Mexican writer/director Guillermo del Toro’s filmography, a film that juggles elements of a romance, a thriller, a multi-pronged character study and a love letter to film all in one. It feels like a bit too much – the romance, though admittedly hamstrung by the fact that neither partner can speak, didn’t quite inspire in me the feelings intended – but the movie still falls just short of being great. There are some stunning visuals, palpable tension, and terrific performances from half a dozen actors, a couple of whom will likely end up contenders for Academy Awards. This surrealist, borderline-fantasy is a hard R (unnecessary nudity and scenes of a nasty government agent taking a cattle-prod to a sensitive aquatic humanoid will do that), but it’s an intriguing film not just about a fantastical cross-species romance or height-of-the-Cold-War paranoia, but also a study in what means to be lonely, and be different, in a world where everybody else either fits in or pretends to. Mr. del Toro has made some interesting, genre-splicing films before (Hellboy, Pacific Rim, Pan’s Labyrinth), and this is one of his best.

The Shape of Water (2017)

Directed by Guillermo del Toro

Screenplay by Guillermo del Toro and Vanessa Taylor

Rated R

Length: 2 hours and 3 minutes

THE GREATEST SHOWMAN

The Greatest Showman (2017)

Rating: 6.5/10

STARRING: Hugh Jackman, Michelle Williams, Zac Efron, Rebecca Ferguson, Zendaya and Keala Settle; with Austyn Johnson and Cameron Seely as P.T. Barnum’s Daughters

RATED PG

If you like movie musicals, you’ll love The Greatest Showman.

While there’s no question that Showman is corny in that musicals way – the lip-synching is at-times painfully obvious, and the narrative is nothing to write home about – the soundtrack created by the Oscar-winning songwriters of last year’s La La Land (Benji Pasek and Justin Paul) and the hit Broadway musical Dear Evan Hansen is absolutely phenomenal. Add a typically uplifting rags-to-riches tale, a 100% committed cast, and some spectacular choreography, and it makes for a sweet, uplifting, toe-tapping package.

The musical is loosely based on the life of P.T. Barnum (Hugh Jackman, played as a preteen by Ellis Rubin), who grew up the poor son of a tailor. Smitten early on with the richer Charity (Michelle Williams, played as a preteen by Skylar Dunn), Barnum joins the railroad to make something of himself. But even once he’s married, he’s barely making ends meet, and he decides to make a better, more fulfilling life for himself, his wife, and their two girls (Austyn Johnson and Cameron Seely). While his first attempt at a major attraction – a macabre wax museum – doesn’t catch on, he soon has the idea to build a live performing show based around people with unusual or bizarre appearances or abilities. Partly financed by a rich young showbiz heir (Zac Efron), Barnum’s circus is soon a highly lucrative spectacle, with a whole troupe of performers included a bearded woman (Keala Settle), a dwarf (Sam Humphrey) and a dazzling trapeze artist (Zendaya). In time, Barnum’s circus is big enough to gain the attention and talents of a famous European opera singer (Rebecca Ferguson). The money and attention pour in, but the ambitious Barnum soon begins to lose sight of what gave him the motivation to try in the first place.

Like I said, the narrative is nothing amazing. It’s standard stuff – the rise and fall of celebrity life – and it’s oft-interrupted by songs. In fact, there are moments when you wish the actors would not sing and would actually speak their lines, as it would add weight and seriousness to a few key emotional encounters. But then again, who's here for "weight" and "seriousness"? And also...what songs! If you haven’t checked out the soundtrack to The Greatest Showman, you need to. Pasek and Paul, who won their Oscar back in February for the very mellow number “City of Stars”, have penned two instant classics (“The Greatest Show” and “This is Me”), and a handful of additional showstoppers (“The Other Side”, “Rewrite the Stars”, “Never Enough”, “From Now On”). If you can’t tell, I’m passionate about this soundtrack. Really, all eleven tracks are worth listening to on Spotify or wherever you want to check it out. And if the music is what you come to The Greatest Showman for, you’ll be the better for it, because the songs leap off the screen, complemented by bright colors and dazzling choreography.

The songs supersede even the actors—unsurprising for a musical—but the cast members acquit themselves well. Jackman seems much more comfortable here than he did singing live in a tough part in 2012’s Les Miserables, and he sounds great on the soundtrack. Efron, who burst into the spotlight with High School Musical and Hairspray, hasn’t lost a step and sounds great as well. Williams and Zendaya perform admirably in supportive spouse-type roles, Mission Impossible: Rogue Nation standout Rebecca Ferguson does not sing but does perhaps the movie’s best and most convincing lip-synching during a key power ballad, and Broadway star Keala Settle absolutely slays, her mind-boggling soprano the driving force behind all the group numbers, particularly the Golden Globe-nominated “This Is Me”.

In Summary

If you like movie musicals, you’ll love The Greatest Showman. I’d say it’s better than this year’s other live-action musical, The Beauty and the Beast, though it’s stylistically closer to Moulin Rouge or Hairspray. Hugh Jackman, Zac Efron, Zendaya, and the rest of the cast are great in front of the camera, but it’s the work they’ve done in the studio with La La Land Oscar-winning songwriters Benji Pasek and Justin Paul that’s worth writing home about. The soundtrack is phenomenal. If you like show-tunes, look it up. There are eleven songs, and more than half of them are incredible, get-stuck-in-your-head-type numbers. The music is the main (only) reason to see the movie, as the narrative plot is pretty cliché stuff. Still, this was overall a fun, feel-good time with some strong performers and incredible music.

The Greatest Showman (2017)

Directed by Michael Gracey

Screenplay by Jenny Bicks and Bill Condon

Story by Jenny Bicks

Rated PG

Length: 1 hour, 45 minutes

THE DISASTER ARTIST

The Disaster Artist (2017)

Rating: 7.5/10

STARRING: Dave Franco, James Franco, Seth Rogen, Ari Graynor, Paul Scheer and Alison Brie, with Josh Hutcherson as “Denny”, Zac Efron as “Chris-R”, Jacki Weaver as “Claudette”, and Nathan Fielder as “Peter”

RATED R for constant strong language, sexual references, and brief nudity

Oh, hiii readers…

First off, if you have not heard of The Room, the famously-bad 2003 drama directed by, written by, produced by, and starring one Tommy Wiseau, go look it up. It was recently the subject of a 6-minute long Honest Trailer by Youtube’s ScreenJunkies channel. Personally, I first came to know of it via The Nostalgia Critic, Doug Walker, a Youtube personality who reviews and criticizes bad movies. The contemporary answer to all-time-bad-film Plan Nine from Outer Space, The Room is a clumsily written, directed, and acted film about Johnny (the pale, vaguely-Eastern-European-accented Wiseau), who has his heart broken when his girlfriend Lisa decides she’s not in love with him anymore and seduces his best friend Mark. This begins a dramatic spiral that ends with Johnny’s suicide. The film – a cult hit that still sells out special screenings of fans dying to laugh at it – is horrendous, packed to the brim with awkward dialogue, oddly positioned sex scenes, obvious grown men playing “fresh-faced” teenagers, random inconsequential admissions of breast cancer diagnosis, and games of football toss in alleyways in which the participants wear tuxedos for no particular reason.

Mark was played in the film by actor Greg Sestero, who later paired with Tom Bissell to write a memoir—“The Disaster Artist: My Life Inside The Room, the Greatest Bad Movie Ever Made”. The book has now been adapted into this movie, a Golden Globe-nominated comedy starring the Franco brothers, James and Dave. The Disaster Artist chronicles how Sestero (Dave) met the aforementioned Wiseau (James) in an acting class, and thus began an unlikely friendship/partnership that led to Sestero getting second billing in Wiseau’s brainchild The Room. Having seen and laughed at the aforementioned ScreenJunkies and Nostalgia Critic parodies of The Room, and having heard of the mad genius of the film, I was excited to see this movie.

Oh my gooooodness….

The Disaster Artist is a stunning, hilarious, awkward, outrageous, and nerve-shreddingly-uncomfortable – yet also legitimately touching – film about misguided ambition. Really, it’s about following one’s dreams. Just because we don’t all look, sound, and act like people aspiring to be great artists doesn’t mean we aren’t.

As seen early on, Greg Sestero has looks but little talent. He yearns to be a star, but can’t pull any excitement or charisma out of himself. So when he sees fellow acting classmate Tommy Wiseau do a remarkably un-self-conscious rendition of the “Stella” scene fromTennessee Williams’ “A Streetcar Named Desire”, he’s intrigued. And Tommy turns out to be a nice guy. Nice, but weird. He claims only to be from New Orleans, and he claims to be the same age as Greg, who is in his early 20s. But his lank black hair, drooping blue eyes, and lazy, mumbling deadpan speech suggest those are far from the truth. Nonetheless, he’s polite, and immediately hooks Greg with his self-assured, devil-may-care approach to life. He’s impulsive and adventurous, a dreamer, his unique way of doing things backed by a large and mysterious personal fortune. While it’s clear to almost everyone that Tommy does not have the look, personality, or diction for screen acting, the desperate Greg sees someone who shares his dreams of making it, and who is relentlessly optimistic. The two men become roommates at Tommy’s apartment in Los Angeles, and begin auditioning for roles. But when Tommy attempts to impress a Hollywood producer and causes a public scene, he’s angrily told he has no talent and will never make it. His sunshine-y disposition sours, but Greg cheers him up by suggesting he make his own movie. Nearly three years later, Tommy drops the script for The Room in front of Greg, saying he wants him to be the co-lead. If Greg thought knowing and living with the social-nightmare Tommy could be tricky before, he hasn’t seen anything yet. Tommy has money but nothing else, the script is a disaster, production falls into chaos and The Room turns out to be, well, The Room.

Assuming Sestero and Bissell are not lying or exaggerating in the book for which the film is named, The Disaster Artist has to be viewed with incredulity. It’s hard to believe this fish-out-of-water tale is real. I was practically watching through my fingers in mortification as Tommy has Greg loudly improv lines in public to overcome his stage fright, bellows Shakespeare in nice restaurants to get the attention of studio execs, and “oversees” the miserable production of his terrible movie.

Uncomfortable as it is, The Disaster Artist had to be a hoot to make. There is clearly a deep, cult-ish love for The Room. How else would name actors like Seth Rogen, Josh Hutcherson and Zac Efron be dying to come aboard to play hapless participants in the production of the classic? How else would actors like Bryan Cranston, Jackie Weaver, Adam Scott and Kristen Bell volunteer their time? The Room is a bizzaro, from-another-universe type of work, but I’m guessing each actor in Hollywood sees something of themselves in the ambition, the passion, the awkwardness, the sheer unforgettable madness of Wiseau’s film. Seriously, The Disaster Artist is a gem just for the passion with which it was clearly made—the movie ends with almost five full minutes of The Room clips juxtaposed opposite The Disaster Artist cast’s shot-for-shot, movement-for-movement renditions of all the most (in)famous scenes. If you know The Room, you know which ones:

“You’re tearing me apart, Lisa!”

“Johnny’s my best friend.”

“I did not hit her. It’s not true. It’s bulls***. I did not hit her. I did not. Oh hi Mark.”

“I got the results of the test back. I definitely have breast cancer.”

“Anything for my princesssss.”

Like I said, watching The Disaster Artist made me physically uncomfortable at times. Tommy Wiseau would make Michael Scott or Leslie Knope uncomfortable with his unfiltered antics. Honestly, I was so tense and unnerved I wanted to leave the theater at certain points. But the crazy thing is, just as the movie turns out to be a look at not the quality of the finished product of The Room, but about the passion and the measure of the dream, I’m catching myself now asking why I had that reaction, and whether I should have. It’s just a movie, but—how do I treat people in my life who may be a little different from me? People with different voices, or different looks, or different personal thresholds for enthusiasm and embarrassment in social situations? Do I judge books by their covers? If I met Tommy Wiseau, or someone like him, would I immediately reject him because he doesn’t look or act like I think a “normal” person should?

This doesn’t have to even be about celebrities, or people who make bad movies when they think they’re making good ones? How do I react to people with physical handicaps, with speech impediments, with other defects? Do I shy away and treat them differently, or do I still appreciate what they have to offer, treat them with respect, kindness, and dignity? At least according to the movie, Greg Sestero learned to appreciate the experience of making The Room even when an audience full of people was howling with laughter on the night of the premiere. Greg, an untalented actor, was seeing himself on a massive silver screen, in a real theater populated by actors and other industry folks, who were enjoying themselves, laughing and cheering. He wasn’t about to win any Oscars or hit it big, but he had accomplished his dream of being a star in a real movie—just in an unconventional way.  

Obviously, The Disaster Artist would be nothing without the 110% commitment of the Franco brothers, James and Dave. Dave, 32, who rose to fame with his hilarious performances in screwball comedies like 21 Jump Street and Neighbors, is terrific as the audience’s catalyst, a voice of reason in the circus that surrounds Tommy Wiseau. But all the buzz around Disaster Artist is around big brother James, 39, who also directed, and there’s no question why. The elder Franco came up in serious roles, as Harry Osborne in the Sam Raimi Spiderman trilogy and the former titular character in the would-be epic medieval romance Tristan & Isolde. He’s even been nominated for a Best Actor Oscar, for playing real life wilderness survivor Aron Ralston in the 2010 Best Picture nominee 127 Hours. But James has found his greatest success is wacky comedies (The Pineapple Express, This is the End, The Interview) and wackier roles (Spring Breakers, Why Him?). To put it bluntly, the plays-by-his-own-rules artiste has tended to rub me the wrong way…which makes him a perfect candidate to play the so-strange-he’s-got-to-be-from-another-planet Wiseau. And, in a manner that would surely make the infamous auteur proud, James inhabits Wiseau, not just with the eyes and the hair, but his odd diction, his body language, and his complete unabashed approach to the role. It really is gold—he disappears into the role, and would deserve an Oscar nomination if he got it.

In Summary

The Disaster Artist may have made me physically uncomfortable at times -- enough that I can’t say I would sit through the whole thing again -- but man is it a special little treasure of a movie. A recreation of the making of the famously-bad 2003 drama The Room, it invites you to laugh out loud at its absurdity. James Franco goes all-in as the mysterious, mumbling, socially-awkward Tommy Wiseau – the writer/director/star of The Room – in a performance that has already gotten a Golden Globe Best Actor nomination and deserves Oscar consideration. His brother Dave is just as good, as the hapless dreamer/co-star who befriends this oddity of a man and ends up the better for it. And that's the point. This story of the now cult-classic – which still sells out special screenings of people dying to have a good time watching it with their friends – isn’t just a snarky Hollywood take on a bad movie. It’s a parable about following your dreams, about believing in yourself and your friends, about aiming high against all reason, and driving toward your goals with passion. Like the old Les Brown quote says: “Shoot for the moon. Even if you miss, you will land among the stars.”

The Disaster Artist (2017)

Rating: 8/10

Directed by James Franco

Screenplay by Scott Neustadter and Michael H. Weber

Based on the book “The Disaster Artist: My Life Inside The Room, the Greatest Bad Movie Ever Made”, by Greg Sestero and Tom Bissell

Rated R

Length: 1 hour, 44 minutes

STAR WARS: THE LAST JEDI

Star Wars: The Last Jedi (Episode VIII) (2017)

Rating: 8.5/10

STARRING: Daisy Ridley, Adam Driver, Mark Hamill, Carrie Fisher, Oscar Isaac, John Boyega, Kelly Marie Tran, Domhnall Gleeson, Laura Dern, Benicio del Toro, Gwendoline Christie, and Andy Serkis as the voice of Supreme Leader Snoke

RATED PG-13 for intense action violence and some emotional content

Once upon a time, a filmmaker named Rian Johnson was called upon to direct a crucial installment of the hit television series Breaking Bad. Though it was technically only the third-to-last episode of the acclaimed series, “Ozymandias” was in many ways the show’s dramatic and emotional climax, opening with a shootout and the gut-wrenching death of a major character, seguing into an explosive domestic confrontation, and ending with the show’s main character on the run, a fugitive wanted for kidnapping and murder. Lauded far and wide, “Ozymandias” was a magnificent hour of television, one that still ranks as Breaking Bad’s highest-rated episode ever, with an online user/critic rating of 9.9/10.

Rian Johnson stepping in to direct a pivotal installment of a beloved, popular series and delivering an unforgettable spectacle—a tremendous and stunning mix of action, drama, exhilaration, terror and heartbreak…

Sound familiar?

While you can see that I did not rate Star Wars: The Last Jedi as highly as the people have rated “Ozymandias”, the nature of the achievement resonates. Johnson both wrote and directed The Last Jedi, and it proves not only the longest-ever episode of the series, but almost certainly one of the best. A scene-setting first act may leave viewers a bit restless (in a Rogue One kind of way), but it gives way to a real whopper of a second act, a huge final hour that just keeps building on itself, featuring a dazzling and powerful parade of spectacular action sequences, heart-stopping shifts in momentum, climactic confrontations, and fake-out endings that just beg to be described with the term epic.

The Last Jedi begins within minutes on the timeline of the conclusion of 2015’s The Force Awakens, its immediate predecessor. After the famous opening title crawl, we find the stubborn, brave Resistance, led by General Leia Organa (the late Carrie Fisher), seeking to send a message to the high-powered, heavily-armed First Order with a surprise attack. A bombing run led by pilot Poe Dameron (Oscar Isaac) inflicts massive damage on the First Order’s superior fleet of space cruisers. But when the mission takes a turn, and the Resistance sustain heavy losses, they are forced to turn and flee. Pursued relentlessly by the First Order fleet, led by the sneering General Hux (Domhnall Gleeson), the Resistance soon find themselves with dwindling fuel reserves and limited options. Things don’t improve when Leia promotes Vice Admiral Holdo (Laura Dern) to command, and the Vice Admiral’s tactical plan turns out to be little more than to run and evade for as long as possible. Sensing their commanders’ increasing desperation, Resistance fighters Poe, Finn (John Boyega) and Rose (Kelly Marie Tran) hatch a daring plan to sneak onto a First Order cruiser and confuse their tracking signals in order to allow the good guys' fleet to beam into hyperspace and escape. Meanwhile, their ally Rey (Daisy Ridley), who has long felt the growing power of the Force within her, seeks tutelage at the hands of Luke Skywalker (Mark Hamill), the legendary Jedi hero who has been hidden in exile for years. Luke is reluctant to tutor Rey because his last notable pupil was Kylo Ren (Adam Driver), his nephew and a once-promising student who is now the brooding apprentice of the malevolent First Order head honcho, Supreme Leader Snoke (voice of Andy Serkis). Soon it’s a race against time as Poe, Finn and Rose try to throw off the First Order’s tracking signals before they’re caught, before the fleet’s fuel runs out, and before the conflicted Kylo Ren once and for all puts his past behind him and embraces the Dark Side, and all the power that comes with it. All the while, Rey battles frustration and despair as she tries to persuade Luke to help unlock her own Force abilities, so that she can not only become a true Jedi but also step up to help the Resistance escape annihilation.

Needless to say, if you are not familiar with The Force Awakens, you need to watch it, or re-watch it, whatever the case may be. There are a handful of new characters in this cast, but, as stated, Last Jedi picks up within minutes of where the previous installment left off, and features all the returning major characters in their own stories that pick up almost from the get-go. In the interest of not spoiling any of the movie’s half-dozen major twists or revelations, I will say no more of the plot here.

While The Last Jedi does not rival The Empire Strikes Back as my personal Star Wars favorite, it is everything you want in a Star Wars film. The opening Lucasfilm and Star Wars logos are as stirring as ever. The visuals are absolutely incredible, from Resistance bombers deploying their payloads during the opening attack, a gorgeously-shot and choreographed two-on-eight skirmish that might go down as the series’ best action scene ever, and the final battle on a planet made up of stark white salt and blood-red crystals. Visits to multiple different planets provide some interstellar intrigue, most notably a planet boasting a luxurious casino that puts one in mind of a James Bond film. Long-time supporting characters like R2D2, Chewbacca, and C-3PO (still voiced by Anthony Daniels) elicit chuckles with quirky appearances – keeping things grounded while we focus mostly on the exploits of our dashing new heroes – and an old favorite makes a surprise cameo fans of all ages will love. It all adds up to a more-than-memorable entry, one that keeps things entertaining throughout its considerable running time (at just over two-and-a-half-hours, it’s the longest Star Wars by almost 20 minutes).

So, with all these colorful descriptors and high accolades, why do I not have it rated higher? Well, this was surely inevitable, but despite enough major twists and turns that I started to feel like this Star Wars shared some DNA with Game of Thrones, the movie does reek of fan service. One character who was surprisingly underused in The Force Awakens returns to be almost immediately discarded again (why have the character around anyway? Because she looks cool?). There’s a none-too-subtle vein of slapstick humor, particularly in the first hour, that might prompt unhappy comparisons to The Prequels. And, in keeping with the epic concept, The Last Jedi leaves no dramatic stone unturned. A few favorite characters have Near-Death-Experiences that feel like deliberate fakeouts, strains of the series’ beloved musical score provide obvious cues for impending Big Moments or Important Lines of Dialogue, and a number of important confrontations are subjected to unnecessarily lengthy closeups clearly meant to milk the tension. I also just can’t help feeling that The Last Jedi may have fired too many narrative bullets. For all the intriguing surprises and major developments here, one wonders what, exactly, is left for 2019’s Episode IX to do. Last Jedi is tremendous, but more of a cliffhanger ending, while frustrating for fans now, could have built even greater excitement for the last episode of this trilogy.

Unsurprisingly, the cast is terrific. How great it is to meet back up with familiar characters after Rogue One’s one-and-done heroes?! Daisy Ridley navigates a topsy-turvy, dramatic go-round for Rey with aplomb, John Boyega brings the same conviction and pluck to Finn he brought last time, and Oscar Isaac capably provides the required charisma and swagger as our Han Solo stand-in. Another returnee, Domhnall Gleeson, cranks the sneer up to smack-it-off-his-face levels as the nefarious, if somewhat doofish, Hux. The always-reliable Laura Dern is rock-solid as a different breed of rebel leader, and newcomer Kelly Marie Tran makes an endearing sidekick. Old favorites Mark Hamill and Carrie Fisher (whose passing last December at age 60 broke hearts the world over) give soulful performances in roles worthy of their screen prestige. And whatever you may think of Kylo Ren the character – whether you think him a mesmerizingly-conflicted villain or a whiny punk kid – you have to admit Adam Driver is killing it in the role; Ren is easily the most dynamic and memorable presence in this trilogy so far, and his ultimate allegiance and fate is probably the biggest question left to be answered.

Oh, and can we please get Andy Serkis an Oscar? Or a statue? Or something? His work as Supreme Leader Snoke (on par with his instant-classic motion-capture portrayals of Gollum, King Kong, and Caesar the ape) is masterful.

In Summary

Okay, to wrap up. While I do not consider Star Wars: The Last Jedi to be the beloved series’ best, for me, it easily surpasses its predecessor, 2015’s The Force Awakens. And as a two-and-a-half-hour epic with a you-have-to-see-it-to-believe-it second half, I almost feel like it breaks new ground for the series. It’s not perfect, but I’m pretty sure writer/director Rian Johnson will never have to buy another drink, and Disney is guaranteed to give him a blank check and a slap on the back for this new spinoff trilogy he wants to make next. There’s laugh-out-loud humor, edge-of-your-seat suspense, shock-you-into-silence drama, and mesmerizing action. And, of course, it’s a fine and fitting tribute to one of its most valuable and beloved players, the late Carrie Fisher. It’s the capital-E Event of the 2017 holiday movie season, and it delivers.

Star Wars: The Last Jedi (2017)

Directed and Written for the Screen by Rian Johnson

Based on Characters Created by George Lucas

Rated PG-13

Length: 2 hours and 32 minutes

MURDER ON THE ORIENT EXPRESS

Murder on the Orient Express (2017)
Rating: 7.5/10

STARRING: Kenneth Branagh, Tom Bateman, Daisy Ridley, Leslie Odom Jr., Josh Gad, Michelle Pfeiffer, Willem Dafoe, Judi Dench, Derek Jacobi, Penelope Cruz, Olivia Colman and Johnny Depp

RATED PG-13 for emotional content, some bloody/violent images, and brief language 

Well, I finally did it. I saw Murder on the Orient Express.

It’s been a long road to get here. When I first saw the trailers, it seemed all but given that I would see it. Why? Well, mainly because it seemed like surefire Oscarbait. Consider: a sumptuous period piece epic that is also an adaptation of a classic novel (Agatha Christie’s 1934 thriller) brought to life by a cast full of diverse, accomplished actors, several of them previous Oscar winners or nominees…So this was definitely on my list. But then came surprisingly-middling reviews. Critics said it was not long enough, not as good as previous big-screen adaptations of the novel (which I have not seen), and it supposedly paid too little heed to its remarkable cast while focusing all the juicy character development on the main character, Belgian detective Hercule Poriot, played by the film’s director, Kenneth Branagh. The reviews, I must admit, scared me off. But then one of my best friends said it was one of the best movies she’d ever seen. Several other friends reported that they liked it a lot. It became a surprisingly strong contender at the box-office. Several of my family members made plans to see it…the day after I left town to come back home after Thanksgiving. Its very title (let alone the trailers) promised an intriguing murder mystery to which I was itching to know the outcome. And that cast…honestly, in what world would a movie-lover like me not see a movie starring two previous Oscar winners (Judi Dench and Penelope Cruz), the new darling of Star Wars (Daisy Ridley), one of the Tony-winning stars of Broadway’s Hamilton (Leslie Odom Jr.), a couple of reliably-great supporting actors (Willem Dafoe and Josh Gad), arguably the biggest movie star of the 2000s (Johnny Depp), and Branagh, the five-time Oscar nominee who is more responsible than anyone except my seventh grade English teacher for making me a fan of Shakespeare?

            So yeah, I saw it. And I have good news and bad news.

            The good news? Thanks to my Regal Crown Club membership, I had enough “points” to see this movie I had been-iffy-about-but-decided-to-see-anyway for free!

            The bad news? I saw it the same day I returned home from Thanksgiving travels, and, it turns out, I was a little tired. I was literally nodding at several points during the first half, so I may have missed something.      

            I think I still got the finer points, though.

            Murder on the Orient Express is a solid and engaging film, with some dazzling visuals, terrific music, a Sherlock-esque brainteaser of mystery with myriad key details, and that cast, of which several members are appropriately utilized. I liked it. And I absolutely want to see it again, both because I may or may not have been snoozing during some parts and just because it’s a detail-loaded murder mystery, the type of movie that can leave me in the dust with its complexities and seems ripe to reward second viewings. I have some misgivings, though, and I’ll get to those in a moment.

            Murder on the Orient Express centers around the aforementioned person of Poirot (Branagh), a renowned Belgian detective with an equally renowned moustache. After foiling a theft in Jerusalem, Poirot finds himself traveling first-class aboard the famed Orient Express, special guest of his old friend Bouc (Tom Bateman), the train director. Despite a cheeky, charismatic demeanor, Poirot is in great need of some R&R, dealing with shades of guilt after refusing to help with an American crime case that ended in the most horrific manner possible. But the train is luxurious, and Poirot is able to occupy his mind with A Tale of Two Cities and the unique, colorful characteristics of his fellow passengers. Among them are a Russian princess (Dench), a missionary (Cruz), an Austrian scientist (Dafoe), a pretty young Englishwoman (Ridley), a stalwart doctor (Odom Jr.), a boozy middle-aged socialite (Michelle Pfeiffer), and a roughish American art dealer (Depp) and his two assistants (Gad along with Derek Jacobi). But the same night the Orient Express is buffeted and then derailed by an avalanche, one of the passengers is found dead of stab wounds. The compartment window is wide open. Poirot deduces immediately that either the person responsible fled, or the killer is still on the train, which can go nowhere until a work crew from the nearest station can come dig it out. Begged by Bouc to put his great mind to work in the hopes of a speedy resolution, Poirot begins to “interview” his fellow passengers. One by one, they each offer alibis as to where they were at the time of the killing that are only half-convincing. One by one, each somehow slips up, giving Poirot reason to suspect them of the heinous crime. Then another passenger is stabbed. The remainder begin to suspect each other. And Poirot, who failed to answer the call of the American crime case where he was so badly needed, is put to the test.

            The critics’ reviews I read were right about one thing: Orient Express starts and ends with the person of Poirot. Featured in nearly every scene, Poirot is arguably the only character explored on multiple levels. As this mustachioed protagonist, Branagh (last seen in July’s Dunkirk) is effective. Yes, he has always been a very theatrical actor (duh, he’s the modern era’s foremost Shakespeare enthusiast), and with the moustache, the accent, and the quips, he veers close to caricature in the early going. Branagh has always had a tendency to overact, sometimes badly (see 1994’s Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein, or, even worse, 1999’s Wild Wild West), but the movie is ultimately engaging, meticulous, and serious enough that Poirot’s broadness and accessibility are needed. In the movie’s biggest moments, Branagh does wonders with his eyes, and he suggests a depth to the character that makes us want to learn more.

            As stated, Branagh gets by far the most screen-time of any of the film’s actors, but most of the others who will be familiar to audiences make an impression. Dench does her gruff older woman thing, with a softness in the eyes and a Russian accent to boot. Depp commands the screen in a surprisingly no-frills performance, his most straightforward work in years. Jacobi, Ridley, Pfeiffer and Odom Jr. all make strong impressions. But the one who really jumped out at me among the supporters was Josh Gad. Best known as comic relief in animated classics (he voiced Olaf in Frozen), live-action Disney remakes (this year’s Beauty and the Beast) and a crappy Adam Sandler film (Pixels), Gad is surprisingly effective as an emotional, tormented straight man. He cracks no jokes and gets no laughs, but his expression during his interview with Poirot is an indelible image of emotional anguish.

            The reason I don’t rate Murder on the Orient Express higher is not only that I may have missed something while I was nodding there in the theater. As stated, some early scenes with Poirot are a little too quippy and cartoonish, with gags galore about his moustache and the way he likes his eggs cooked. Branagh the overactor (and, remember, the film’s director) is way too eager to lavish attention on these “amusing” eccentricities. A few early shots of the Orient Express in motion scream CGI, despite some gorgeous backdrops. The episodic nature of Poirot’s interviews with his fellow passengers gets a little repetitive, plus the movie’s not-even-two-hour running time means the audience is bombarded with details during and immediately after each of these episodes, which gets a little wearisome. A story (and a cast) like this would be much better served with a mini-series, at least.  

            But what you’ll probably remember about the movie, apart from the murder investigation’s emotionally-resonant, effective resolution, is that tracking shot of Poirot entering the car in a moment of suspense, while the camera pans across the intrigued/concerned/tense expressions on each of his fellow passengers’ faces. It sums up the film nicely, with the character, the cast, the score, and the lavish look of the dining car. It’s a beaut.

In Summary

Did I literally sleep through parts of Murder on the Orient Express because I saw it in theaters less than 90 minutes after concluding a 4-hour car trip back from my dad’s house for Thanksgiving? I can neither confirm nor deny. Would such a detailed movie be well served by me seeing it a second time at some point, at which time my opinion of it might be improved? Almost certainly. But did I enjoy it? I did. As the trailers suggest, and as people have been telling you, this adaptation of Agatha Christie’s 1934 murder mystery is a lavish production stuffed to the gills with striking visuals, a lovely musical score, constant Sherlockian explosions of eye-opening details, and a strong cast, headed by your favorite Shakespeare enthusiast who was also once a Hogwarts professor, Kenneth Branagh. It’s entertaining, well-acted, and emotionally-satisfying. Yeah, I’m already looking forward to seeing it again (when I’m, you know, awake).

Murder on the Orient Express (2017)

Directed by Kenneth Branagh
Screenplay by Michael Green
Based on the novel "Murder on the Orient Express" by Agatha Christie (publ. 1934)

Rated PG-13

Length: 1 hour 54 minutes