Derrick Bang on Film

Power Ballad: Music to our ears

2026-06-05T01:00:00.000-07:00

Power Ballad (2026) • View trailer

Four stars (out of five); rated R, for relentless profanity and some drug use

Available via: Movie theaters

By Derrick Bang • Published in The Davis Enterprise, 6.7.26

Irish writer/director John Carney clearly loves music as much as I admire his films.

Starting with 2006’s charming Once — with its poignant, Academy Award-winning song “Falling Slowly” — and continuing through 2013’s Begin Again, 2016’s Sing Street and 2023’s Flora and Son — Carney has found fresh ways to explore the complicated, sometimes maddening relationship his characters have with music, and their muse.

After a blend of swapped stories, too much alcohol, and a mutual love of songwriting,
Danny (Nick Jonas, left) and Rick (Paul Rudd) play original tunes for each other.

His newest beguiling drama, co-written with Peter McDonald, focuses on the frequently shattering impact today’s corporate, money-driven music industry has on talented individuals who don’t ... quite ... make it.

Back in the day, American singer/songwriter Rick (Paul Rudd) established a modest presence and released a few albums. While performing in Dublin during an international tour, he met and married Rachel (Marcella Plunkett) ... and never left. Pop star aspirations were set aside 14 years ago, when their daughter Aja (Beth Fallon) was born.

Rick now is the charismatic lead singer of a pop/rock quintet dubbed The Bride and Groove, which is reasonably successful on the local wedding circuit. Unfortunately, Rick has a tendency to sprinkle one of his own early tunes among the band’s popular, by-request selection of power ballad covers such as Kool & The Gang’s “Celebration” ... to the constant annoyance of band leader Binzer (Rory Keenan).

While at home, Rick continues to noodle away at new songs. One in particular — a sentimental ballad titled “How to Write a Song Without You” — has obsessed him for years, but he can’t quite get it right.

He frequently shares his efforts with his disinterested daughter, who scoffs at romantic lyrics.

What do you want out of a song, Rick asks.

“Revenge,” Aja replies, without skipping a beat.

The band’s next booking is a posh gig at a massive estate reminiscent of Downton Abbey. Toward the performance’s conclusion, newlyweds George (Robert Mitchell) and Elaine (Mae Higgins) ask the band to let a “friend” share a song. He turns out to be American pop star Danny Wilson (Nick Jonas), a former “boy band” sensation now struggling to establish a solo career.

Later that evening, once all the revelers have retired, Rick and Danny bond over their shared love of music. After plenty of alcohol and shared stories, they play music for each other; Danny gratefully accepts Rick’s suggested feedback and lyrical notes. As dawn approaches, Rick plays “How to Write a Song” on the piano, which clearly impresses Danny.

Carney lets this warm and enchanting montage sequence unfold at a leisurely pace. Both actors are note-perfect as their respective characters thaw, surprise and impress each other, and develop a palpable level of mutual respect.

As they part, Danny hands Rick his record label’s business card, encouraging him to keep in touch.

Back in the States, label owner Mac (Jack Reynor) isn’t impressed by Danny’s efforts. The songs are good “album content,” he acknowledges, but they need a hook-ish single. Despondent, Danny returns to his opulent home — having done quite well during the boy band years — and sags beneath the weight of writer’s block.

Almost absent-mindedly, he plays “How to Write a Song” from memory on his grand piano. Upstairs, his girlfriend Marcia (Havana Rose Liu) detects a magical “something” that she hasn’t heard in any of Danny’s other songs. She insists that he play it for Mac, and he obliges ...

... and then Danny does The Most Awful Thing Possible.

Six months later, while shopping, Rick hears his song being played over the mall PA system. He quickly discovers that Danny has turned it into a chart-topping monster hit, which has completely re-ignited his sell-out stadium performance career.

Until this moment, I’ve never been impressed by Rudd as an actor; he usually overworks his penchant for bland, stoic supporting roles. But his performance here is a revelation; in a few brief scenes, Rick persuasively slides from puzzlement and surprise to dismay, anger, frustration and ultimately blind panic and total meltdown.

Because he never wrote down the song. No scribbled lyrics. No lead sheets. He never played it for his band mates, who regard his story with disbelief; even Rachel and Aja have no memory of the tune, amid the countless others they’ve heard him work on. Worse yet, Danny’s record label won’t return his calls.

Rick is certain that he recorded the song at least once, but he can’t find it amid the hundreds and hundreds of audio files on his computer.

Carney and McDonald’s shrewdly calculated script makes fascinating observations about these two characters. Rick might have been self-absorbed during his early days, but becoming a family man has grounded him while in Dublin; in short, he has matured into a decent, honorable and honest human being.

Rick meets Danny at the latter’s low ebb, when the valley between his two arcs of fame have left him humbled, vulnerable and on the verge of becoming a sympathetic character. We infer that he was a self-absorbed jerk during his boy band years, and — sadly — rediscovered fame once again transforms him into an arrogant, conceited sybarite who doesn’t give a damn about anybody else.

Except ... except ... as Jonas subtly plays the role, it’s clear that traces of guilt and decency hide behind Danny’s smug behavior.

It’s impossible to anticipate how all this will play out, but rest assured: Carney takes us on a helluva ride.

Peter McDonald is a total hoot as Sandy, the sole Bride and Groove band mate who believes Rick, and would follow him to the ends of the earth. Although inserted mostly for comic relief, Carney grants Sandy some serious moments of staunch friendship.

Reynor is impressive chill as the soulless Mac: this story’s primary villain, and a guy we love to hate.

Keenan exudes the authority and business savvy that make Binzer a capable band leader; Keith McErlean and Paul Reid get some choice moments as fellow band mates Kyle and Bernard.

Plunkett’s Rachel is a bit one-note; she doesn’t have any opportunities to stretch beyond competent bread-winner and devoted wife. But Fallon is terrific as Aja, forever at war between a desire for outward “teen aloofness” and genuine fondness for her father.

(I’m pretty sure Carney plays a busker, seen a couple of times, who cheekily performs a bit of “Falling Slowly.”)

The ubiquitous music is its own character, with its blend of familiar power ballad standards and original tunes; the latter — most notably “How to Write a Song Without You” — come from Carney and Scottish musician and producer Gary Clark.

Unfortunately, that key tune is performed a few too many times, as the story progresses; by the time the film concludes, we’re rather tired of it. (That said, it’s a catchy ear worm.)

Carney has delivered another crowd-pleasing hit.

She Dances: Plenty of the right moves

2026-06-05T00:30:00.000-07:00

She Dances (2025) • View trailer

3.5 stars (out of five); rated PG-13, for fleeting profanity and some drug references

Available via: Amazon Prime and other VOD options

By Derrick Bang

This is a Wince During The First Half And Pray For A Reasonably Happy Outcome movie.

I don’t mean that in a bad way. Director/co-writer Rick Gomez’s feature debut is a frequently charming little character drama, which depicts the often embarrassing struggle of an estranged father and his teenage daughter trying to re-connect, after a tragedy ripped the family apart.

As Claire (Audrey Zahn, left) and Kat (Mackenzie Ziegler) look on with mounting
dismay, a flummoxed Jason (Steve Zahn) discovers that his intended hotel room
upgrade has misfired in a devastating way.

The film also features a noteworthy acting debut by dancer/choreographer Audrey Zahn, working here with her father Steve Zahn, playing — you guessed it — the aforementioned daughter and father.

This seems to have become something of a thing. Ethan Hawke directed his daughter Maya in 2023’s Wildcat; and Ewan McGregor and daughter Clara played a similarly estranged family unit in that same year’s Bleeding Love.

This new film is considerably better McGregor’s effort, and for several reasons. The situation is more relatable; Gomez’s touch is gentler, and at times quite funny; and the script — by Gomez and Steve Zahn — grants everybody plenty of persuasively awkward moments that’ll likely feel familiar to many viewers.

Kat (Audrey Zahn) has spent her entire life dancing, both for joy and in competition. Her bedroom is filled with ribbons and trophies, and everything has built up to the impending Southern Regional Dance Finals. Kat lives with her mother Deb (Rosemarie DeWitt); her long-unseen father Jason (Steve Zahn) parted following their divorce.

The plan was for Deb to take her daughter and longtime partner/BFF Kat (Mackenzie Ziegler) to the competition, but a last-minute emergency demands Deb’s presence elsewhere. With no other options — although Claire initially views this as a non-starter — Deb calls Jason and asks him to step in. Claire still is 17, and the rules require her to be accompanied by a parent or guardian.

“It’ll be perfect,” Deb insists.

“It’ll be perfectly imperfect,” Claire snaps back.

Due to the sort of coincidence that often lurks in stories of this nature, Jason and longtime business partner and best friend Brian (Ethan Hawke) are in the midst of negotiating the sale of their popular Two Jack Bourbon business. Immediately recognizing the importance of this opportunity, Brian insists that the astonished Jason doesn’t pass it up.

Zahn’s wavering expressions, over this wholly unexpected turn of events, speak volumes: Jason is surprised, pleased, worried and — most of all — terrified ... particularly because he can tell, over the phone, that Claire isn’t wild about the idea. He hasn’t spent quality time with her for years, and hasn’t the faintest idea how to relate to her.

Then, too, the long-ago tragedy hovers over everything.

Jason arrives on schedule. Claire demands to drive; Kat calls shotgun; Jason is relegated to the back seat (which may as well be the lower decks). The subsequent drive is ... painful. The girls don’t exactly ignore Jason, but they do talk past him, and make fun of him: not in a nasty manner, but definitely condescending.

Jason tolerates it with patience, smiles and good humor. He understands that this is his role ... at least, for the moment.

Actually, Claire is more specific: He’s the guardian, and just the guardian. Not a parent, and certainly not a friend.

Jason’s early attempts to bridge the divide are well-intentioned, but awkwardly tone-deaf. His offer to enliven the drive with a mix tape — of pop tunes from Claire’s childhood — prompts looks of horror from both girls. Worse yet, his behind-the-scenes attempt to upgrade their reservation — at the hotel hosting the competition — backfires completely.

(I wish I knew who plays the hotel check-in clerk, because he’s deadpan hilarious during this brief scene.)

They wind up instead at a tacky roadside motel — appropriately named Down the Road — which prompts eyeball rolls and long-suffering sighs. (In fairness, the place is comfortable and rather cute, in a retro way.) Their arrival delights three divorced “dance moms” — Bev (Wynn Everett), Joanne (Amy Weaver) and Dawn (Takayla Williams) — who are present with their adolescent daughters.

Those girls, participating in the competition’s younger divisions, squeal with delight at their proximity to Claire and Kat, who they’ve long admired.

Bev, Joanne and Dawn similarly squeal with delight at single-dad Jason’s similarly close proximity, enticing him with the promise of endless cocktails (hopefully followed by um, think about it). This merely exacerbates the situation’s discomfort, because — by this point — we’ve also learned that Jason is a recovering alcoholic, barely holding it together.

Once the competition begins, Jason is so far out of his comfort zone — and repeatedly lost, in this massive hotel — that we ache for him. Even so, Jason is trying; he’s sincere, and caring, and wears his heart on his sleeve. Kat notices this, but we wonder if Claire will ... and whether she’ll care.

Sonequa Martin-Green pops up during competition time as Jamie, Claire and Kat’s longtime dance instructor. Jamie obviously is familiar with the father/daughter dynamic, and she’s a godsend to Jason: helpful, sympathetic and kind. (She also knows the hotel inside and out.) It’s a sweet supporting performance by Martin-Green.

Ziegler is equally solid as Kat, whose relationship with Claire is deep and genuinely touching. (I love their “forehead promise,” following important decisions.) Winning this competition will catapult both girls to a chance at professional careers in New York, so a lot is at stake.

Hawke is rock-solid as Brian, who apparently has shepherded Jason through some tough times, and cares about him deeply. Haley Fish is appropriately bitchy and arrogant as Marla, a Russian dancer who is Claire’s strongest competition in the single performer trials.

Jamie Harvener’s choreography is inventive and exciting, particularly during Claire and Kat’s two pairs performances.

The journey here is completely believable, with both Steve and Audrey Zahn delivering nuanced and heartfelt performances. We’re firmly invested in this story’s outcome.

However ... I don’t buy the final scene. Not at all. It’s the only moment that rings completely false.

Getting there, however, is thoroughly — if often painfully — enjoyable.

The Mandalorian and Grogu: Solid sci-fi action

2026-05-29T01:00:00.000-07:00

The Mandalorian and Grogu (2026) • View trailer

Four stars (out of five); rated PG-13, for sci-fi action and violence

Available via: Movie theaters

By Derrick Bang • Published in The Davis Enterprise, 5.31.26

You simply cannot ask more of a Star Wars movie.

The Mandalorian has been — by far — the most popular streaming series set in the Star Wars universe, and considerable credit goes to writer/director/producer Jon Favreau, who created the show and shepherded it to greatness.

Having tracked the notorious crime lord Janu to his opulent lair on the planet Shakari,
the Mandalorian (Pedro Pascal) and little Grogu are about to confront an unpleasantly
vicious welcome.

(It must be remembered that Favreau also kick-started the Marvel Cinematic Universe franchise, by directing 2008’s Iron Man and its 2010 sequel. He firmly establishing the winning blend of action, peril, well-played characters by top-flight actors, and — most crucially — welcome dollops of wry humor ... all of which made subsequent MCU entries far more entertaining than their DC Universe cousins.)

Given that The Mandalorian is Favreau’s baby, it’s no surprise that he serves here as director, co-producer and co-writer, the latter alongside Dave Filoni and Noah Kloor.

The wildly entertaining result is as carefully structured as a Shakespeare play, with a thrilling prologue followed by two lengthy acts.

(By way of reminding folks who may have forgotten, all Mandalorian stories are set roughly five years after Return of the Jedi, in the optimistic New Republic era, and 25 years before things go awry again in The Force Awakens.)

This new adventure begins as the vile Commander Barro (Hemky Madera), an escaped Imperial warlord, terrorizes the serf-like clan leaders of a distant planet by demanding larger tributes in exchange for his “protection.” Madera capably establishes Barro’s credentials as A Thoroughly Nasty Fellow, but — happily — his despicable behavior is destined for a quick end.

Barro doesn’t realize that he’s one of many such Imperial loyalists identified in a card deck of notorious figures held by Col. Ward (Sigourney Weaver), leader of the New Republic Adelphi Rangers, and a former pilot for the Rebel Alliance. She, in turn, has hired veteran bounty hunter Din Djarin — better known as the Mandalorian (Pedro Pascal) — to deal with the guy.

Mando’s arrival is timely, his battle prowess impressively versatile. As always, he’s accompanied by his tiny companion, Grogu, a mute “Force-sensitive” creature belonging to the same rare and unspecified species as Jedi Master Yoda. Their unusual father/son dynamic has long been the heart of this franchise, transforming Mando — over time — from reluctant protector to proud and devoted surrogate parent.

Grogu’s Force powers notwithstanding, in many ways he’s still an innocent child, prone to getting into trouble ... as when he must be stopped from randomly punching buttons on the command deck of Mando’s spaceship. That aside, everything about Grogu is adorable, from his diminutive size and the way he waddles, to his unexpectedly expressive eyes, ears and the set of his head, which speak volumes even without words.

The blend of puppetry and CGI is seamless, and it’s easy to believe that Grogu is as “present” as Pascal’s Mando.

Over time, Mando has gradually shifting from a mercenary willing to accept any assignment, to a more principled individual preferring to work with the “good guys” in the New Republic.

After dealing with Barro — somewhat “messily,” to Ward’s dismay — her next assignment is more difficult. The target is a mysterious warlord dubbed Commander Coin, whose face never has been revealed. Ward has been offered intel on Coin’s whereabouts by the nefarious Hutt twins, siblings and successors to the deceased crime lord Jabba the Hutt ... but only if somebody first rescues their nephew Rotta, currently held somewhere on the planet Shakari.

Mando is wary of having to deal with the Hutts, knowing full well that they cannot — and should not — be trusted. Ward sweetens the deal by gifting him with a spiffy Razor Crest spaceship; acknowledging the morality of the ultimate goal, he reluctantly accepts.

Once on Shakari, events take ... an unexpected turn. Make that two. Even three.

The immense Rotta the Hutt (voiced by Jeremy Allen White) becomes a major supporting character with an increasingly complex role. He’s in thrall to local crime lord Janu (Jonny Coyne), who has no interest in bartering with Mando.

Additional key players include Embo — not seen since The Clone Wars — a malevolent, totally creepy bounty hunter who works for the Hutt twins, and is accompanied by an equally nasty wolf-like predator. During a respite on Mando’s home world of Nevarro, he hires a quartet of tiny Anzelian mechanics (all voiced by Shirley Henderson) to spruce up the Razor Crest; these fussy creatures — even smaller than Grogu — are constantly hilarious, and also play an important role in what follows.

Martin Scorsese (of all people) exercises his New York twang while voicing Hugo Durant, a four-armed Ardennian fry cook who owns a Shakari food pod, and — reluctantly — supplies Mando with some key information. Their initial exchange is quite funny, and Scorsese delivers just the right amount of nervous terror.

As always is the case with a Star Wars adventure, the many elaborate special effects and world-building are stunning, and wholly immersive. Visual and special effects supervisors John Knoll and Scott Fisher, and their massive teams, deliver an amazing level of verisimilitude. The action also gets additional punch from Ludwig Göransson’s dynamic score, which frequently references his iconic streaming series title theme.

Throughout it all, however, we never lose sight of Mando’s inherent warrior dignity, which Pascal expresses extremely well, despite our (almost) never seeing his face. (Wearing the helmet at all times is part of a Mandalorian’s strict religious code; revealing their face turns them into apostates.) Pascal’s posture, solemnity, and metallic but still thoughtful and compassionate vocal cadence enhance Mando’s devotion to sacred tradition, and the pride with which he views his place in the world.

Favreau has done it again, with a film that delivers and expands upon the already impressive wealth of entertainment we’ve enjoyed during three seasons of the streaming series. No surprise, really, because...

...This is the way.

The Hobby: Tales from the Tabletop — Gamers get a well-deserved spotlight

2026-05-22T01:00:00.000-07:00

The Hobby: Tales from the Tabletop (2025) • View trailer

3.5 stars (out of five); not rated, but akin to PG-13, for occasionally frustrated profoanity

Available via: Amazon Prime

By Derrick Bang

Full disclosure: I had more than a casual interest in Simon Ennis’ engaging documentary before seeing the first frame, because Constant Companion and I ran a game and puzzle store in our town, from 1978 to early 1997.

Once introduced to the ambitious world of today's board gaming culture, Candice Harris
can't get enough of it.

We reluctantly shuttered its doors because — as the 20th century drew to a close — the newly arrived electronic game industry all but killed the traditional board and table game business model.

Happily — as Ennis’ film repeatedly proves — board and table games enjoyed a major resurgence as the 21st century’s second decade began, and now the pursuit is arguably more popular and diverse than ever before.

More power to them, because games have been with us for a long time.

Ennis opens his film at the British Museum, where Dr. Irving Finkel — Assistant Keeper of Ancient Mesopotamian script, languages and cultures in the Department of the Middle East — stands between two enormous Ancient Assyrian “Lamassus” statues. He points between the hooves of one statue, where a rudimentary board game has been scratched onto the metal base: something with which temple guards could while away the time, using pebbles or bits of dung as playing pieces.

Dr. Finkel is quite philosophical about this pastime, explaining that “When a game is invented, which is fair, and just, and exciting, and unpredictable, it spreads like wildfire, because there’s a hunger since the beginning of time, to play.”

That said — and Ennis must’ve been amused to get this quote — Dr. Finkel has no use for modern table games, all of which he considers “too ridiculously complicated.”

(Folks who’ve never progressed beyond Monopoly and Scrabble likely would agree with him.)

Following a brief title credits sequence — backed by a cover of Joe South’s “Games People Play” — the action shifts to opening day of the Indiana Convention Center’s annual Gen Con, a four-day event that draws more than 70,000 attendees (!). We meet moderator Tom Vasel, a board game reviewer and podcaster well known by the regulars.

Vasel is one of roughly a dozen gamers, podcasters and game designers profiled in this film, and he explains why new titles have exploded exponentially during the past decade and change: Crowd-funding allows far more creativity than ever was delivered by the likes of Parker Brothers, Hasbro and Milton Bradley.

(Think of them as the original three TV networks, whose programs had to deliver high ratings in order to survive, as compared to the successful niche options now made available by the multiplicity of streaming outlets. Today’s indie gamers are like the latter.)

The action shifts to the Spielbound Board Game Café in Omaha, Nebraska, where we meet brothers Grant and Miklos Fitch, and their mother Starla. They “found” gaming by playing the popular Settlers of Catan, and now their home is laden with shelves upon shelves stacked ceiling-high with games.

Ennis subsequent cuts between the Fitch family, Vasel and many others, all of whom prove to be on a mission of sorts.

John Hague, who has loved making things since childhood, is shown developing what will become his first serious game effort: The Last Summit. His progress is revealed in stages, throughout this film: making the prototype; playtesting with friends; setting up a table in a local game store, and trying to get the attention of customers (we die a little, over his lack of success); traveling with his wife, Roxy, to Philadelphia’s Pax Unplugged, a more ambitious “game incubator”; and then — breath held — finally launching a Kickstarter campaign.

Former rock ’n’ roll drummer Clarice Harris, seeking a new passion, embraces board games and begins the podcast Cardboard Creations, as a “media content creator” for Board Game Geek. She’s immediately drawn to war games, and confesses that while she loathed history in high school, she’s now fascinated by the subject ... within the context of historical war games.

Vasel shares the contents of his staggeringly large home collection: so massive that he even maintains an entire wall of small plastic drawers that contain potential gaming pieces of every possible variety (the equivalent of a home LEGO store).

An oddly pastoral sequence introduces Elizabeth Hargrave, who loves the outdoors, and particularly birds. She’s inspired to create the game Wingspan, which industry “experts” warn is both too niche, and too complicated. She nonetheless pushes forward, with results I’ll not spoil here ... except to point out that her game has — so far — hatched four sequels and variants.

Newly inspired gamer Dan Corbett becomes hooked on Terraforming Mars, and is determined to beat best friend Simon Ennis (yes, this film’s writer/director). Chinese gamer Hanshi Li hosts Worthy Opponent, a Chinese-language podcast designed as a bridge to the international gaming community. Candice Harris invents her own game, Stage Left, which blends gaming with her earlier passion for indie rock bands.

Grant and Starla Fitch unveil their Our Family Plays Games podcast, as a reaction to the fact that very few gamers are Black; sadly, they’ve actually felt shunned when dropping in at weekly game store play events. (On a personal note, I was dismayed during our own two-decade game store experience, by the fact that a staggering 95 percent of our customers were white and male. That ain’t true these days, and it’s damn well about time.)

As Ennis’ film moves into its second half, considerable time is spent at 2022’s debut World Series of Board Gaming (which has become an annual Las Vegas event). Sixteen games — including Carcassonne, Blood Rage, Ticket to Rideand Terraforming Mars — are employed during the same number of mini-tournaments, leading to initial “game champions” who ultimately face each other for a $25,000 purse.

Several of the individual profiled thus far participate: Dan Corbett, Hanshi Li and enthusiastic newcomer Rebecca Beach, accompanied by Adam, her partner and full-time cheering section.

The tension definitely mounts.

Throughout this often fascinating adventure, Ennis’ approach never is critical ... but there’s a definite sense that some of these individuals have leapfrogged Devotion and landed squarely in Unhealthy Addiction. Their enthusiasm notwithstanding, Vasel and the Fitches clearly are game hoarders, soon to have nowhere to sit or sleep in their own homes.

On the other hand, it’s heartwarming to see that so many shy and socially awkward individuals have found bliss and a welcoming environment among “their people.”

Ennis has one extremely annoying habit: He fails to introduce most of the people profiled in his film, particularly when initially introduced; we constantly play catch-up, trying to figure out who they are. As one of the most glaring examples, Nicholas Ricketts — curator of table games, at the Strong Museum of Play, in Rochester, New York — nevergets identified. (I was forced to look him up online, and that’s just sloppy filmmaking.)

Happily, Ennis redeems himself by granting Candice Harris the final bit of wisdom: “We need to break out of the mindset that board games are this thing that only nerds do.”

Well said. Roll the dice, and draw a card!

Jack Ryan: Ghost War — Insubstantial

2026-05-22T00:00:00.000-07:00

Jack Ryan: Ghost War (2026) • View trailer

2.5 stars (out of five); rated R, for violence and profoanity

Available via: Amazon Prime

By Derrick Bang

This seems to be the week for popular streaming shows to spawn feature-length films.

I hope the Mandalorian and Grogu are treated with more respect.

When a tightly planned operation goes horribly wrong, CIA Deputy Director Greer
(Wendell Pierce, center) must be restrained by MI6 operative Emma Marlow
(Sienna Miller) and veteran CIA agent Jack Ryan (John Krasinski).

Sadly, John Krasinski’s newest Jack Ryan adventure feels like a six-part serial clumsily slashed down to a 105-minute film. Back in the day, I’d have called this a Readers Digest Condensed Movie.

(On a trivial note, the unwisely chosen title evokes memories of 2011’s vastly superior Mission Impossible: Ghost Protocol.)

Director Andrew Bernstein and editor Jason Ballantine’s hyperkinetic pacing amplifies the overall sense of racing to be done with this puppy, a feeling that’s particularly true during the expository, banter-laden initial conversation between “retired” CIA agent Ryan (Krasinski) and CIA Deputy Director James Greer (Wendell Pierce).

Honestly, it feels like their chat is being timed by a stopwatch.

Three years have passed since the events in Ryan’s fourth-season streaming show, which concluded when he left the CIA for a vaguely defined “civilian job in hedge funds.” His relationship with Dr. Cathy Mueller (Abbie Cornish) is ancient history, and he greets each day jogging along the streets of New York City.

Meanwhile, in Dubai, two MI6 agents scramble to crack a computer bank in the upper floor of an unfinished DAMAC tower building. Their goal, under the remote guidance of Nigel Cooke (Douglas Hedge), is to extract evidence of off-books black-ops activity thought to have been shuttered 20 years earlier.

Alas, ruthless thugs sent by Liam Crown (Max Beesley) kill them before the information is fully downloaded.

(And what, pray tell, is such a sophisticated, unguarded computer bank doing in an otherwise dusty and littered construction site? Well might you ask...)

Back in the States, Greer begs a favor of Ryan: Go to Dubai, liaise with Cooke, and collect some intel he’s apparently desperate to share. Ryan reluctantly agrees, and travels with a longtime friend: former CIA colleague-turned-private contractor Mike November (Michael Kelly), quick with a quip, and capable in a pinch.

Alas, this “simple” assignment goes south. Cooke is killed, Ryan winds up with nothing but a cigarette pack — and a warning that Greer is “in trouble” — after which he and November are taken into custody by MI6 agent Emma Marlow (Sienna Miller). She’s furious over the way these two Americans have interfered with her surveillance of the situation.

Greer flies to London, to join a meeting chaired by MI6 Deputy Chief Andrew Spear (JJ Field) and Chief Arnold (Dominic Mafham). During a private conversation with Ryan, Greer admits that he and Cooke created “Project Starling” in the wake of 9/11: a brutal black-ops program designed to employ any means necessary, in order to take other terrorists off the board.

But Greer, realizing that the “cure” had become worse than the disease, terminated the program.

This didn’t sit well with Crown, who has resurrected it and intends to orchestrate a major terrorist attack, thereby encouraging the reactivation of other terrorists groups, in order to “prove” that Project Starling is the only means of shutting them down.

If that sounds like bass-ackwards lunacy, it’s hardly the silliest detail in the ludicrously contrived excuse for a script stitched together by Krasinski, Noah Oppenheim and Aaron Rabin. It feels like they made stuff up as filming proceeded, replete with twists, turns and betrayals.

(Maybe it’s just us, but Constant Companion and I immediately knew who the “surprise” traitor would turn out to be.)

This is one of those insufferably dumb stories that finds the villain — Beesley’s Crown, appropriately smug and arrogant — repeatedly arranging face-to-face encounters with Ryan and Greer, just to taunt them ... when, in a legitimate narrative, Crown easily could/should have been blown away half a dozen times.

Bernstein and stunt coordinator Lee Morrison orchestrate a tautly choreographed car chase through the streets of London, and they also deliver a mildly suspenseful climax back in Dubai, in the same DAMAC tower building ... where Crown still has left that computer bank unguarded. (Seriously?)

The scripted nonsense aside, Krasinski still persuasively inhabits his key role. Ryan is older, wearier and grimly resigned to the half-truths and lies he repeatedly encounters. Pierce has a meaty part, as the conflicted and guilt-ridden Greer, who recognizes his responsibility for this mess. Kelly supplies light comic relief, and Miller is a capable femme fatale.

Betty Gabriel returns briefly as seasoned CIA Director Elizabeth Wright, and Hodge’s Cooke is persuasively scared and twitchy. Adam Bernett makes the most of his third-act appearance as Patrick Klinghoffer, a helpful desk-bound CIA computer analyst.

The sad truth is that all the actors — and their characters — are much better than the inane shenanigans foisted upon them by the numbnuts story. Which merely reinforces what I’ve said for decades:

It’s always the script, stupid.

Remarkably Bright Creatures: A character-driven charmer

2026-05-15T01:00:00.000-07:00

Remarkably Bright Creatures (2026) • View trailer

4.5 stars (out of five); rated PG-13, for brief profanity, fleeting drug use and dramatic intensity

Available via: Netflix

By Derrick Bang

Author Shelby Van Pelt must be pleased; book-to-film translations aren’t often treated with this much respect.

Although Tova (Sally Field) finds it difficult to share her private anguish with anybody else,
she confides everything to Marcellus, the Giant Pacific octopus who resides in the
oceanarium where she works ... and he understands far more than she could imagine.

Granted, director Olivia Newman’s script — co-written with John Whittington — changes some minor details, and compresses events; that’s to be expecting, when turning a 368-page book into a 111-minute movie.

But the buoyant, rapturous result definitely captures the story’s heart, and all three key characters are portrayed marvelously. The supporting players also are well cast; my only complaint is that we don’t get to spend enough time with some of them.

(Just in passing, one must acknowledge the unlikely coincidence of getting two octopus-themed films in such short order, following 2020’s My Octopus Teacher.)

The film opens with a voice-over introduction by Marcellus (voiced gravely, and oh-so-perfectly by Alfred Molina), a Giant Pacific octopus who is the star attraction at the (fictitious) Sowell Bay Oceanarium, in Washington’s Puget Sound. He morosely begins by acknowledging that this morning is “Day 1,404 of my captivity.”

Marcellus laments that he is “subservient to a species beneath me in every possible way,” and has little use for the throngs of people who visit each day. That’s particularly true of the grimy, obnoxious young children who press their noses against the glass tank, or lick it, and leave greasy fingerprints that become a “tiny mural”: an admittedly disgusting image that Newman highlights from Marcellus’ point of view.

(One must admit, were an octopus — or any other critter — to be that sentient and intelligent, such on-display captivity would be an ongoing nightmare.)

Marcellus makes an exception for Tova Sullivan (Sally Field), the elderly janitor/cleaner who, after hours, spends each evening lovingly wiping all the aquarium glass, scraping chewing gum from the floors, and otherwise washing, buffing and scrubbing everything thoroughly. She’s particularly fond of Marcellus, and confides in him, somehow feeling that he understands her.

To a degree, he does. He recognizes that she carries a deep sorrow: “I felt the hole in her heart.”

Marcellus also is quite the escape artist, able to slip out of his tank when impelled by boredom or curiosity. We suspect that he periodically visits other tanks, while pointedly avoiding the one that contains savage wolf eels.

Tova is a widow, and lives alone in a gorgeous, wood-frame home built by her father. Although she keeps it cozy, the place seems too large for her; it also carries unhappy memories that — for the moment — remain hidden behind the closed door to the second bedroom. She treasures her collection of hand-carved Swedish Dala horses ... although one appears to be missing.

Tova also spends considerable time sitting alone, at the end of a long dock, staring out at the water.

She gets gentle but frequent pressure to retire, from her knitting circle friends, affectionately dubbed the “knit-wits”: Janice (Joan Chen), Mary Ann (Kathy Baker) and Barb (Beth Grant).

Elsewhere, down-on-his-luck, wannabe musician Cameron (Lewis Pullman) barely reaches town in the battered van that serves as his home. He inherited it from his mother, who died young, along with a ring and a few bits of information. Cameron’s childhood was far from happy, and he’s now on a mission to find the father he never knew, who supposedly does — or did — live in Sowell Bay.

Cameron needs a job, in order to eat and get the van repaired. By coincidence, Tova falls badly enough to injure one foot. Assuming she’ll need time off, her boss (Donald Sales, as Terry) hires Cameron to replace her. This proves a surprise, when Tova arrives as usual one evening, in order to visit Marcellus ... and finds Cameron doing rather sloppy work.

What follows is the story’s primary heart, handled with marvelous sensitivity — and frequent gentle humor — by Newman and her two stars. Field’s Tova initially is strict and no-nonsense: There’s a right way to do everything, and a wrong way. Pullman’s Cameron is understandably impatient and dismayed to be lectured in such a way.

But Tova refuses to back off, and — as time passes — her tone becomes gentler. Cameron, innately kind, recognizes that she means well. Then, too, both are subtly aware that they share private despair ... something that Marcellus also perceives.

Their growing bond is conveyed via Field’s earnest intensity, and Pullman’s often hilarious double-takes and bewildered expressions. He often seems overwhelmed and flummoxed, not quite able to express himself properly. He has spent too much time being acted upon, rather than acting.

Colm Meaney has a key supporting role as Ethan, who runs the local country store. He has his pulse on everything in town, and always is willing to help someone in need. He likes Cameron on sight, and the two are sympatico; back in the day, Ethan spent a year following the Grateful Dead. He’s also noticeably attentive with Tova, leading us to suspect a long-unfulfilled crush.

Cameron has a meet-cute moment with Avery (Sofia Black-D’Elia, beguiling and perky), the buff and feisty owner of the local paddleboard shop. She’s a spunky charmer; although her initial encounter with Cameron doesn’t seem promising, we’ve no doubt their orbits soon will intersect.

The twin mysteries unravel slowly, and credibly, given the need for Tova and Cameron to learn how to trust each other. That said, Marcellus grows frustrated by the glacial pace with which they dance around what is obvious to him.

Newman and Whittington’s thoughtful script contains numerous gentle one-liner zingers, and quite a few bits of wisdom. Most of the latter come from Marcellus, although a good one comes from somebody else, late in the story: “You’re so busy trying not to be a burden to everyone, that you’ve forgotten how to be a friend.”

Speaking of Marcellus, Newman and the film’s special effects team do an amazing job of blending footage of an actual octopus — named Agnetha, residing at the Vancouver Aquarium — with CGI magic, for the more complex scenes. The result is seamless, and enhances the ease with which we accept Marcellus as a character every bit as important as Tova and Cameron.

Too few of today’s films focus on the way regular people find their way to acceptance and happiness. Newman has handled this impeccably, and that’s no surprise; just a few years ago, she gave us a similarly sensitive and perceptive adaptation of Delia Owens’ Where the Crawdads Sing.

I’m eager to see what Newman does next.

Jaunt: A captivating little journey

2026-05-12T12:54:00.000-07:00

Jaunt (2024) • View trailer

3.5 stars (out of five); not rated, and akin to PG-13 for sensuality, brief nudity and profanity

Available via: Amazon Prime and other VOD options

By Derrick Bang

Folks with a fondness for California’s scenic coastline will get a kick out of this film.

Writer/director Alexi Papalexopoulos’ accomplished feature debut is a road trip in both the physical and spiritual sense: a Golden State journey with well-chosen stops both scenic and touristy.

While pausing their California coastal drive for some quiet time on a beach, Madeline
(Emanuela Boisbouvier) listens attentively while Paul (Blake Worrell) begins to
acknowledge the mess that he has made of his life.

Middle-aged, shambling Paul Wesson (Blake Worrell) is introduced at low ebb in his unkempt West Hollywood apartment, laden with dirty dishes, food containers and dead plants. He looks like he hasn’t gotten out much since the COVID epidemic, and — on this average morning — attends a therapy “session” online, rather than in person.

The kind face in the screen obviously has urged Paul, repeatedly, to get outside and jog the nearby Runyon Canyon hiking trail: a modest 2.8-mile ascent with lavish views from Inspiration Point and Clouds Rest. (Papalexopoulos’ film was shot entirely on location, with Luka Bazeli handling the often majestic cinematography.)

This time, finally — annoyed by his expanding paunch — Paul goes for it. He manages a half-hearted jog/walk to the first lookout point; he arrives panting, as though he might pass out any moment. At which point (we heave a disapproving sigh), he bums a cigarette from the only other person present: a twentysomething French woman, sitting on a bench and chatting on her phone.

To his surprise, she isn’t put off by his appearance. Her gaze is playful, her smile amused; she explains that, in France, it’s customary to exchange small talk for as long as shared cigarettes burn.

She’s Madeline (Emanuela Boisbouvier), a free spirit who has come to California because, well, that’s what some Europeans yearn to do. Paul makes vague references to a former career as a photographer, and maker of low-budget movies. He surprises himself by impulsively inviting her to dinner; she accepts. He shares his address; they part ... and then he remembers what his apartment looks like.

Cue a droll montage of frantic cleaning.

Alas, his chosen restaurant unexpectedly is closed for the evening. Having learned that Paul knows how to cook, Madeline insists they simply return for a meal at his place. They eat, chat, dance, flirt and wind up in bed.

Paul’s expression of disbelief is priceless, upon wakening the following morning. But it gets better. He’s expected in San Francisco in a day or two; Madeline mentions having a friend there. He invites her along, and she accepts ... amused by the care with which he has maintained his 1996 sedan (dubbed Gertrude).

She requests the quintessential California coastline excursion, complete with an overnight stay at a seedy hotel with waterbeds and adult movies.

Their trip begins along the Pacific Coast Highway, passing the Santa Monica Pier — with its iconic Ferris Wheel — en route to breakfast at the Malibu Country Mart. Paul introduces Madeline to the gastronomical luxury of a breakfast burrito; she devours it. This meal is symbolic: Just as a day begins with breakfast, it also signals the initial stirrings of increased intimacy.

The subsequent northward trip bounces between Highways 1 and 101. Early on, Madeline explains that “If you fall in love with the journey, you’ll be in love forever.”

They stop at a beach near the Point Reyes Lighthouse, by which point Paul has begun to open up. Not quite ready for such candor, Madeline insists that this is her beach, declares it a nude beach, sheds her clothes, and runs into the water. Paul can’t follow quickly enough, carelessly shedding his clothes too close to the breaking waves.

Alas, his phone gets drenched.

That proves consequential, because — having later plunged his phone into a package of rice — he must borrow hers, to make what becomes a tempestuous phone call. Overhearing only his end of the conversation, Madeline makes a rash assumption; Paul loses his temper, she does the same.

By the time they reach the Harvard House Motel — with the aforementioned amenities — they’re both locked into silent anger.

But since the trip is only half-over, obviously the same is true of their personal saga.

Worrell is quite good in his role: deftly nuanced, as Paul gradually recognizes – and acknowledges — that he was responsible for his fall from grace. He too readily bought into the BS of the attention, adulation and high-profile access that resulted from his (for a time) fame as a professional photographer.

Now, chastened, Paul must pick up the pieces; Worrell’s growing resolve is suitably persuasive.

At first blush, Boisbouvier’s Madeline seems little more than a carefree sybarite, but that’s misleading. If Paul is trying to run back to a more honorable version of himself, she’s trying to flee a past catalogued in a little red notebook rarely out of her sight. It’s filled with somber sketches and hand-written entries.

Subsequent highlights include a soul-affirming stroll through Big Sur’s Redwood Forest, and a jazz montage that backs the initial overview of San Francisco. Stops include Tony’s Pizza Napoletana, in North Beach; the Richmond neighborhood’s Toy Boat Dessert Café; and Oracle Park, home of the San Francisco Giants, where something totally magical takes place.

Montana Newson does sensitive work in this third act, as Talia, Paul’s daughter. San Francisco restauranteur Boon Johnson has a brief but crucial role, as a long-ago friend who’s delighted to see Paul after so much time, and imparts crucial words of wisdom.

“I was searching among the branches,” Paul ultimately muses, “for something that only appears in the roots.”

Papalexopoulos’ story is laden with heartfelt little moments like that, and he cheekily concludes his film on an ambiguous note. At only 78 minutes long, I wanted more ... but, upon reflection, he delivers everything his story requires.

Give it a try.

The Sheep Detectives: Wooly bully!

2026-05-08T01:00:00.000-07:00

The Sheep Detectives (2026) • View trailer

Four stars (out of five); rated PG, and needlessly, for mild dramatic intensity

Available via: Movie theaters

By Derrick Bang • Published in The Davis Enterprise, 5.10.26

Director Kyle Balda’s quaint little charmer is certain to appeal to fans of Babe, Charlotte’s Web and other (sorta-kinda) live-action talking animal movies.

This one blends that core premise with a bit of Shaun the Sheep and ... Agatha Christie.

Whenever George (Hugh Jackman) feels gloomy or lonely, he cheers himself by spending
quality time with his favorite sheep, Lily.

The film derives from an intriguing source, adapted from German author Leonie Swann’s 2005 novel, Three Bags Full, which is set in the Irish village of Glenkill.

Scripter Craig Mazin moves the action to the fictitious English countryside community of Denbrook. (Filming actually took place in and around Oxfordshire, and cinematographer George Steel makes ample use of the lush setting.) Mazin also takes serious liberties with Swann’s characters and the plot; the beguiling result bears little resemblance to her novel.

Eccentric rancher George Hardy (Hugh Jackman) gets along far better with his sheep — all of whom he has named — than with the townsfolk. He writes long narrative letters to somebody named Rebecca, detailing his workaday activities. He’s also an avid fan of mystery books; once chores are done each day, and the sun begins to set, he sits on the steps leading to his tiny trailer home, and reads aloud to his large flock.

At first blush, it seems curious to see all the sheep amble toward the trailer, and settle onto the ground, as if paying attention. As we learn, when George retires for the night, the sheep understand every word, and debate who the culprit might be.

The lively arguments fly between the patient Mopple (voiced by Chris O’Dowd), the curious Zora (Bella Ramsey), the fluffy Cloud (Regina Hall), the proud and dignified Sir Ritchfield (Patrick Stewart), the shaggy Wool-Eyes (Rhys Darby) and rowdy twins Reggie and Ronnie (Brett Goldstein). Ah, but the wise and perceptive Lily (Julia Louis-Dreyfus) always knows the right answer, well before each novel concludes.

Lily understands the structure of such books, explaining that it’s always a matter of deducing which suspect had means, motive and opportunity.

Meanwhile, budding young journalist Elliot Matthews (Nicholas Galitzine) arrives in Denbrook, having been sent to write a feature on the town’s “cultural festival.” This turns out to be only three paltry tables set up by prickly innkeeper Beth Pennock (Hong Chau), who becomes grievously insulted when Elliot bluntly notes that her “fair” isn’t such a much.

Other key villagers include Tim Derry (Nicholas Braun), the clumsy and sweetly befuddled local policeman; Rev. Hillcoate (Kobna Holdbrook-Smith), the often bewildered local minister; Ham Gilyard (Conleth Hill), the smugly arrogant town butcher; and Caleb Merrow (Tosin Cole), a fellow sheep rancher who leases half of George’s land for his flock.

Beth spits nails every time George’s name is mentioned. George, far from devout, stuns Rev. Hillcoate and his entire congregation during service one day, by storming into church and dumping a huge wad of bills in the donation plate.

When one of the villagers turns up murdered one morning, PC Derry is hopelessly out of his depth, lacking even the faintest knowledge of preserving a crime scene, let alone finding the killer. On the other hand, Elliot — sensing a real story — is delighted; he offers to “shadow” Derry and provide suggestions and insights.

Truth be told, the two of them aren’t much better than PC Derry on his own.

Lily realizes that it’s up to the sheep to solve the mystery ... but even if they’re clever enough to figure it out, how can they communicate such knowledge to Derry and the other townsfolk? As a further complication, Lily and her sheep friends often are baffled by how the world works, and the way that people behave.

To further complicate matters, George’s daughter, Rebecca (Molly Gordon) — long ago given up for adoption — unexpectedly arrives in the village. But is she who she claims? Because it soon becomes clear that Rebecca isn’t her actual name...

Sidebar puzzles abound. Why does Beth steal one of George’s letters, before it can be mailed? Why does George dislike Caleb so much? And what’s with that huge donation to the church?

The inconvenient dead body notwithstanding, Balda maintains a mostly light tone as subsequent events unfold. Hill is a hoot as the mildly bloodthirsty Gilyard, forever sharpening his cleavers; Galitzine is appropriately eager and excitable, as a junior Clark Kent. Braun is equally fun as the initially overwhelmed PC Derry, who — after awhile — becomes the only villager who notices that Lily, Mopple and Wool-Eyes seem to be paying an awful lot of attention to what’s going on.

The always dashing Jackman is marvelous as George, who can be mischievous and charming, but reserves all of his affection for his sheep, and the person to whom he writes his letters. Jackman’s warmest moments come when George comforts the tiny “winter lamb” (Tommy Birchall) who is shunned by the flock, and who lacks a name.

The sheep are the true stars, of course, and it quickly becomes obvious that they’re all CGI creations. (Actual sheep aren’t very good at standing atop one another, to peer into a window.) Their personalities are firmly established by the respective voice performers.

Dreyfus and O’Dowd get the most screen time, as Lily and Mopple proceed with their “investigation.” Their dynamic gets additional heft from the fact that sheep can choose to forget unhappy events by slowly counting to three ... but Mopple is the lone exception, and therefore the only sheep who remembers everything that has happened to the flock.

Bryan Cranston adds dramatic heft as Sebastian, a lone, world-weary sheep who lives apart from the flock, but often watches over them from a nearby ridge. Lastly, the always enjoyable Emma Thompson pops up as Lydia Harbottle, a visiting solicitor who arrives with surprising news.

The generally light touch notwithstanding, you’ll be surprised by the intensity of a few sad moments: wholly unexpected each time, and powerful tear-jerkers.

I do hope this little film finds its audience, because it’s clever, fun and quite enjoyable.

But can you solve the mystery, before Lily does?

The Devil Wears Prada 2: Still wickedly fun

2026-05-05T09:52:00.000-07:00

The Devil Wears Prada 2 (2026) • View trailer

Four stars (out of five); rated PG-13, for sensuality

Available via: Movie theaters

By Derrick Bang

The delicious snark isn’t quite as evident, and a greater degree of sentimentality is present, but everything else about this long-awaited sequel is spot-on.

When a panicked Andy (Anne Hathaway) confesses that she has nothing appropriate
to wear for a weekend gathering at her boss' home in the Hamptons, Nigel (Stanley
Tucci) comes to her rescue.

No surprise, since the entire team returned: director David Frankel, screenwriter Aline Brosh McKenna, and stars Meryl Streep, Anne Hathaway, Emily Blunt and Stanley Tucci. It should be noted, however, that while the 2006 film was a reasonably faithful adaptation of Lauren Weisberger’s 2003 novel, this sequel is an entirely original story that is — as the screen credit reads — “based upon characters created by Weisberger.”

This actually is a good thing, since it allows McKenna to lace her character-driven plot with thoughtful — and rather unsettling — issues that are relevant here and now (although fans who enjoyed Weisberger’s two subsequent novels might be disappointed).

The story audaciously opens on twin crises.

Andy Sachs (Hathaway), having followed through with her long-ago decision to leave Runway magazine in order to become a professional reporter, receives a prestigious journalism award for a particularly hard-hitting series of articles. Alas, seconds before her name is announced as the winner, Andy and all of her key New York Vanguard colleagues — everybody sitting at the same table — are fired. By text. Victims of “corporate restructuring.”

Over at Runway, imperious editor-in-chief Miranda Priestly (Streep) faces a catastrophe, having failed to properly research an article about a clothing brand that has been revealed to rely on sweatshop labor. Advertisers begin to panic, and social media lights up with outrage and demeaning memes; Irv Ravitz (Tibor Feldman), owner of Runway’s parent company Elias-Clarke, is apoplectic.

Perhaps worse, Miranda cannot respond with the level of blistering waspishness that characterized her every interaction in the first film; a long series of HR complaints have left her verbally muzzled, forced to pivot to insufferable PC alternatives. One of the film’s funniest running gags involves Streep’s exasperated expression every time Miranda’s current assistant, Amari (Simone Ashley), quietly tut-tuts and forestalls an impending gaffe.

Seeking to hasten damage control, and made aware of Andy’s recent award, Irv figures she’d be the one to write an appropriately balanced and sincere mea culpa. He offers her a position as Runway’s features editor; astonished at this miraculous turn of events, she accepts.

But this isn’t exactly good fortune, because Irv made this decision without consulting Miranda. Andy arrives for her first day, expecting the reunion with her long-ago boss to be welcoming; Miranda is furious ... and adds guilt to Andy’s dismay, by coldly pointing out that Runway’s current features editor has been kicked to the curb.

Fortunately, fashion director Nigel Kipling (Tucci) is genuinely happy to see Andy again. He also explains that much of Miranda’s frustrated hostility results from the way her world has changed. Runway’s print edition has few readers, forcing the brand to resort to clickbait and cheap, quickly generated short-form social media content (which, no doubt, led to the current calamity).

Undeterred, Andy embraces the challenge for which she was hired, starting with the necessary apologia, which is well received by media watchdogs. Miranda, far from impressed, points out that the piece got “very few views” ... which is all that matters. The same proves true of Andy’s subsequent “serious” articles.

Meanwhile, Miranda has been forced to placate Dior — a key advertiser — by offering a multi-page puff piece. Andy is delighted to discover that one of Dior’s senior executives is Emily Charlton (Blunt), who also has risen gracefully from the ashes of her long-ago position as one of Miranda’s harried assistants. The pleasure appears one-sided; Emily, having fully embraced this snobbish realm of conspicuous consumption, recalls that Andy abandoned it, lest she become similarly shallow and egotistical.

With all this as mere entry point, rest assured that many additional pots will be stirred, along with yet another crisis or two. Everything climaxes during Italy’s semi-annual Milan Fashion Week.

The pointed social commentary aside, McKenna’s story gets its emotional heft from the key relationships between these characters: most notably the affectionate warmth that radiates between Andy and Nigel. But Andy’s interactions with Miranda and Emily are equally important, and well developed; she also meets-cute with Peter (Patrick Brammall, totally charming), an apartment renovator with whom she begins a relationship.

Streep has fun with her character’s imperious bearing; even Miranda’s smallest gestures are laden with implication. Her frosty smile rarely evokes sincerity, and her penetrating gaze always suggests Machiavellian cunning. Blunt’s Emily is similarly aloof and frosty, except when with new boyfriend Benji Barnes (Justin Theroux), a Silicon Valley-based billionaire. In his presence, Emily is oddly, uncharacteristically fawning.

Tucci makes Nigel the epitome of congenial savoir-faire; there’s no question that he cares deeply for Andy. Kenneth Branagh is a similarly welcome breath of benevolence as Miranda’s husband, Stuart; Tracie Thoms makes a well-received return as Andy’s best friend, Lily.

Streep’s imposing star wattage notwithstanding, Hathaway once again takes center stage. Andy is our surrogate: still the resilient, intelligent, heart-on-sleeve optimist determined to somehow make the world a better place. Yes, her idealism has taken several hits along the way, evidenced by the occasional quiet disappointment in Hathaway’ expression ... but we can’t help admiring Andy’s stubborn pluck.

Lady Gaga takes the spotlight during the climax in Milan, and sharp-eyed celebrity watchers will be rewarded with brief glimpses of Donatella Versace, Ashley Graham, Heidi Klum, Jon Batiste, Naomi Campbell and other fashion icons.

Character drama aside, this film is buoyed constantly by costume designer Molly Rogers’ opulent creations: a veritable explosion of colorful haute couture. Hathaway always rocks the countless outfits into which she’s poured, and Tucci is similarly debonair. (That said, some of the supposed “high fashion” is so bizarre, that I wondered if the film is making fun of its own environment.)

We don’t get as many quotable one-liners, although this one — “Let the bridges I burn, light my way” — is particularly pungent.

I also worry that some of the story’s wicked amusement may be offset by its unashamed embrace of so much obscene wealth, at a time when a rapidly increasingly percentage of its viewers have trouble making ends meet. This disparity has changed greatly, during the past two decades.

If you can get past that, though, this film is a hoot.

Mabel: Modest, but endearing

2026-05-01T01:00:00.000-07:00

Mabel (2024) • View trailer

3.5 stars (out of five); not rated, and suitable for all ages

Available via: Amazon Prime and other VOD options

By Derrick Bang • Published in The Davis Enterprise, 5.3.26

Back in the day, a sweet little film like this would have found a happy home as an Afterschool Special, which all three networks ran half a dozen times each year, from 1972 through 1996. The thoughtful dramas were topical and/or gently instructive, aimed at the tween demographic, often helping them navigate interpersonal relationships.

Callie (Lexi Perkel) is in seventh heaven when she visits the expansive university
botany department where Mrs. G (Judy Greer) works, when not substitute teaching
at the nearby middle school.

Alas, the market appears to have vanished for such films, which is a shame. This one apparently sat on a shelf for two years, before obtaining streaming release with absolutely no fanfare.

More’s the pity, because Mabel is a quiet charmer.

We meet 11-year-old Callie (Lexi Perkel) as she carefully digs up a touch-sensitive Mimosa pudica fern in the forest near her Virginia home, and transplants it into a pot. She names it Mabel.

It’s a keepsake; her father, David (Quincy Dunn-Baker), has obtained a job in upstate New York, and this is moving day. The family — including mom Angela (Christine Ko) and Callie’s infant sibling — is leaving her beloved woodsy environment for the realm of strip malls and treeless suburban neighborhoods.

Callie’s bliss is botany. As the drive proceeds, looking out the rear seat window, she initially calls out the species of each passing clump of trees ... and then, a bit later, glumly recites the name of each big box store and its huge paved parking lot.

Callie’s early days in her new school are painful. She’s socially awkward and slightly withdrawn; fleeting efforts to fit in prompt only silent stares in an environment of established social cliques and lab partners. She’s also dismayed by the apathy shown by her sixth-grade science classmates, who seem to have no feeling for her style of intensely focused study.

On another note, Callie’s arrival delights next-door neighbor Agnes (Lena Josephine Marano), who similarly seems not to have any friends ... possibly because she comes on a bit strong. But the problem is that Agnes is “only” a lowly fourth-grader, and therefore beneath Callie’s notice.

Which, Angela quickly points out, is unkind.

Callie’s mostly unhappy school experience shifts when she spots a new substitute teacher pushing a cart laden with plants. Callie follows, winding up in an eighth-grade botany class taught by Mrs. G (Judy Greer).

Her teaching style is challenging and aggressive. She demands her students’ respect and attention, confounding them with all manner of plant lore. That makes Mrs. G awesome, in Callie’s eyes: everything she hopes to become. That she shouldn’t be “moonlighting” in an eighth-grade class is immaterial, and Mrs. G certainly doesn’t suspect anything, given that Callie is so quick to participate.

Callie seeks her out after class, and becomes intrigued by Mrs. G’s research with chrysanthemums. Callie devises an experiment ... but doing it properly will involve buying a lot of chrysanthemum plants.

By this point, Agnes has become a frequent companion, eager to please. Although Callie appreciates the company, there’s still a sense that she takes the younger girl for granted ... which can’t end well.

Hoping to broaden Callie’s horizons — while also “forcing” some socialization — David and Angela enroll her in golf lessons. (Callie’s initial reaction: The course is filled with invasive species.)

Ma and Goodwin’s story is a study of managing expectations, resisting snap assumptions, meeting people halfway, and recognizing — ultimately — that a square peg doesn’t need to be crammed into a round hole. The film delivers numerous gentle life lessons.

All the characters are nicely sketched, and well played by the ensemble cast. Perkel credibly handles Callie’s complex personality; we feel for her awareness that she doesn’t fit in, while remaining oblivious to her flaws of impatience, even recklessness.

Marano’s Agnes is a delightful, irrepressible bundle of energy: enthusiastic and eager to please, but also easily wounded. Both girls have deep feelings; whereas Callie tries to suppress them, Agnes wears hers on her sleeve.

Ko and Dunn-Baker are appropriately perceptive, kind and well-intentioned, as Angela and David attempt to address issues that arise ... while also insisting on punishing consequences, when appropriate.

Greer is an intriguing study. At first blush, Mrs. G seems an ideal “hero” for Callie to worship: knowledgeable, similarly focused, and willing to share. But there’s an edge of something else in Greer’s performance: a trace of unhappiness, or repressed anger. Much as we enjoy the way Mrs. G demands participation from her students, she seems too strict for eighth-graders.

Her behavior with Callie also doesn’t quite land in the “friendly” zone, feeling more like reluctant tolerance.

Jim Santangeli is just right as Agnes’ father, Brian: a nice guy who understandably feels a bit wary about Callie’s growing “hold” on his daughter.

Tom Kingston’s mellow score deftly compliments the emotion-laden storyline, and a jovial cover of Mason Williams’ “Classical Gas” adds pizzazz to a celebratory montage.

While the story doesn’t “conclude” in any sort of climactic sense — life is like that — it does come to a satisfying pause. Given that this is the feature debut from Ma, a graduate of New York University’s Tisch School of the Arts — and, as it happens, Yo-Yo Ma’s son — he appears destined to a bright future as a filmmaker.

Apex: Fails to summit

2026-05-01T00:30:00.000-07:00

Apex (2026) • View trailer

Two stars (out of five); rated R, for strong violence, grisly images, nudity and profanity

Available via: Netflix

By Derrick Bang

Richard Connell has a lot to answer for.

Variations of his iconic 1924 Colliers magazine short story, “The Most Dangerous Game,” have littered television and movie screens ever since the first official Hollywood adaptation in 1932, which featured Joel McCrea, Leslie Banks and Fay Wray.

Ben (Taron Egerton) cheerfully shows Sasha (Charlize Theron) the best way to begin
her kayaking journey, offering two possible starting points on her map.

Director Baltasar Kormákur’s newest spin offers little, aside from 50-year-old Charlize Theron’s undeniably impressive physical prowess. Jeremy Robbins’ script begins reasonably well, but then turns gruesomely tasteless and grisly in the second act, and spins off into Cloud Cuckoo Land during the ludicrous climax.

We meet Sasha (Theron) and longtime companion Tommy (Eric Bana) toward the end of their ascent up the steep face of Norway’s imposing Troll Wall, rising above the Romsdalen Valley: a defying-the-elements challenge they’ve obviously done often, on this natural wonder and many others. Their characters are sketched economically but sufficiently; she’s headstrong and impatient, while he’s the voice of reason.

A final overhang repeatedly defeats her — as Lawrence Sher’s cinematography induces extreme vertigo — and then the weather turns against them.

“Luck is like anything else you take up a mountain,” Tommy sagely comments. “Eventually, it’ll run out.”

They accept defeat and begin to descend; the subsequent crisis is inevitable.

Five months later, Sasha travels to Australia’s (fictitious) Wandarra National Park. Her goal: a head-clearing, soul-cleansing whitewater kayaking journey down a lengthy, tempestuous river laden with rapids and falls (most scenes filmed along New South Wales’ majestic Woronora River).

Leonard Cohen’s “Boogie Street” plays behind this montage, up to the point Sasha checks in with an affable park ranger (Aaron Pedersen). He cautions that it’s rough country; quite a few people have disappeared, evidenced by a bulletin board laden with dozens of “Missing” notices and photos.

She next stops for supplies at a convenience store, where two loutish, good-’ol-boy hunters (Matt Whelan and Rob Carlton) get in her face. She calmly ignores their boorish behavior. The more genial Ben (Taron Egerton), dropping off some of his homemade meat jerky, apologizes for his gender. She insists that isn’t necessary, but nonetheless thanks him for the kindness.

They chat a bit; she asks for map directions to her destination. He offers a choice: the “easy way,” or the “hard way.” Naturally, the latter intrigues her more.

The first day passes without incident, as Sasha deftly kayaks down the often raging river. The location is wild, awesome and exhilarating; Sher’s camera work and Sigurður Eyþórsson’s rat-a-tat editing enhance the thrills. As the sun drops, exhausted but obviously happy, Sasha sets up camp and sleeps well.

The next morning, some of her stuff is missing.

The culprit turns out to be Ben (please tell me you aren’t surprised), who briefly plays nice before whipping out a wicked crossbow and revealing his intention to track and kill her. He returns the backpack — “to even the odds” — and gives her a head start lasting as long as Pantera’s head-banging “Walk,” while the now obviously deranged Ben shrieks maniacally along with the lyrics.

Credit where due: Egerton really throws himself into this batshit-crazy role.

What follows is inevitable, but works ... for awhile. The resourceful and well-muscled Sasha isn’t the average “victim,” and the initial cat-and-mouse pursuits and near-misses are appropriately tense. Portions of the river are in narrow, deeply walled canyons, giving her fresh opportunities to employ her climbing skills.

(Although Theron does only the close-ups during the river sequences, with Olympic-level kayakers River Mutton and Luuka Jones handling the rough stuff, she does do all of the climbing ... which is damn impressive.)

Pretty quickly, though, it becomes hard to believe how easily Ben keeps up with her. And since we know how this story must conclude — like there’s any doubt? — the manner by which that point is reached, becomes increasingly important.

Sadly, that’s where Robbins fumbles the ball. The final half-hour puts both characters through grueling physical hell, but it’s eye-rolling stuff and nonsense: particularly the grisly “surprise” that awaits Sasha. I began glancing at my watch, despite the film’s economical 95-minute length.

Theron delivers the required blend of emotions. Sasha is buoyant when with Tommy, then withdrawn and consumed by grief, as she begins her adventure. What follows lifts her from that burden; Theron persuasively conveys the turning point, when Sasha realizes that survival will require absolute focus, and belief in her own abilities.

Too bad her performance isn’t in service of a better film.

Netflix has cranked out plenty of action thrillers lately, most of which won’t linger in anybody’s memory. That’s certainly the case with this one.

Queen of Chess: Checkmate!

2026-04-24T01:00:00.000-07:00

Queen of Chess (2026) • View trailer

Five stars (out of five); rated TV-PG, and suitable for all ages

Available via: Netflix

By Derrick Bang • Published in The Davis Enterprise, 4.26.26

Empowerment documentaries don’t come better than this one.

Rory Kennedy’s fascinating profile of chess prodigy Judit Polgár prompts viewers to stand up and cheer. Repeatedly.

Judit Polgár and Garry Kasparov played each other many times, but no game was more
notorious than their first match, in early 1994, at Spain's 12th annual
Linares Super Tournament.

Because Polgár was a cause celebre from such a young age, Kennedy had access to countless archival photos and video clips; he smoothly blends these with contemporary “talking heads” commentary by Polgár and her two older sisters —Susan, Sofia and their parents — along with match analysis by chess commentator/players Dirk Jan, Anna Rudolf, Jovanka Houska, Maurice Ashley and Garry Kasparov.

In the hands of Kennedy and co-scripters Mark Bailey and Keven McAlester, this film is engaging, suspenseful, triumphant, emotionally shattering, and — ultimately — a testament to determination and dogged perseverance.

Along with proof that women can compete with men ... and beat them.

“They’re all weak, all women,” chess master Bobby Fischer notoriously comments, during various interviews resurrected from the early 1960s. “They’re stupid compared to men. They can’t concentrate, they don’t have stamina, and they aren’t creative.

“They should keep strictly to the home.”

Judit was born on July 23, 1976, in Budapest: youngest child in a Jewish-Hungarian family. All three girls were part of a nurture-vs.-nature experiment conducted by their father, László, who believed that “geniuses are made, not born.” A chess teacher and player himself, László and his wife, Klára, home-schooled the girls and — starting each at age 5 — spent eight to nine hours every day focused on chess.

Another reason for that choice: the Polgárs were quite poor, and chess components were cheap.

(Yes, László endured criticism for what some perceived as parental abuse.)

From the beginning, László had no interest in women’s competitions; with help from several professional Hungarian and Russian champions, he trained his daughters to be as aggressive as male players. This put him at odds with the Hungarian Chess Federation, with its strict policy of confining women to their own tournaments. Worse yet, the girls weren’t allowed to leave the Eastern Bloc countries.

At one point, László and Klára genuinely feared that they might be arrested, and separated from their daughters.

Susan — 5-1/2 years older than Sofia, and 7 years older than Judit — was the first to achieve chess prominence. But Judit caught on quickly, and entered her first tournament at age 6. The modest grand prize was a little magnetic chess set.

“I really wanted that chess set,” her older self recalls, with a laugh.

(Did she win it? I won’t tell...)

Finally recognizing that the girls’ rapidly rising fame would be good PR for Hungary, the family was allowed to enter 1988’s 28th Chess Olympiad, held November 12-30 in Thessaloniki, Greece. Players from more than 100 countries participated, but the International Chess Federation restricted the three girls to the women’s section.

At that point in time, the Soviet team — both men and women — had dominated chess for 30 years. They were believed unstoppable.

The women’s Hungarian team comprised the Polgár sisters and Ildikó Mádl. They took the championship from the Soviet team for the very first time. Judit, then 12 years old, didn’t lose any games. Her final score of 12-1/2—1/2 (representing one tie) earned her the individual gold medal.

Watching her play is breathtaking and humbling: this little wisp of an adolescent, her face still bearing traces of baby fat, appears quiet and modest, but displays a level of focus that’s 15 on a 10-point scale.

“You have to be prepared to make a bad move,” her older self explains, “but then calm down and come back.”

It’s refreshing to see, during the film’s contemporary interviews with Judit and her sisters, that all three women seem happy, self-assured and well-rounded. They definitely weren’t “damaged” by their father’s strict approach.

Later recalling his own defeat at Judit’s hands, while she still was a child, British grandmaster David Norwood remembered her as “this cute little auburn-haired monster who crushed you.”

Three months later, Judit’s statistical “Elo Rating” was 2555, making her No. 55 in the world rankings, the world’s top woman player, and 45 points ahead of her sister Susan. In the six months since the previous rankings, she had gained an astonishing 190 ratings points.

Her next goal came in December 1991, during the Hungarian National Championship. She was 15 years and four months old; if she won the championship, she’d become the youngest-ever grandmaster, beating Bobby Fischer’s previous record by one month.

It all came down to the final game, where the “safe” decision would be to play for a draw ... but that wouldn’t make her the tournament winner.

(What does she do? I won’t tell...)

By now, Judit was routinely defeating male champions, at a time when Kasparov was the chess world’s Great White Whale. He initially couldn’t be bothered to play her, insisting — in a February 1990 Sports Illustrated profile about Judit — that “She has fantastic chess talent, but she is, after all, a woman. It all comes down to the imperfections of the feminine psyche. No woman can sustain a prolonged battle.”

Kasparov consistently comes off as an arrogant horse’s ass, both during archival footage and the contemporary interviews he gave for this film.

They finally face each other in early 1994, when Judit is 17, at Spain’s 12th annual Linares Super Tournament. (“The Wimbledon of chess,” her older self explains.) The footage, courtesy of the Spanish television company PVS, is breathtaking.

The game has become notorious, for entirely unexpected reasons.

This is but the first time Judit faces Kasparov in tournament play.

“You have to believe you can take down your idol,” Judit insists.

Easier said than done...

At this point, Kennedy’s film is nowhere near its conclusion. The ongoing details of Judit’s saga become increasingly amazing, although — unexpectedly — the happiest moment arrives when she meets and falls in love with Hungarian veterinary surgeon Gusztáv Font.

Kennedy’s thoroughly captivating film makes a good companion piece to 2016’s Queen of Katwe. Both are potent reminders than men dismiss the “fair sex” at their own peril.

Dust Bunny: Should have been left undisturbed

2026-04-24T00:30:00.000-07:00

Dust Bunny (2025) • View trailer

2.5 stars (out of five); rated R, for considerable violence, implied gore and child endangerment

Available via: HBO MAX

By Derrick Bang

File this one under “Be careful what you wish for ... you might get it.”

Writer/director Bryan Fuller developed a reputation in the early 21st century for creating adorably quirky television shows such as Dead Like Me, Wonderfalls and — most particularly — Pushing Daisies. He then got more serious last decade, putting his spin on television adaptations of established properties such as Hannibal, American Gods and Star Trek: Discovery.

The restaurant setting may be attractively benign, but the barely veiled conversation that
flows between Aurora (Sophie Sloan, left), 5b (Mads Mikkelsen) and Laverne
(Sigourney Weaver) is anything but.

Surprisingly — after all this time — Dust Bunny is his first theatrical feature (although almost nobody noticed its fleeting big-screen appearances last December). It’s quintessentially a work of his wildly outré imagination, but his attempt to blend the whimsy of Pushing Daisies with the brutality of American Gods fails miserably, and succeeds at neither.

Frankly, the result is a mess: a failed effort to re-invent 1994’s Leon: The Professional as an absurdist fantasy.

The film begins late at night, as a tiny swirling dust mote grows larger by bumping into other dust chunks, gradually assembling itself into a small, rabbit-shaped dust bunny that scuttles beneath the bed of 8-year-old Aurora (Sophie Sloan). She lives in a fifth-floor New York City apartment with her parents (Line Kruse and Caspar Phillipson).

The dust bunny growls at a volume far beyond its tiny size, prompting Aurora to shriek in terror, waking her parents. She insists there’s a monster under her bed; they naturally don’t believe her.

(“Grown-ups pretend not to be afraid,” she later comments, “but they are, all the time.”)

Aurora clearly is an imaginative child, sharing her bed with all manner of stuffed critters, in a bedroom that production designer Jeremy Reed clearly enjoyed filling with all manner of not-quite-right accessories: dolls with the heads of animals, clocks that don’t show the time, and other mildly disorienting touches.

Cinematographer Nicole Hirsch Whitaker amplifies the sense of unreality with all manner of cockeyed, vertigo-inducing camera angles, some shifting in mid-scene.

Still frightened, Aurora climbs out her bedroom window and onto the fire escape. A fluttering firefly calls her attention to the neighbor in 5B (Mads Mikkelsen). She follows when he leaves his apartment, and — wide-eyed — watches as he kills a dragon ... actually killing the members of an armed gang in a dragon dance parade puppet.

The following morning, a still-terrified Aurora warns her parents to “stay off the floor.” They ignore her, and — as Aurora listens, from her bed, to the sounds on the other side of the closed door — they’re devoured. By something huge.

Given the surreal manner with which Fuller and Whitaker staged 5B’s earlier nighttime activity — and that’s the only name he’s given — we wonder if Aurora believes that he killed an actual dragon. If so, this explains why she hires him to kill her monster.

There are no monsters, he repeatedly insists, just people who behave like monsters.

He should know; he’s a professional assassin. A bit later, he reports a successful night’s work to his handler, Laverne (Sigourney Weaver). She’s annoyed by the fact that his job was witnessed by Aurora, and advises him to kill her. Clearly offended, he refuses.

Mikkelsen is marvelous in the midst of all this absurdity, granting 5B with a world-weary blend of baffled resignation, calm resolve and morbidly dry humor, along with formidable physical skills; he’s not somebody to be messed with. Wide-eyed Sloan is adorable as the preternaturally wise Aurora, insisting on a version of “reality” that eventually turns out to be accurate.

Weaver initially seems maternal and condescending, mouthing insincere platitudes ... but it soon becomes clear that if there’s a truly evil person in this story, it’s Laverne.

That evening, two killers (Roland Szóka and Nóra Trokán) invade the building, heading for Aurora’s apartment. Sensing their arrival, 5B assumes they’re after him, having gotten the wrong apartment. He jumps into what becomes weirdly chaotic action, ultimately killing the man; the woman is devoured by the unseen monster.

Still frazzled by what just occurred, Brenda and 5B are startled further by the sudden appearance of Brenda (Sheila Atim, oddly sinister), who identifies herself as the child services protection agent assigned to Aurora. 5B blinks in confusion — so quickly? — but then learns that the girl’s birth parents and (now) three sets of foster parents have disappeared.

5B absorbs this, while dismembering the male assassin in Aurora’s bathroom. While she watches, and as they have an oddly tangential conversation.

Which probably is the threshold that sane viewers will be unwilling to cross. A little girl, participating in the mutilation of a human body?

No thanks.

With nobody else to look after her, 5B brings Aurora along, when he again meets with a clearly vexed Laverne. The conversation doesn’t go well; after departing, they pick up a tail — David Dastmalchian, as the “Conspicuously Inconspicuous Man” — who warns that he and his crew intend to eliminate 5B.

The final act is a dog-nuts melee involving 5B, Aurora, half a dozen assassins, an equal number of pursuing FBI agents, Laverne and (at long last) the dust bunny, revealed in its impressively gargantuan nastiness. Credit where due, Fuller and stunt coordinator Levente Lezsák choreograph this mayhem quite inventively, at times making a ballet of the opposing forces.

Even the apartment setting amplifies the chaos, as if the primary hallway corridor is alive: bending and breathing with the action, each time the dust bunny erupts from the floorboards.

But when the dust settles (forgive me), too many questions abound.

Four sets of parents? Why? Aurora shows no signs of having been abused. And if the situation has persisted for so long, why does she spend the initial half-hour behaving as if it’s happening for the first time? Since 5B and the various victims hear the dust bunny’s roars and body-shredding gnashing of teeth, are we to imagine that nobody else has noticed and complained?

All this is bad enough, but the denouement — and final revelation — are ridiculous.

If you do persist to the bitter end, don’t miss the mid-credits cut-scene, which brings reasonable closure for at least one character.

Even so, I can’t imagine being satisfied with this monstrosity.

How to Make a Killing: Loses its way

2026-04-17T01:00:00.000-07:00

How to Make a Killing (2025) • View trailer

Three stars (out of five); rated R, for profanity and violence

Available via: Amazon Prime and other VOD options

By Derrick Bang • Published in The Davis Enterprise, 4.19.26

Writer/director John Patton Ford faced two cinematic challenges with this macabre little thriller.

First, the general rule of remakes and sequels: If the result isn’t at least as good as the original, if not better, then the viewer’s time is being wasted.

While sizing up the youngest member of the Redfellow family, in the line of succession,
Becket (Glen Powell) quickly discovers that the guy is an arrogant, reckless
waste of space.

Second, and more crucially, some classic films are sacrosanct, and fall under the heading of Thou Shalt Not Touch. Here in the States, Casablanca and Gone with the Wind fall into that category. Across the pond, the Ealing Studios/Alec Guinness masterpiece, Kind Hearts and Coronets, has been a revered treasure since its 1949 debut.

Only a cheeky American would have the audacity to do it again.

In fairness, Ford wisely adopts the narrative template established by British scripters Robert Hamer and John Dighton, who in turn adapted Roy Horniman’s 1907 novel, Israel Rank: The Autobiography of a Criminal.

As with the original, this film opens in a jail cell, as Becket Redfellow (Glen Powell) awaits execution for murder. A priest (Adrian Lukis) arrives, with but four hours to go; when asked about final words, Becket relates his saga in flashback, with ongoing voiceover commentary.

It begins when 18-year-old Mary Redfellow — belonging to an obscenely wealthy, old-money family worth untold billions — unwisely becomes pregnant. She insists upon having the child, whereupon her imperious father Whitelaw (Ed Harris) banishes her from the family’s New York estate.

Important detail, though: She remains an heir, in the family line of succession.

Mary moves to the New Jersey township of Bellville, finds menial employment, and raises young Becket (Grady Wilson) to the best of her ability. Despite their meager circumstances, she ensures that Becket is exposed to refined pursuits, such as archery and music. But as the “poor kid” among children of wealthier families, he’s frequently tormented.

He catches the eye of Julia Steinway (Maggie Toomey), who returns his affection, but in a way that feels borderline cruel.

Becket is nonetheless happy, but the boy’s world is shattered when his mother takes ill. Before dying, she informs Becket of his rightful heritage. Her final wish is to be buried in the family crypt; this request is denied.

Becket grows up angry, and not merely because he’s shuttled through a series of foster families. Upon achieving maturity, he obtains a good job with a custom tailor, where he has an unexpected reunion with Julia (Margaret Qualley). They briefly discuss his family background, and how he’s eighth in the line of succession.

“Call me when you’ve killed them all,” she says, mockingly, before exiting the shop.

Up to this point, although quietly resentful, Becket hasn’t contemplated such a notion. Powell deftly handles this blend of repressed anger, and a genuine desire to honor his mother by being an upstanding citizen. He’s also note-perfect with the shift that occurs when Beckett unexpectedly — and quite unfairly — loses his job. Powell’s expression and posture harden; his gaze narrows, and we sense new wheels spinning in his brain.

And, so, he sets off to do what Julia suggested.

The moral ambiguity here is crucial, and cuts to the story’s darkly comic core. Becket and his mother were cruelly wronged, and deserve vengeance; the question is whether we can remain on Becket’s side, despite the extreme measures to which he resorts. Powell pulls it off, because — and this is important — Becket doesn’t become a gleeful killing machine; he simply regards his mission pragmatically, as a job that needs doing.

His approach — uniquely tailored to each Redfellow — is cheekily grisly.

Ford does take a different approach to the victims. Alec Guinness played all eight members of his film’s D’Ascoyne family tree as various degrees of fusty, befuddled, Old World eccentrics. Several of Becket’s targets, in contrast, are insufferably privileged jerks who deserve to be taken off the board: most notably the party-hearty Taylor (Raff Law) and narcissistic Cassandra (Bianca Amato).

Matters get emotionally complicated on two fronts. After dispatching smug artist Noah Redfellow (Zach Woods), Becket and Noah’s former girlfriend, Ruth (Jessica Henwick), become an item. More crucially, Becket’s Uncle Warren (Bill Camp), who runs the family’s business, acknowledges regret upon meeting his nephew, and gives him a job. Unlike all the other Redfellows, Warren is genuinely kind, thoughtful and honorable.

Could Becket really bring himself to kill this unexpected benefactor?

On an insidious note, Julia keeps popping up. Bored with her marriage, greedy for more — much more — she drops arch little hints that suggest she knows what Becket is up to.

Qualley is creepily, seductively dangerous. Ruth is more blatantly sociopathic than Becket, and a stark contrast to Ruth, an honest, down-to-earth woman wholly satisfied with her new job as a schoolteacher. Henwick makes us ache for her, because (of course) Becket doesn’t reveal anything about his clandestine activities.

Phumi Tau and Stevel Marc add an intriguing note as a pair of FBI investigators who become curious after the unexpected deaths of so many members of the same wealthy family.

Given that subsequent details play out just like the Hamer/Dighton script — beat for beat, and plot point for plot point (allowing for the update to modern times) — Ford earns a demerit for the disrespectful claim that his screenplay is merely “inspired by” the 1949 film. The result clearly deserves a more accurate “adapted from” descriptor.

Worse yet, Ford changes the ending ... and not for the better. Aside from sabotaging the original film’s deliciously ironic finale, Ford’s alteration is simply wrong. It leaves us annoyed, if not angry.

Totally unsatisfying.

Islands: Adrift

2026-04-10T01:00:00.000-07:00

Islands (2025) • View trailer

Three stars (out of five); Unrated, but deserving a PG-13 for dramatic intensity, drug use and fleeting nudity

Available via: Amazon Prime and othr VOD options

By Derrick Bang

Sigh.

It starts so well.

Writer/director Jan-Ole Gerster’s brooding character piece initially radiates curiosity.

Partly out of kindness, partly out of sympathyfor the clearly unhappy Anne (Stacey Martin),
Tom (Sam Riley, right) impulsively offers to spend a day touring her, her husband
Dave (Jack Farthing) and their young son around the island of Fuerteventura.

Tom (Sam Riley) wakens one morning, clothed and prone on beach sand; cinematographer Juan Sarmíento G. emphasizes the bright, blazing sunlight. Tom stumbles to his feet, slides into his nearby vehicle, and drives to his day job as a tennis instructor at a swanky resort hotel.

The disapproving receptionist, Maria (Bruna Cusí), hands him the week’s schedule, noting that he looks as rough as he feels. But Tom is popular — the schedule is fully booked — so his behavior apparently is tolerated by the Folks In Charge.

Tom spends the day cheerfully — but mindlessly — tossing tennis balls, lobbing and returning serves. He heads each night to Waikiki, a rowdy techno nightclub where he dances, smokes too much, drinks too much, does some drugs, and sometimes winds up in bed with a lovely lady (or two). He’s a blackout drunk, waking each morning with little (if any) memory of recent past events.

Lather, rinse, repeat: every day, apparently stretching back quite awhile. There isn’t much else to do, on this island setting of Fuerteventura. Tom is stuck, for reasons we don’t yet know.

(We rarely see him eat anything, which seems an odd oversight.)

Tom sees a fresh group of tourists arrive one day; one woman pauses, while stepping from the bus, and shoots him a contemplative glance. She appears later at his ramshackle office — where he keeps a concealed bottle of vodka, for occasional daytime snorts — having been directed there by Maria.

She introduces herself as Anne (Stacy Martin), and explains that she’d like tennis lessons for her 7-year-old son, Anton. Tom suggests his twice-weekly children’s group classes, but she insists on private lessons. Tom hesitates, then acquiesces, knowing that the French couple booked for the next day’s 9 a.m. slot rarely shows up.

Anne and Anton (Dylan Torrell) arrive on time, and Tom is impressed by the boy’s ability. Future bookings are made; on the next one, Tom meets Anne’s husband, Dave (Jack Farthing), quickly revealed to be a horse’s ass. Tom does the family a favor; Dave offers a cash thank-you, which Tom refuses. Instead, clearly liking Anne and Anton, Tom allows himself to be drawn into their island activities; he encourages as much, by spending a day touring them throughout Fuerteventura.

Tom sees and hears stuff. Dave is constantly on his phone, and the conversations don’t seem satisfying. Anne comments, at one point — bitterness evident — that Dave is “running her father’s company into the ground.”

During these early scenes, composer Dascha Dauenhauer’s disconcerting, piano-based score is put to excellent use.

Hitchcockian apprehension and tension slowly build, as the next few days pass. Does Dave hope to lure Tom into some sort of financial scheme? Anne’s behavior with Tom becomes more playfully flirty; does she want a “vacation affair” ... or does she hope to groom Tom into killing her husband?

Something is about to happen.

And something does, quite unexpectedly. After which, it feels like a net is slowly tightening around Tom.

Riley is so good in this role, that it frequently doesn’t feel like acting. We eventually learn that Tom has ample reason for his resigned stasis; a long-ago shoulder injury derailed what promised to be a superstar tennis career. Riley perfectly conveys this guy’s morose inability to move forward.

Gerster and co-scripters Blaz Kutin and Lawrie Doran convey an atmosphere of disconnection that fuels Tom’s passive, self-destructive effort to escape reality. And what better setting, than a gorgeous island resort?

Martin’s Anne is quietly mysterious, often suggesting more with sidelong glances and pregnant pauses, than with idle conversation. Martin’s body language is sensual, in a manner that could be playfully harmless ... or laden with possibility.

Farthing is spot-on as the insufferably arrogant and condescending Dave; we hate him on sight. Nothing changes that opinion, as time passes.

Pep Ambròs is excellent as Jorge, a local cop who long ago befriended Tom, and watches out for him. Jorge doesn’t think much of Dave and Anne, and makes that opinion clear. Ramiro Blas is persuasive as the dogged, detail-oriented Inspector Mazo, who arrives from the nearby island of Lanzarote, to head up what becomes an increasingly confusing investigation.

However...

The story is larded with odd and unnecessary sidebar details. Tom is good friends with Raik (Ahmed Boulane) and Amina (Fatima Adoum), a transplanted Middle Eastern couple who run a camel farm (seriously?), where one of the beasts constantly escapes and wanders off elsewhere. We expect this relationship to serve some sort of purpose, but it doesn’t; worse yet, the wayward camel later serves as a cruel and rather tasteless red herring.

Mention repeatedly is made of the volcano on a nearby island, which “might erupt” at any moment. This, too, ultimately proves pointless.

But nothing is worse than the story’s flat and unsatisfying denouement, which fails to deal with a major issue, thus betraying all the mood and suspense leading up to it ... at which point, the film suddenly becomes an insufferable waste of time.

Even though it started so well...