HONEY BOY

Directing: B+
Acting: A-
Writing: B+
Cinematography: B+
Editing: A-

Apparently 2019 is the year of quasi-meta meditations on filmmakers’ pasts and careers. There are two key difference between Honey Boy, though, and the likes of Pain and Glory and The Irishman. The first, and most significant, is the runtime: in sharp contrast to The Irishman’s three and a half hour run time, Honey Boy clocks in at a wonderfully economical 94 minutes. The second is that, instead of elderly directors using movies to make a statement about their overall film careers, Honey Boy is a thirtysomething actor telling the story of his experience as a child actor with an emotionally abusive father.

Honey Boy also takes the “meta” aspect of the filmmaking to a different level. The thirtysomething actor is Shia LaBeouf, who wrote the script (his first one for a feature film, and an impressive debut at that) based on his own experience as a child actor, although it’s fictionalized and the names have been changed. Still, it’s an unusual circumstance indeed where LaBeouf plays the part of the fucked up, addict dad, which in effect means he’s playing his own dad. And then, near the end of the film, the actor character (played by Lucas Hedges) actually tells his dad he’s going to make a movie about him.

Actually, this scenario is at least vaguely similar to that of Pain and Glory, in which Antonio Banderas in effect plays the director of that very film (Pedro Almodóvar), after having been directed by him in several films over the past fifty years. Both films are deeply personal ones, but the meta layers go even deeper when an actor is playing his own father. And LaBeouf’s performance is astonishing, given how much abuse he endured, and yet he manages to imbue him with real humanity.

Honey Boy is expertly edited, jumping back and forth between the young actor “Otis” at age 12 (Noah Jupe) and Otis at age 22 (Lucas Hedges). The opening shot features Hedges as the older Otis on the set of a blockbuster film, which is clearly meant to evoke the Transformers franchise, although actual movie titles (or TV show titles) are never uttered in the script. It then flashes back to Otis at 12, in a similar filming setup, only this time he’s getting a pie in the face instead of being thrown away from the camera by an explosion.

Of course, there is little doubt that LaBeouf’s reality is far messier than Honey Boy depicts things, with its clean arcs and themes that don’t tie themselves together seamlessly in real life. Such is the nature of storytelling, though, and Honey Boy does it very well. It’s easy to imagine that making the film was just as therapeutic for LaBeouf himself as was the rehab therapy Hedges takes us through as Otis. Hedges, incidentally, is just as great as we have now long come to expect from him; Noah Jupe as 12-year-old Otis is even better.

LaBeouf depicts Otis’s dad, James, in either case, in 1995 or 2005, although he’s only seen briefly in the later-set scenes. He dominates the scenes from 1995, where the way he raises his son is shockingly fucked up in several ways. With one exception, none of it is physical abuse, as you might expect from a story like this. Instead it’s something a bit more subtle and sinister. He lets his 12-year-old son smoke cigarettes. He attacks Tom (Clifton Collins Jr.), the man in Otis’s life form the Big Brothers and Sisters program, out of jealousy. He and Otis’s mom (Natasha Lyonne, only ever heard on the phone) have an argument in which they refuse to talk to each other, but instead have Otis pass on uniquely fucked up messages for them over the phone. These ultimately become more a series of vignettes that don’t quite allow for real depth of character building, but it remains an impressive overview of a kid actor’s life.

The greatest achievement of Honey Boy, though, is how it makes clear that it would be an oversimplification to call James a villain. Would it even be fair to call him a bad man? He’s a man who does very, very bad things. There is a real sense of the nuance, the ambivalence with which LaBeouf regards his father. The film, directed with a sensitive hand by Alma Har’el, also offers insight into LaBeouf’s behavior over the years, but without overtly absolving him of it. Shia LaBeouf is a flawed man, just as his father was, but it would appear that the greatest differentiation between them is talent. Say what you will about Shia LaBeouf and his motivations, the man has talent to spare. Still all of 33 years old, his potential remains unbounded, and we can only hope to see him in more parts this thoughtful onscreen in the future.

A man, as his father, addresses a child, as himself.

Overall: B+

WAVES

Directing: B+
Acting: A-
Writing: B+
Cinematography: B
Editing: A-

Waves is a movie that truly takes the concept of “two acts” seriously. It runs 135 minutes in length, and about halfway through, everything changes—and more than just saying that might suggest. Even the central character shifts, after a type of loss not often seen on film.

There’s a lot to like about this movie, although I can’t say I’m quite as crazy for it as some critics seem to be. I found the cinematography in particular to be kind of self-consciously stylized. As the story begins, we follow high school student Tyler (Kelvin Harrison Jr, excellent) through a typical day, and it involves a lot of interior shots of cars being driven down highways and roads, the camera spinning around in horizontal circles, looking outward at the characters packing the vehicle, from its center. It’s very odd, and it happens over and over again. I suspect cinematographer Drew Daniels thought it clever; I found it consistently distracting.

Tyler is in wrestling, and has ambitions to compete at the state level. His father, Ronald (Sterling K. Brown), coaches him and puts a lot of pressure on him. Ronald is married to Catherine (Renée Elise Goldsberry), who is not Tyler’s biological mother but raised him and his sister Emily (Taylor Russell) most of their lives. Much is to be learned, about Tyler and Emily’s biological mother; about what two separate but equally momentous things occurring simultaneously make Tyler begin to spiral; and even eventually about the boy Emily later begins dating (Lucas Hedges), but I won’t spoil any of it. This movie, minor flaws though it has, is still best just experienced.

I will tell you to keep tissues handy. Waves is a definite tear jerker, and in myriad unique ways. Writer-director Trey Edward Shults has drawn entirely well-rounded, multidimensional characters—kind of a relief, given Shults is a white guy and this is mostly about a black family (something I can never help but point out). To be fair, very little about the telling of this story has any dependence on the characters’ race, although it does get at least one vague reference in dialogue and one very overt, malicious one. Whether the telling should have more overt focus on their race is perhaps a debate for another place and time. I’m just here to tell you whether the movie is good and should be seen, and the answers are yes and yes.

As usual, I do have minor quibbles. These kids, Tyler and Emily, get intense focus in sequences that had me wondering where the hell their parents are and why they don’t seem to be more involved in what’s going on. Tyler sees a doctor and gets some very difficult news after a CAT scan, and somehow he goes to this appointment by himself, and then keeps the results from his family. That doesn’t seem to fit all that well with how domineering his father can be; I have a hard time believing Ronald would be “hands off” about this. But he is, evidently to make the storytelling easier.

That said, when Sterling K. Brown is onscreen, he very much justifies all the talk of his being a Best Supporting Actor Oscar contender. Even calling Ronald “domineering” is tricky; he is often shown being very personable and full of love, a guy who loves his children and his children love him, as opposed to being afraid of him. But, Ronald is strict when he needs to be, and the kids understand when to take him seriously. With Tyler, Ronald has too much emotional investment in his son’s success, which predictably complicates Tyler’s feelings about the possibility of letting his father down.

Well, that does happen, in a shockingly tragic and massively consequential way. In essence, Waves is about how easily broad contentment can break down into sadness and grief. Even those with the greatest potential are one or two decisions away from tragedy. Waves does not show this as any sort of “lesson,” but rather just as a compelling story. And then, in the very different second half, which still has plenty to make you keep the tissues at the ready, it shows a family finding their own ways to come back from that grief. Life has a way of turning into something you never could have predicted, and everyone involved just has to learn how to cope.

Waves is a beautiful movie in many ways, and some might even argue that its flaws are part of that beauty. I felt like certain things were just kind of missing, but nothing significant enough to make its narrative fall apart. Honestly if there is any deterrent to watching this movie, it’s how much it’s likely to make you cry. Some people do like a good cry every once in a while, just because. This movie might just be the emotional catharsis you need.

And then things fall apart.

Overall: B+

KNIVES OUT

Directing: B+
Acting: B+
Writing: A-
Cinematography: B+
Editing: A-

You can’t say much about Knives Out without ruining all the fun. Suffice it to say that it’s a mystery-comedy (in that order) in which the central question is “Who did it?”, and while writer-director Rian Johnson adheres to every trope of the mystery genre with virtually every story beat, he also does it with his own fun twist every step of the way.

At first, you may be asking yourself why so much is being revealed so early. Surely this isn’t the whole story? Of course not! But then, just when you think you’re actually finding what comes next predictable, without fail, Johnson manages to do it in an unpredictable way. That, precisely, is what makes this movie worth experiencing.

That said, to be honest, the trailers and marketing made it easy to expect this movie would be funnier. This is not a rip-roaring comedy. To be honest, Ready or Not was a lot funnier, more consistently, not to mention much darker and far more biting in its satire. But let’s be fair, that kind of movie is my jam, and mysteries never really have been. Which is to say: if you do like mystery movies, Knives Out is probably the best one to come along in ages. And if by some miracle you happen to watch it without predetermined expectations of comedy, in that case you really would find it surprisingly funny. It’s certainly clever as hell.

The setup takes a while at the start, which is perhaps par for the course in a mystery, where we must be introduced to all of the characters and see the myriad ways in which they all have motives. And the casting is this movie’s greatest achievement, with Christopher Plummer as Harlan Thrombey, the wealthy patriarch of a large, combative family, who dies the evening of his 85th birthday. The family here spans four generations, Harlan not even the oldest: “Nana” (K Callan), is Harlan’s mother. When one of the detectives marvels that an 85-year-old man’s mother is still alive by asking, “How old is she?” the answer is, “Nobody knows.” Some mysteries just remain unsolved.

As for the many suspects, there are Harlan’s four entitled grown children, Linda (Jamie Lee Curtis); Walt (Michael Shannon); Ransom (Chris Evans); and Joni, who is actually Harlan’s widowed daughter-in-law (Toni Collette); two grandchildren, Meg (Katherine Langford) and alt-right teen troll Jacob (Jaeden Martell); we also get Linda’s husband Richard (Don Johnson); Walt’s wife Donna (Riki Lindholme); and Harlan’s nurse, Marta (Ana de Armas). Marta is part of an immigrant family, and we never find out what country she really comes from because every single family member mentions a different one.

In any event, Knives Out is stacked with star power, all of the cast at the top of their game. Jamie Lee Curtis is especially delightful, and Toni Collette’s vast talents are slightly wasted on the vapid woman she plays, but still, there’s never an off note with any of these performances. I haven’t even mentioned Daniel Craig as Private Investigator Benoit Blanc, whose deep southern accent is a bit jarring at first, but then I found it to be impressively consistent. Maybe actual southerners would feel differently, but I thought he was excellent. Rounding out the cast are the two detectives, Lieutenant Elliott (Sorry to Bother You’s LaKeith Stanfield) and Trooper Wagner (Noah Segan, who has secondary parts in all of Rian Johnson’s films); and Fran the Housekeeper (Edi Patterson), whose part is small but key, like a whole lot of them. Even all the bigger parts are key, really. In contrast to Toni Collette’s talents, when it comes to the writing, nothing gets wasted here. Knives Out has a fairly long 130 minute run time, but not one second of it is pointless.

I should also note that the set is fantastic, this huge, quasi-gothic mansion’s interior design based on the tastes of an eccentric novelist’s tastes rendered in intricate detail. Much is made of the family’s expectations of Harlan’s fortune, even after all four of the grown children have lived in one way or another off of it for years already. This is one movie where, the more you consider it, the more impressive its massive attention to detail becomes. Occasionally some elements are on the nose, such as the overtness of the ornate sculpture of countless knives arranged in a circle and pointed at its center, with a chair in front of it so characters can sit and get perfectly framed by this kaleidoscope of knives.

It’s still fun to look at. As is every part of this movie, which has an increasing velocity of entertainment. It will surprise and delight many, but especially fans of mystery thrillers. At least those who don’t take the genre too seriously.

Ensemble casting done right.

Overall: B+

A BEAUTIFUL DAY IN THE NEIGHBORHOOD

Directing: A-
Acting: A
Writing: A
Cinematography: A-
Editing: A-

If there is a male equivalent of “America’s Sweetheart,” it might just be Tom Hanks who fills that role. And if anyone were born to play the role of Fred Rogers, the beloved PBS children’s show host from Pittsburgh, it’s also Tom Hanks. This casting choice for what is, in the end, a supporting role in A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood, is a stroke of genius.

And, that’s in spite of Hanks not particularly impersonating Rogers in any specific way. He is still very Hanks-ian, but, dress him up in that signature cardigan and comb his salt-and-pepper hair the same way, and he embodies the man’s spirit effortlessly.

It’s only been a year and a half since the release of the wonderful documentary Won’t You Be My Neighbor?, a film whose director noted that Fred Rogers reportedly stated that any movie about his life would be incredibly boring. And in less than two years, he has been proven wrong twice over, in both documentary and fictionalized form. A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood is anything but boring, and anyone with memories of his show from their childhood would do well to have several tissues handy.

They would even if they did not, like myself, ever watch his program as a kid. I did not even become aware of Mr. Rogers until I was a somewhat older child, more inclined to write off Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood as corny and dopey; it would be decades before I came to understand how widely beloved the man and his show really were.

The show aired between 1968 and 2001, with one three-year break between 1976 and 1979, the end of that run being only three years after the setting of this film. In the story here, Rogers himself actually does not take center stage, which actually works well, lest he overwhelm the viewer with emotion—which is apt to happen anyway. Instead, A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood is the story of how Fred Rogers impacted the life of Esquire biographer Lloyd Vogel (Matthew Rhys). Vogel is a fictionalized version of Esquire biographer Tom Junod, who really did publish a profile of Rogers in 1998; he is reportedly very happy with the film, but it does take enough liberties to make it merely “inspired by a true story.”

It captures the essence of these two men, and when it comes to motion picture storytelling, little else really matters. Ultimately, even with frame of reference from my own childhood, I loved nearly everything about this movie. The editing and cinematography are both particularly clever, giving both the feel and the framework of Mr. Rogers’ Neighorhood’s old episodes. It even begins with Hanks as Rogers, hosting the show, introducing us, the viewers of the movie, to Lloyd, his friend and the protagonist of this story.

All of the “exterior shots” of A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood—Pittsburgh or New York City skylines, a plan taking off from an airport—are done with miniature models, in the style of the old show. It’s as disarming as it is utterly charming. There are no stylized flourishes here beyond that, and that’s a huge part of what makes it work: what we see onscreen is very straightforward and practical in terms of how it is filmed, just as Rogers’s show had been. There is just one sequence I would consider inessential, a dream in which Lloyd finds himself in miniature and on the set of one of the shows during filming. It’s odd in a way that doesn’t quite integrate seamlessly into the rest of the film’s narrative. But, truly, that is the closest I come to any one genuine criticism of this film.

Lloyd has a wife (Susan Kelechi Watson), who, when she learns about the profile he’s doing, says to him, “Please don’t ruin my childhood.” At that point she becomes the avatar for every moviegoer who remembers Mr. Rogers from their own childhood. They have a newborn son, and Lloyd is strugging to make amends with his estranged father (Chris Cooper, a master at playing complicated men), which becomes the key to the whole plot of Lloyd’s story with Rogers. We also briefly see Rogers’s wife, Joanne (Maryann Plunkett), whose short screen time is put to very insightful use. I would loved to see more of her.

Best of all, A Beautiful Day in the Neighorhood finds ways to underscore how Fred Rogers was a work in progress himself, an imperfect man just doing his best to do right by the world, particularly with helping children learn to understand and cope with their feelings. Honestly, last year’s documentary gets slightly deeper into exactly how flawed he was, and even then it could not dig up a whole lot. Being regarded as “a living saint” is a lot to live up to, and Tom Hanks is a superb conduit for conveying that sentiment with subtlety and humility. This movie doesn’t really portray any of his imperfections or flaws specifically, because it doesn’t have to. Hanks plays him as a man who simply knows those flaws are there, but he continues to do his best, without necessarily realizing that his best is far better than most people’s.

I probably spent about a quarter of this movie quietly shedding tears. It’s truly, deeply emotionally affecting, without ever quite feeling emotionally manipulative. Just as last year’s documentary did, it brings to light how Fred Rogers was one of a kind, an anomaly as much in his own time as he would be today. He passed away in 2003, but the telling of his story (or stories) could not be coming at a better time.

One of those times when earnestness and sincerity are worth your while.

Overall: A-

THE GOOD LIAR

Directing: B
Acting: B+
Writing: B
Cinematography: B
Editing: B-

In terms of what is the greatest appeal of The Good Liar, this movie might better be called The Good Actors. You can rarely go wrong with the likes of Ian McKellen and Helen Mirren. And you wouldn’t be with this film either, even though it’s far from either of their best, and it’s a tad predictable.

Still, there’s a certain satisfaction in where the story goes, even if it is telegraphed early on. Maybe not exactly what the twist will be, but certainly that there will be a twist, and what the nature of the twist will be. That kind of softens the effect of a so-called “twist.”

One thing I kind of love about it, is that Ian McKellen is an out gay man, and he plays both a straight man and a villain here. He’s quite convincing, too—so much so that, I didn’t even think about this until well after the movie was over. This is the way things should be, and a testament to how great an actor he is. Helen Mirren is, of course, capable of more than meeting his match.

As The Good Liar begins, the opening credits are intercut with shots of these two, filling out online dating profiles of people of “distinction”—that is, old. Neither ever say how old they are, although it still feels like McKellen is playing a bit younger than his eighty years of age. He does so convincingly, against the eternally sensual Mirren, who is 74. Not as great an age difference as you might expect.

McKellen plays a con man, and a surprisingly spry one for his age. This makes it very easy for him to play up sympathies as he fakes frailty. But, and this is part of the predictable part, Mirren’s Betty McLeish has some tricks up her sleeve herself. And this is where it gets tricky, in a sense where The Good Liar can’t really win. If Betty is just a helpless old lady who gets duped, it’s too stereotypical; if Betty gets the better of McKellen’s Roy Courtnay, it’s rather predictable. This movie sets a bit of a trap for itself.

That said, there is greater satisfaction in the details. Not just that there is “more than meets the eye” when it comes to Betty—which we expect from the start—but in exactly how and why that is the case. These characters’ rather distant pasts eventually come into play, and there is some element of surprise in how they play out.

In a sense, The Good Liar is kind of a mystery, one in which I found myself thinking the predictable thing better actually be the case, or else I’ll be pissed. Better to be unsurprised than pissed, I suppose. It’s nice to see parts this meaty for actors in their seventies and eighties. It would be nice if they had a bit more depth, but we take what we can get, it’s so rare that a movie is carried by actors with careers as long and storied as these. It’s surprisingly modern, too, including how Russell Tovey’s part as Betty’s grandson is ultimately contextualized. That’s also, in the end, part of the movie’s overall contrivance.

In the end, The Good Liar is adequate entertainment, an engaging but flawed showcase for a couple of truly great actors, having a bit of fun. Which is perhaps the best descriptor for the film itself: a bit of fun.

The good actors.

Overall: B

THE WOMAN WHO LOVES GIRAFFES

Directing: B
Writing: B
Cinematography: B+
Editing: B+

Perhaps one day, a few decades from now when many of our favorite animals will have inevitably gone extinct, a narrative film will be made about Anne Innis Dagg, the “Jane Goodall of giraffes.” Giraffes on the Savanna, or whatever.

For now, we have the documentary about her, written and directed by longtime stunt coordinator Alison Reid, in her feature documentary debut. From the point of view of those who love giraffes, it’s too bad this particular animal is not as “sexy” as gorillas or tigers or elephants—they just don’t get as much attention. Maybe because they don’t have the regal appeal or the hominid sympathies of other animals. Giraffes, by comparison, are a gangly, goofy animal. It says something that the film is only playing for two days at the Siff Film Center theatre. By the time you read this (if anyone is even bothering to read this), it will no longer be in theaters.

Not that it commands attention in a theater, honestly. If you care about the threats against animal species facing extinction, take a note of this title: The Woman Who Loves Giraffes. Surely it will be available streaming on one platform or another soon enough.

This is not just about the animals, though, of course. It’s about—you guessed it!—the woman who loves them, Anne Innis Dagg. And her story is indeed a fascinating one: she traveled to Africa to study wildlife before Jane Goodall did, and wrote what was for decades the only reliable or comprehensive book on the subject of giraffes in 1976. She shortly thereafter dropped from widespread academic attention, having been denied tenure by a sexist university system in Canada. This particular struggle gets focused attention in the documentary, a sort of feminist detour during which Dagg published several other books on women’s issues.

But, in the early 21st century, Dagg experienced a sort of renaissance, having been invited to a conference comprised of many giraffe experts who regarded her seminal 1976 book as the “Bible” for giraffe studies. Thus, The Woman Who Loves Giraffes becomes a nice tale of struggle and renewal.

Dagg, for her part, has a particularly winning personality, which makes for a lot of nice interview footage. She seems full of life and hope, even now in her eighties. She’s clearly just generally pleasant to be around, and her passion is infectious, especially for animal lovers. I’m not sure it’s so much so for those who are a little more indifferent to these issues. If anyone wants a bit of sensationalism, I guess I could mention there is one scene in which Dagg speaks to a man while he is literally shoulder-deep into a pregnant giraffe’s vagina.

The bummer of it all, really, is that, well, the world is on fire right now. This movie ends with the requisite insistence that “you can help” and the organizations that need support, but, this is not going to be especially high on anyone’s priority list right now. The most dire needs are policy changes at the federal level, not just in the U.S. but in the 21 African countries where wild giraffe exists. Good luck with that!

As ever with documentaries of this sort, The Woman Who Loves Giraffes makes a point of what’s still possible, how these animals could be saved if just enough people do the right thing. Unfortunately, I left this movie thinking about how we’ve got bigger fish to fry. Or render extinct, as the case may be.

Someone tell me where these guys buy their mascara!

Overall: B

FORD V FERRARI

Directing: A-
Acting: B+
Writing: B+
Cinematography: A-
Editing: A-

Okay, so Ford v Ferrari is pretty damned long too—two hours and 32 minutes, to be exact. A good way to make that seem less significant is to have seen The Irishman the day before: compared to that movie’s three and a half hours, this seems like a quick excursion. There’s also the fact that Ford v Ferrari is so entertaining, so full of speed and suspense, it really never feels particularly long. This is that rare movie that anyone could love, and it’s not even a damned superhero movie.

In that sense, Ford v Ferrari is a pretty classic original motion picture. Director James Mangold (3:10 to Yuma, Logan) offers something that feels a lot like movie-going was in the past, when box office successes weren’t dominated exclusively by endless returns to IP. A standalone movie could break through on the strength of its own merits. It’s on pace to be by a wide margin the #1 movie this weekend, which feels like a good sign—even if its predicted earnings are far lower than your average blockbuster debut.

The extraordinary thing about Ford v Ferrari is that I really have nothing to criticize it for. It may not quite be a masterpiece of cinema, but it sure does hold up as near-perfect movie entertainment. I don’t even tend to have much interest in sports movies of any type, but I had a blast watching this. But that’s one of this movie’s many strengths: it easily transcends the “sport” it is ostensibly about.

A fair amount of this movie’s widely positive critical response has noted that, even though it’s about two race car drivers (Matt Damon and Christian Bale, both fantastic) helping the Ford Motor Company win the 24-hour Le Mans race in 1966 France, it hardly celebrates the massive corporation that’s behind it all. Tracy Letts is perfectly cast as Henry Ford II, who is throwing all the money he can at this endeavor for no real reason other than being personally insulted by the CEO of Ferrari. Josh Lucas plays a more direct, meddling villain as Ford’s second-in-command Leo Beebe, but Ford is still characterized as a pretty out of touch rich guy with an easily bruised ego. He’s equally easily manipulated by both Beebe and Carroll Shelby, the retired race car driver played by Matt Damon.

The trailers for Ford v Ferrari make it look a little too much like the movie is about a rivalry between Matt Damon’s Carroll and Christian Bale’s British immigrant race car driver/mechanic Ken Miles, but the “v” in the title is not between these two characters. Carroll and Miles are very good friends, both working for the Ford Motor Company to become the first Americans to beat Ferrari in the Le Mans race. And Damon and Bale have great onscreen chemistry.

I suppose one unanswered question is in regards to Carroll’s personal life—does he have a wife, or romantic partner of any kind? Look up Carroll Shelby an you’ll discover he was married seven times. We do not meet a single one of these women in Ford v Ferrari; apparently he had several affairs. Maybe James Mangold felt any focus on that would distract too much from the story at hand—the movie we’ve got is well-packed with story as it is. Still we do get significant focus on Ken Miles’s apparently very supportive wife, Mollie (Caitriona Balfe), as well as on their son Peter (Noah Jupe). Carroll Shelby actually had three children, none of whom appear in this movie. It is a little odd that no part of Shelby’s personal life plays into the story here, and yet a whole lot of Ken Miles’s does. I guess if I do have any criticism of this movie, that would be it.

That said, it’s a testament to how gripping a movie Ford v Ferrari is that I didn’t even think about these things until sitting down to write the review. The story at hand is all about two friends who built a race car that broke records, and it is fun, engaging, almost always amusing, and often genuinely suspenseful. The many racing scenes are incredibly well edited, giving a multi-dimensional and easy to follow view of what it felt like to be a part of them. There is danger that comes with it, and inevitably, tragedy. It certainly doesn’t hurt that this movie is packed with dynamic characters, whether we are meant to root for them or not.

This movie is an unexpected delight, something you can confidently recommend to just about anyone you know. It’s sort of sad how that makes it unique. Movies like this just don’t come along much anymore, and the world could do with more like it: something that is not especially challenging but doesn’t particularly need to be, but is still very well-made on every level. To say it exceeds expectations is an understatement.

It’s so much better than it looks!

Overall: A-

THE IRISHMAN

Directing: B+
Acting: B+
Writing: B
Cinematography: B
Editing: B-

It’s been widely reported that The Irishman runs three and a half hours long, so there’s a good chance you already know it, but it bears repeating. Be warned: this movie is a bit of an endurance test. I do have recommendations for how to deal with it, however. First, don’t drink any fluids for at least six hours before seeing it in a theater. But, if you can’t get out of having to use the bathroom, then I recommend seeing it at Seattle’s Cinerama theatre. Not only is it the best movie screen in town, but they also play the live sound from the movie playing over the speakers in the bathrooms, so at the very least you don’t miss out on what might be critical dialogue.

That is, it’s what I can recommend or the next week, which is the extent of this film’s theatrical release. It plays at Cinerama through Wednesday 11/20; it plays at the Landmark Crest Theater in Shoreline (which is far cheaper; $17 at Cinerama vs. $4 at the Crest) through Thursday 11/21. This has also been the subject of much media coverage regarding this movie, because it will be available streaming on Netflix very shortly thereafter, on Wednesday, November 27, the day before Thanksgiving.

Thus, the biggest burning question is: Is it worth finding a movie theater to see it in? And having seen it, I can tell you definitively—no, not really. That is, unless you are a cinephile or cinema purist, which I kind of am. It’s why I went out of my way to see it at Cinerama: I knew director Martin Scorsese preferred it be seen in a theater, and I personally prefer the cinematic experience broadly. But, you know what? Although The Irishman is a fine movie, it’s short on action and long on a uniquely meditative tone. Honestly, you might as well deal with that at home.

It’s not like it’s some grand achievement in cinematography, either. This movie is told almost entirely in flashback, with Robert De Niro as the title character (or, Frank Sheeran) narrating. The story unfolds over decades, from the forties through the seventies, in blue collar neighborhoods run by mobsters, in environments with pretty muted colors, with the occasional exception of things like a brief excursion to Florida. Still, none of the visual language of this films demands to be seen on a large screen. The Irishman is much more an actors’ showcase, and a very, very long one at that. This is therefore a rare example of a movie’s brief theatrical release having value only in terms of qualifying for Academy Awards, as opposed to a brief window of opportunity to see film as it was originally intended. This is one movie that will work fine, maybe even better, on your TV screen.

And real emphasis should be put on it as a showcase for actors—specifically, male ones. The cast here is a massive reunion of Scorsese favorites, including Harvey Keitel in a surprisingly small role as the most powerful mobster; Al Pacino as Jimmy Hoffa; and most notably, Joe Pesci as crime boss Russell Bufalino, Frank Sheeran’s longtime mentor. Other familiar faces fill out the supporting cast, including Ray Romano as Russell’s cousin Bill; Bobby Cannavale as hitman Felix “Skinny Razor” DeTullio; and Jesse Plemons as Jimmy Hoffa’s son Chuckie.

But, at the risk of sounding insufferably “woke,” you would think a movie three and a half hours long would find at least some quality time for the women in these men’s lives. It’s genuinely striking, how much screen time women in this film get just to be speechless window dressing. Just because I feel bad for them, I feel like naming the key actors who played these roles: Welker White as Jimmy’s wife, Josephine Hoffa (who gets the most lines of all the women, and it’s still only a few); Aleksa Palladino and Stephanie Kurtzuba as Mary and Irene, Frank’s respective first and second wives; and most notably, Anna Paquin as Frank’s eldest daughter Peggy. Peggy actually figures in as a key part of Frank’s story, and still, Anna Paquin appears in several scenes with no dialogue at all, until maybe two scenes with limited dialogue near the end. In short, The Irishman goes out of its way to waste the ample talents of its female supporting cast, while simultaneously squandering ample potential for character development.

Now, okay, yes, to be fair, this is Frank’s story, and his story revolves around his relationship with crime bosses. De Niro, Pacino and Pesci—who came out of retirement for this role, not having been in a feature film in nine years—all give fantastic, arguably award-worthy performances. But it’s still possible to put the focus on these characters without giving so many women such blatant short shrift, with not so much as dialogue in scene after scene. (I’m certainly not the only one who noticed.)

That aside—and, frankly, it’s a difficult thing to set aside—The Irishman remains a surprisingly engaging film considering how long it is, the longest mainstream film released in two decades. The final ninety minutes or so are certainly the most pertinent, and they are only thus because of the time spent on the story that led up to it. The film ends with Frank as an old man, reckoning with the long-term consequences of his past. It’s a larger-than-life life, which ends with a bit of whimper. And, much like Pedro Almodóvar’s Pain and Glory, there is greater context to consider: it’s a longtime director using a film as a storytelling tool to reckon with his own past. A meditation on a life lived, achievements and mistakes in all; a bit of a theme in the world of film in 2019. Is it a journey worth going on with them? Sure it is, especially if you are already a fan of the director’s other work. Is it an essential part of his body of work? That part remains up for debate.

So are we just going to keep talking for 209 minutes, then?

Overall: B

LAST CHRISTMAS

Directing: C+
Acting: B+
Writing: C+
Cinematography: B
Editing: B-

Here’s a strange and unusual thing for the holiday season: a movie in which nearly everyone is phoning it in—except, curiously, the actors. It’s easy to dismiss a film as schmaltzy as Last Christmas outright (and I was tempted), but that itself can be a sort of trap. Emilia Clarke gives a lovely performance as Kate, the central character gradually revealed to have made a mess of her life in the wake of a heart transplant. And Emma Thompson exceeds expectations as her Yugoslavian immigrant mother.

Still, Last Christmas has a pretty big problem, and I mean besides the hokey fact that it’s loosely based on a song by WHAM! It features some solid characters, who could be the building blocks of a great story. Paul Feig, as director, and Emma Thompson, as co-writer (along with Bryony Kimmings), seem to know of this potential, and yet they couldn’t be bothered. It’s like they got to the point of half-baked and then they all decided, well, that’s good enough!

Except it really isn’t. Spoiler alert! There’s a so-called “massive twist.” I won’t reveal the twist here, although if you’ve seen the trailer you’ve already figured it out, and it is practically slapping the viewer in the face with “hints” the moment Henry Golding (Crazy Rich Asians) appears onscreen as Tom, the mysterious man who takes an interest in Kate, just when her life seems to have hit rock bottom.

Golding has an endearing screen presence, which helps with all the holiday cheese going on here. The same goes for Michelle Yeoh (also Crazy Rich Asians) as the owner of the massive year-round Christmas shop where Kate works, dressed as an elf. Unfortunately, Yeoh’s own ample charms are more than neutralized by a romance with a customer, and the subplot there is so insanely cloying you might want to keep a barf bag handy.

The semi-romance between Kate and Tom is not far behind. Once the “big reveal” about him happens, try not to think too much about the many practical questions it brings up. I’m still unsure whether the audience is meant to think of him as real or as a figment of Kate’s imagination, because those questions get no easy answers either way.

I won’t lie, though—Last Christmas still got to me. It might stir your emotions a little bit too, if you love George Michael (whose songs make up most of the soundtrack), or you love Christmas, or Christmas movies, or all of the above. I’m not sure how much we need all this as early as an opening date of November 8—three weeks before Thanksgiving—unless the studio just wanted to get their junk out of the way early. Because just because I found myself getting involved in the story doesn’t make it something of high quality. There’s a reason why formula works.

There is one single scene, which indicates the better movie that could have been. Kate is home at her parents’ house, having a dinner with them and her sister (Lydia Leonard) to celebrate her sister’s promotion. There’s a round of dialogue that begins to crackle with energy, the kind that can make for a fun, unique story about a multi-ethnic, immigrant family. There are even brief bits about Brexit that are actually woven into what passes for a story in this movie pretty well. I actually laughed two or three times during this one scene, which was about even with the rest of the movie put together. I wish another movie could be grown out of this scene, one in which a Christmastime setting, even holiday sentiment, is still permitted, but just not laid on so thick.

But that’s what Last Christmas does: it lays it on thick with what doesn’t really work, and skims over what does. That’s also what makes it so easy to overlook the solid performance among all of the lead actors. They have the kind of rapport you’d like to explore further. Just in some other movie.

Save the Most Schmaltz for Me

Overall: B-

PAIN AND GLORY

Directing: A-
Acting: A-
Writing: B+
Cinematography: A-
Editing: B

There is so much that can be unpacked with Pedro Almodóvar’s latest film, Pain and Glory, it’s potentially exhausting. But, it really depends on how much of a film nerd you are; how much you know about Almodóvar himself as well as his film history; and how much you care about “autofiction,” a term which gets mentioned a couple of times in the film.

For the average viewer of the film—not to mention the average reader of this particular review—how much of Pain and Glory is fictionalized autobiography on the part of its director perhaps means little. These are the things that get widespread attention in critical responses, but for you and me, how much does all of that matter? Perhaps it could be said that “it’s unlike anything else” is a phrase that gets bandied about a lot among critics (including me), and still this film takes that notion to a different level. As in, nothing else would be like this, given its incredible specificity: this is Antonio Banderas’s eighth collaboration with Almodóvar since their first in 1982, giving them a longstanding relationship with a kind of intimacy all its own; now, even if in the context of “autofiction,” Bandaras is basically playing Almodóvar, while also being directed by him.

As you can plainly see, context can really make a difference in meaning, and these sorts of details are undeniably fascinating, at least to anyone with a particular interest in film, or in film history, or in the body of work of Pedro Alomdóvar in particular. But, what interests me more is how Pain and Glory plays completely on its own merits. What if you watched this movie having no idea that it was “autofiction” at all? What if you didn’t even know who Almodóvar was, and just happened upon this movie, or went to see it just because the trailer piqued an interest? I would argue the film’s is of much greater value if it works either way.

So, what’s the answer, then? I can’t say with absolute certainty, since, even though I am far from an Aldomóvar expert (I have seen about ten of the 22 feature films he’s directed), but my sense is the answer is yes, it works. It just doesn’t work quite as well, doesn’t have the same gravitas, without the knowledge that this is a meditation on a long career and how a man’s past informs his present, both on the part of the main character and on the part of the director.

Antonio Banderas does not play a character called “Pedro Almodóvar,” but rather a very, very similar character by the name of Salvador Mallo. Salvador is well into the fourth decade of his career, now stalled, in large part due to an array of health ailments, most of which cause chronic pain. A re-issue of a film from the beginning of his career prompts him to reconnect with said film’s star, Alberto Crespo (Asier Exteandia), as they have both been invited to co-present. They don’t “make amends” so much as allow each other to appear in each other’s lives again.

In signature Almodóvar style, the story unfolds at a very purposefully steady pace. Pain and Glory moves relatively slowly, and is pretty short on action. It is almost entirely composed of quiet conversations, even as Salvador slips into a worrying habit of casual heroin use as a means of dealing with his chronic pain. It’s the same with the many flashbacks to Salvador’s childhood, in which Penélope Cruz (this being her sixth Almodóvar film) plays his mother, who is self-conscious about their poverty.

These flashbacks ultimately culminate in a subtle revelation about Salvador’s (and, ultimately, Almodóvar’s) sexuality, as does a present-day visit by an old flame. In time, Pain and Glory reveals itself to be largely about Salvador as a gay man, although it’s also almost pointedly sexless about it, even with a full-frontal male nude scene among the flashbacks, and a present-day passionate kiss that is far more romantic than erotic. But, sex is beside the point. Salvador’s sexuality is merely one of several avenues on which he must reconcile his past with his present.

It seems clear that Pain and Glory, with its signature meticulousness in both writing and visual storytelling, would benefit from multiple viewings. That is, if a film like this is of interest to begin with. A whole lot about this film is very typical of Almodóvar films, not least of which is its cinematography (by José Luis Alcaine, who has also been collaborating with Almodóvar since the eighties), with its many visuals characterized by solid colors on costumes and interiors. In this case, it’s a lot of solid red. In any case, Pain and Glory serves as a rich visual tapestry, with nothing seen anywhere in frame ever being an accident. Every single detail, every color, every placement of an object, every movement and every word spoken, is all fraught with purpose.

Like any filmmaker with a large body of work, the quality of Pedro Almodóvar’s films has varied a great deal. I found Volver (2006) and Broken Embraces (2009) to be near-perfect expressions of cinema; I also found Talk to Her (2002) and The Skin I live In (2011) to be impressive cinema yet uncomfortably problematic. I’m So Excited! (2013) was a genuine disappointment. The one common thread among all of them is the clear deliberateness of anything seen onscreen.

With Pain and Glory, though, the concern is almost entirely with a filmmaker’s beginning and where he is now, and not so much with anything that came in between, at least in terms of his artistic output. It’s about where a person comes from, and how that informs where he is now, on several fronts. And really, as with most Almodóvar movies, it is much more for Almodóvar fans than it is for fans of film in general. It’s possible, of course, that an Almodóvar novice could be introduced to his work via this film, and if they like it, then be compelled to explore his other work. You could certainly do worse than that.

Looking back: on fiction, on nonfiction, on “autofiction.”

Overall: B+