BEING THE RICARDOS

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

There’s a lot of reasons to be skeptical of Being the Ricardos, and yet writer-director Aaron Sorkin systematically proves all of them unnecessary. To varying degrees, it’s a pleasant surprise on all fronts.

I suppose the one glaring exception, upon reflection, would be its climactic moment, which is rife with cliché—the very same thing that happened in Sorkin’s much-discussed movie from last year, The Trial of the Chicago 7. On the other hand, at least in Being the Ricardos, the huge audience applause we get at the end of the movie comes from an actual audience, as it takes place on the sound stage of I Love Lucy.

Much of this movie is set on the stage of that show, in fact, offering a bit of a “how the sausage was made” vibe to the storytelling. I would not begrudge anyone who is not into that part, honestly. I happened to find it compelling. Furthermore, Sorkin uses it to narrow the focus of what otherwise might be called a “biopic,” thereby doing what I have long wished most biopics would do: it limits the scope of the life being covered.

The story Sorkin tells here is about Lucille Ball being investigated as a Communist by the House Unamerican Activities Committee, in 1953, during production of the second season of I Love Lucy. Sorkin takes us through a single week of production, and thus the production of one episode of the show. We get flashbacks here and there, mostly regarding the early stages of the relationship between Lucille Ball and Desi Arnaz, and it works.

In fact, this is one of the things that most surprises in how well it works—Aaron Sorkin is usually so distinctive, you can recognize his dialogue in seconds. I found myself thinking about how, if I did not know this was written by Sorkin, I would never have guessed it. I tend to love his writing, actually, but this is still a benefit to the movie. The writing is still very good—in fact, it’s more natural and less stylized, even as it is recognizably polished. It just doesn’t veer into Sorkin’s characteristic territory of “over-polished.” Quick aside, I found myself amused maybe halfway through the movie, as it occurred to me I had not seen one of Sorkin’s infamous “walk and talk” scenes. Minutes later, there was a “walk and talk.” Just the one, though. It felt almost knowing in its inclusion. Is Sorkin trolling us now?

As for casting, it must be said that the greatest skepticism of this production has long been the idea of Nicole Kidman playing Lucille Ball. It just sounded like such a misguided idea, but the finished film illustrates how great talent should never be underestimated. Maybe wait until the finished product is before us before judging, because Kidman is excellent in this role, easily the best thing in the movie. As for Javier Bardem in the role of Desi Arnaz, there has been controversy regarding this, as Bardem is from Spain, thus of European descent, and his being a Spanish speaker notwithstanding, it’s actually not far removed from the history of casting white people in Latino roles. This is certainly a valid point, but, given that I am neither Latino, Hispanic, nor Spanish myself, I’ll leave this one for them to sort out—except to say that, while Barden is an undeniably great actor, it would not have been difficult to find a Latino actor just as talented.

To be fair, Sorkin also could have cast another actor just as talented as Nicole Kidman to play the role of Lucille Ball. But, this is the movie we’ve got, and the two leads are very good in their roles. But, especially Kidman. Still, the Bardem casting puts at least a mild but undeniable funk on the reception of the film. We also get J.K. Simmons as William Frawley and Nina Arianda as Vivian Vance, the actors who played Fred and Ethel, and they are both excellent as well. As is usual for Sorkin movies, it’s largely an ensemble piece—albeit one where everyone revolves around Lucille Ball as the central character—and the rest of the cast is filled out with a lot of relatively familiar, if not outright famous, faces.

Altogether, Being the Ricardos is a riveting journey through a week in the lives of some of the most famous people the U.S. has ever seen (they make it a note to point out that I Love Lucy used to get sixty million viewers; the most successful broadcast television shows today get a fraction of that). Sorken effectively humanizes them, as well as everyone around them, and even when the typical score crescendo occurs in a transparent bid to manipulate our emotions, I am powerless to it. This movie doesn’t break any new ground, but I thoroughly enjoyed it anyway; anyone with an interest in Lucille Ball’s story is bound to as well.

For some of us anyway, it exceeds all expectations.

Overall: B+

ENCANTO

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

Encanto is Spanish for Charm, and when it comes to this movie . . . it has its moments. It’s hardly a complete waste of time, but, when it comes to a magic house containing a family of people who nearly all possess a magical gift, I expect the experience to be a little more . . . well, magical.

I don’t quite know how to put my finger on it, except to say that Encanto is adequately entertaining, which leaves it below the standards of your average Disney Animation feature. Granted, even with their own slight falterings over the past decade or so, Pixar is a far more reliably great source for feature animation, but Walt Disney Animation Studios has more than proved its own capability, from Bolt (2008) to Zootopia (2016)—even Frozen (2013) is quite good, if you can get past how wildly overrated it is. Listen to me, over here harping on kids whose obsessions have made a movie “overrated.”

I suppose that brings us to a possibly crucial distinction with Encanto. Will kids like it? I don’t have a clue, although I would bet money it won’t hit a zeitgeisty nerve the way Frozen did. I can only speak from my jaded adult perspective, which isn’t even as jaded as I can try making it out to be; I am powerless to the charms of animated features, when their charms are effective.

I do find myself wondering how Encanto will play in Colombia, the nation in which the film is set, with most of its voice talent either Colombian or of Colombian descent. This of course elicits immediate comparisons to the stellar 2017 Pixar film Coco, with its Mexican setting, cast and themes. Bestowing such homage to any other country and culture, provided it is done with sincerity and sensitivity (and ethnically appropriate casting), would be wonderful. I rather wish Colombia had gotten the same treatment, but this pales a bit in comparison. But what do I know? I’m just a white guy who has never been any closer to Colombia than Texas. Clearly, though, the power of representation cannot be overstated, and yet it’s not difficult to find mixed reviews or debates among Colombian people.

For me, Encanto just didn’t reach me the way I wanted it to. There was something inaccessible about it, perhaps partly because of the original songs by Lin-Manuel Miranda, who is of mostly Puerto Rican and not Colombian descent. He’s also very much an American, and although the songs here have certain flair that reference Latin styles, it hews far closer to Broadway tunes. They are very competently written songs, but nothing within the realm of unforgettable or classic music. (The music of Coco came across as far more specific to the culture being represented.) As a result, much of Encanto comes across as a by-the-numbers musical.

It’s quite pretty, at least; there is no question the animation is the best thing about it, with its tropical landscapes and floral tableaus. The protagonist is Mirabel (Stephanie Beatriz), the only person in her extended family who was never granted a magical gift. She has a mother who can heal people with her cooking; a sister who can make roses bloom at her touch; a cousin who is so strong there is nothing she can’t pick up; another cousin who can shape shift; another who can communicate with animals. A reclusive uncle, Bruno (John Leguizamo, by far the most famous voice in the cast), can see quasi-abstract visions of the future. Mirabel is the only one in the family really seen talking to the house itself, which communicates right back, but apparently this doesn’t qualify as a “gift.”

All of this makes for a lot of fun and often amusing antics, but it also serves to convolute the plot, which never quite finds true clarity. Sure, it’s a little boneheaded to demand that a cartoon make logical sense, but having a fully coherent narrative structure isn’t too much to ask. This movie’s team of three directors and eight writers seem to have thrown all their ideas at a wall and just run with anything that did not immediately slip away. Unfortunately, this movie’s story immediately slipped away from my memory as soon as I left the theater.

Encanto is fine, but its disappointment lies in how much better it could have been, instead of something the skates a little close to rote. All films are a collaborative effort, but none more than an animated feature, and the animators go a long way to making this movie watchable—although, alas, I can’t say it commands viewing in the theater. This would have done just as well as a streaming release, or maybe even better. The filmmakers do well in their casting of Latin voices, and showcasing Colombian culture and history, however superficially. It occurred to me that this is an animated feature film without a single non-Latino white character in it, and the characters onscreen run the gamut of skin tones, from quite pale to Black. These are very much good things, and hopefully a step toward such diversity of representation more often. Here’s hoping the next one to come along has that spark of narrative magic not yet reached.

At least it’s pretty.

Overall: B-

JULIA

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

I don’t know why I keep watching documentaries about chefs this year. I’m nothing close to a chef, nor do I particularly have any interest in chefs, or cooking shows—watching people cook onscreen bores me. It’s like, who cares? A lot of people, obviously, or else there would not be countless cooking shows in production for decades now. I’m just not one of them. But, I do love a compelling feature film, regardless of the genre or the subject.

And, the year 2021 seems to have a thing for documentary features about celebrity chefs: Wolfgang, about Wolfgang Puck, has been streaming on Disney+ since June 25; Roadrunner: A Film About Anthony Bourdain was released theatrically July 16 and is currently available on VOD for about six bucks. And to be certain, Julia will be available either streaming or VOD in a matter of weeks, which seems to be the new standard these days—so, do you need to see it in a theater? Only if you want to support your local theater chain, but otherwise, not particularly. It’s an engaging enough film, but it won’t be any less so on your TV or computer screen.

I will say this: Julia Child’s story is surprisingly romantic, particularly the period where she fell in love with her husband, Paul Child, while enlisted during World War II. Julia Child was fictionalized onscreen in the fun feature film Julie & Julia in 2009; it’s a bit surprising she hasn’t been immortalized in any other narrative feature. That film only features her as a character, played fantastically by Meryl Streep, in half of it, as it switches between her far more compelling storyline and that of a contemporary woman played by Amy Adams. The world needs a full narrative feature just about Julie Child. There could easily be multiple; I’d love a movie just about her and Paul’s World War II courtship.

Of course, a great many things made Julia Child a distinctive, groundbreaking and historic personality. All these other celebrity chefs who have gotten their own documentary treatment, arguably owe their existence in the pop culture lexicon to Julia Child, who started her local PBS cooking show The French Chef in 1963. Having been born in 1912, Child was already 51 when that show debuted, and her fame and success as we know it only followed thereafter; she kept working on into her early nineties, passing away in 2004.

She started her cooking show career in her fifties and still managed to stretch that career over 51 years. Co-directors Julie Cohen and Betsy West do a good job of presenting the many sides of Child, her blind sides and prejudices, and how she grew and changed and opened her mind over time. Child was clearly a complex woman, a person who never self-identified as a feminist but wound up adamantly pro-choice and would commonly ask during tours of restaurant kitchens where all the women were.

This is what made Julia work for me: although it features a plethora of shots featuring her cooking, it isn’t about the cooking itself as much as it is about her, how she came to prominence in a male-dominated industry—and, of course, how she influenced a cultural change in American attitudes regarding the tactile joys of cooking being prioritized over the mid-twentieth-century obsession with convenience and time saving.

Surely it’s just because none of the old footage was vivid enough for contemporary visual standards, but Cohen and West spend a fair amount of time cutting away from old clips of Julia and interviews with her colleagues and friends, to intersperse shots of succulent dishes being prepared, cooked, chopped or tossed. When it comes to Julia Child, the historical results speak for themselves; and considering it’s clearly not possible for Child to have been preparing the food in these clips, I found them both pointless and redundant, if not outright distracting. It’s really Julia Child who is the vivid screen presence, and they could not have gone wrong just showing more endless tables of the food she actually did prepare onscreen, degraded film quality notwithstanding.

In any case, the quality of the many documentary features this year about celebrity chefs is as varied as their subjects. Overall, Julia falls in the middle: it’s fun, if a bit lacking in getting to the true substance of who she was. She clearly comes across as an extraordinary woman, but there is little question there was far more nuance to her than this one film has time for. It’ll be a great choice for any fan of Julia Child or of cooking shows—or of cooking in general; these movies are typically great for foodies—but for the rest of us, it’s merely fine.

Undeniably one of a kind: Julia in her element.

Overall: B

tick, tick ... BOOM!

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

Point of clarification! Is it tick, tick… BOOM! or is it tick, tick… Boom! or is it Tick, Tick… Boom! or is it Tick, Tick… BOOM! People all over the place are capitalizing it in all different ways and it’s kind of driving me crazy. Well, the original Broadway program wrote it as tick, tick… BOOM! So does the movie poster, so, thank god we got that cleared up!

Point of presentation: tick, tick… BOOM! is semi-autobiographical, produced originally by Jonathan Larson as a solo work in 1990, later produced as a Broadway musical in 2001, after his game-changing RENT premiered in 1996. Spoiler alert, Larson died of an aortic dissection in 1996 at the age of 35, the day of RENT’s first Off Broadway preview performance. The film adaptation, which has been streaming on Netflix for two weeks now, makes his death clear from the very start, and considering it’s also a matter of historical record, it’s not exactly a crucial plot point. It is relevant, however—and I must confess I never knew anything about the Broadway show before the release of this film, which is also Lin-Manuel Miranda’s directorial debut. He proves to be well suited to it.

As usual, all I can personally speak to is how well it works as a movie, on its own terms. Audiences intimately familiar with Broadway productions may well have arguments otherwise, but I found tick, tick… BOOM! to be an invigorating watch, with infectiously catchy music and impressively structured lyrics. Perhaps the only thing that keeps it from reaching the same excellence as the 2005 film adaptation of RENT is simply that RENT redefined what theater could be. They can’t all manage the same such achievements, although as a movie experience, tick tick… BOOM! still comes close. Even though it’s increasingly awkward having to type out that objectively odd title.

And, to be fair, RENT changed what theater could be, but it had no such effect on film. It was simply translated well to film, granting it a far greater audience—the same thing being done for tick, tick… BOOM!, in this case largely because it’s streaming. The two stories do make great companion pieces, both of them far superior works to the first musical the semi-fictional Jonathan Larson creates, the play-within-a-play of sorts in tick, tick… BOOM! It sure has fun music, though, and I loved hearing every song he wrote for it, which, by extension, he also wrote for tick, tick… BOOM!

I kind of couldn’t get enough of the music in this movie, actually. From start to finish, every song hits its mark, none of them a miss. This movie wouldn’t be half as compelling without it, even though Andrew Garfield is an inspired casting choice for the lead. This may be the first time I truly saw Garfield lose himself in a part; watching him in this movie, I only ever saw Jonathan Larson, never Andrew Garfield. He has a vivacious spirit not seen in any of his other performances, an almost destructive optimism about him, the kind of attitude that struggling artists must have in order to find success, however long it takes. Furthermore, once you learn that Garfield never had any vocal training prior to this but took lessons for a year before production started, his vocal delivery is particularly impressive. This may because I have had no formal training myself, but to my ear he sounded every bit as good as any of the other professional singers in the cast around him.

The layered, meta element in tick, tick… BOOM! is tricky but well executed, by both Miranda’s direction and the screenplay by Steven Levenson, who does a much better job here than he did with the hot mess that was Dear Evan Hansen. (In his defense, that one was a hot mess before it was adapted from the stage.) In sharp contrast to many decades of the twentieth century, for maybe the past thirty years or so movie musicals have been very hit and miss with both commercial and artistic success. An unusual number of movie musicals are being released in 2021, and although still not all of them are great, the batting average has been surprisingly good. tick, tick… BOOM! is one of the good ones, the kind of movie that is easy to recommend as entertainment for eclectic audiences.

And this is in spite of the specificity of its subject matter, which, much like RENT, is set at the peak of the AIDS crisis—in this case, 1990, the year Jonathan Larson turned 30, something he does a bit of hand wringing about. Actually he does some irresistibly catchy singing about it. As it happened, Larson was straight—his strained relationship with girlfriend Susan (Alexandra Shipp) due to his obsession with his work is a key plot point—but his best friend Michael (Robin de Jesus) is gay, their existence in the world of theater and their many mutual friends thus being very connected to the death toll in that particular pandemic. When Jonathan’s agent (played by Judith Light, a delight as always) offers him some advice to move on to the next play and “write what you know,” we know that ultimately that advice will result in both tick, tick… BOOM! and RENT.

As a gay man with a straight best friend myself, I found something very comfortable and comforting about the depiction of such a relationship in film—and not just that it exists, but that it’s in a film set thirty years ago. I was fourteen years old in 1990, and in my world at the time, it seemed impossible that I could be gay and have any straight men even like me, let alone be close friends. It’s just a lovely thing to see that I was being proved wrong, even then, without realizing it. Even now we don’t see relationships like this in movies or TV very often, so it’s another of many things that make tick, tick… BOOM! a treat.

Andrew Garfield wows in a delightful and moving movie musical.

Overall: B+

C'MON C'MON

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

It’s tempting to say young actor Woody Norman, who was ten years old at the time of filming, is incredible in C’mom C’mon, the latest film by writer-director Mike Mills, and maybe he is. The use of a child actor is always tricky though, and I suspect a lot of the credit goes to Mills himself, his impeccable direction, and the editing by Jennifer Vecchiarello (who, incidentally, edited last year’s also-excellent Kajillionaire). On the other hand, young Woody Norman, who is now twelve, is apparently British and did accent work for this role, indicating that he has a far more nuanced understanding of the acting process than one might assume of a preteen. Well, that settles it then: Woody Norman is incredible in C’mon C’mon.

Still, it must also be said that Mike Mills is a name to remember. This is the guy who brought us both Beginners (2011) and 20th Century Women (2016). I don’t know if Mills has a recognizable cinematic style, and that is to his credit; I can only say that his films tend to range from very good to excellent. C’mon C’mon falls on the “excellent” end of that spectrum, which is clear very quickly after this beautifully shot, black-and-white movie starts. Why avoid any color, you might ask? My theory is that it so much more effectively puts its emotional component into sharp relief. This is a family drama, and also a story of an uncle bonding with his very young nephew—a kind of relationship rarely depicted onscreen, at least in terms of familial bonding.

It’s also wonderful to see Joaquin Phoenix in such a warm, sweet, and moving role, especially after being in garbage like Joker. Phoenix has long proved himself to be an incredibly versatile actor, but here he moves away from “larger than life” or quirky or even “romantic lead” in favor of “everyman.” His Uncle Johnny is a middle-aged, somewhat frumpy guy, focused on his work as a radio journalist as he avoids direct answers to his nephew Jesse’s questions about why he’s unmarried and alone.

Johnny’s sister, Jesse’s mother, Viv, is played by Gaby Hoffmann, and it’s easy to believe her and Phoenix as siblings who have been estranged since the death of their mother put a strain on their relationship a year ago. But, Viv’s separated husband (Scoot McNary) has mental health issues that require her attention, so Johnny offers to look after Jesse while Viv attends to her husband.

In the meantime, Johnny’s job has him interviewing teenagers all over the country, for his latest radio journalism project. I did find myself wondering how Johnny really makes a living doing this work, but perhaps that’s beside the point. C’mon C’mon’s production moves between so many cities Johnny effectively travels to four corners of the country: Detroit, Los Angeles, New York City, and New Orleans, four of the most truly distinctive cities in the country. In each city, he asks teenagers about their expectations of their future living in America, and these are real interviews conducted with real kids, seamlessly integrated into the narrative. The film is dedicated to one such kid who was later killed in a shooting, and its title card is the only moment in the film presented in color.

These interviews are sprinkled throughout this film about a childless man getting a crash course in parenting, which makes C’mon C’mon a uniquely sweet and deeply moving film. It made my cry, and not at all the way most other films do—it’s just because of its broad depth of humanity. There’s no reliable way to characterize this movie’s effectiveness. It just has to be experienced. I’m not a parent myself, but it’s easy to imagine how deeply affected those who are might be affected by this movie.

Ultimately, you night say, it’s about emotional vulnerability, within the context of the hopes and dreams we have for the very children that drive us crazy. This movie is very honest about parenting, and about what it’s like to deal with children, in a way that few movies really are. Jesse doesn’t exist to amuse, or be precocious, or serve as a plot catalyst in the way children typically are in film. He just is, and he exists as a wholly dimensional human being—as do Johnny and Viv. The characters in C’mon C’mon have a very naturalistic, casual existence. It’s how they are shot and edited that turns them into art.

And, without irony, that is what I would call this film: a work of art, and an unparalleled one at that. It’s unique in a way that the Academy rarely recognizes, and yet it’s easily one of the best films of the year. It’s only in theaters currently but presumably will be streaming soon, and either way, it should be seen at the soonest opportunity. C’mon C’mon is a tonal accomplishment that seeps into your pores, like a warm bubble bath.

You’ll just have to trust me on how great this movie is.

Overall: A

THE POWER OF THE DOG

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

The Power of the Dog won me over in a big, big way—also in a way that makes me very hesitant to reveal too much, especially in regards to the distinct turn the narrative takes about halfway through. It’s precisely that turn that made the movie great in my eyes, which puts me in a tricky position: how can I convince you how great it is if all I can tell you about is within the first half which, honestly, had me a little skeptical? Like, I was literally wondering how this movie was so criticially acclaimed. But, then I understood.

To be fair, it’s clear that not all audiences understand, at least not to the same degree. There are notable discrepancies between critical reactions and audience reactions: an incredible MetaScore of 88 on MetaCritic, where the user score is at 76; an astronomical 95% rating on Rotten Tomatoes, where the user score is 73%. Over at IMDb.com, the user rating is 6.9/10. Clearly the average viewer doesn’t hate this movie, but they also aren’t lionizing it the way critics are. Well, I guess I am just following my own flock here, because I am definitely falling down on the side of the critics—even though I spent the first half of the movie wondering if that was even possible.

Written by Jane Campion, whose 1993 masterpiece The Piano won her an Oscar for Best Original Screenplay as well as two acting Oscars (Best Actress for Holly Hunter and Best Supporting Actress for then-11-year-old Anna Paquin, the second-youngest person ever to win an Oscar), there’s something very fitting about The Power of the Dog’s distinctive tone and visual style. This film’s production comes from a unique position, in that it was put on hold due to the COVID-19 pandemic, but it was already filming in Campion’s native New Zealand before the pandemic hit. Knowing that New Zealand was arguably the safest place on the planet for the first several months of the pandemic, it’s somewhat surprising to realize this movie was filmed there just coincidentally. Besides that—and I apologize if this creates the same effect of your viewing experience—I found myself consistently distracted by the beautifully shot landscapes, as the story is set in 1925 Montana. Who knew any part of New Zealand could plausibly stand in for Montana? There are multiple expansive shots of a roadway winding through rolling hills with distinctively large boulders dotting the landscape. Does any part of Montana actually look like that?

Perhaps it doesn’t matter. The Power of the Dog also has a fairly small cast, another coincidentally convenient thing about it having been shot during the pandemic, and its principal characters are fewer still, only four people: Phil (Benedict Cumberbatch), the central character, is a gruff rancher with a penchant for tormenting virtually everyone around him, but especially his brother George (Jesse Plemons), whom he calls “Fatso”; George’s widow wife Rose (Kirsten Dunst; fun fact, she and Plemons are a real-life couple); and Rose’s barely-grown son Peter (Kodi Smit-McPhee).

And this is what I’m getting at when I refer to the first half of the film, as it is packed with tension, Phil going out of his way to make life difficult for his emotionally calloused brother, or striking terror in the hearts of Rose or Phil. Curiously, he never does this with physical violence; in fact there’s no violence inflicting onscreen between two people, although there is a bit against animals. More than once I was really afraid there would be, and that was kind of the point: there doesn’t have to be violence in order to stoke terror—only the threat of it. And, more to the point in this story, the violence is of a more mental sort. Phil, a deeply repressed man, has great skill at getting under the skin of others. In effect, he’s a 1925 version of a bully—an incredibly subtle one, but a bully nonetheless.

The thing is, none of this is headed anywhere near the direction you think it is, when the narrative takes its turn. Everything about The Power of the Dog is subtle, and this turn of events is no exception. Tensions continue thereafter, but of a very different sort. There’s a twist at the end that is quite impressive in its subtle execution, considering how fucked up you slowly realize it is.

The Power of the Dog is a bit of a narrative puzzle, and over the course of its second half they fall into place, linking inextricably into each other, with deep satisfaction. This is a superbly constructed film, easily Campion’s best since The Piano, a film destined to be a part of the upcoming Oscar conversation. So much of it could easily have been bungled in someone else’s hands, but this a solid piece of work that only could have come from Jane Campion. I’m eager to tell you more about its revelations, but I must resist, and implore you just to set aside a couple of hours, sit down and watch this film, going in cold: just watch it. It’s streaming on Netflix so getting that far won’t be a challenge. Getting to the end will be more than worth the time.

Taking the path you don’t see coming.

Overall: A

HOUSE OF GUCCI

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

There’s a lot to say about House of Gucci, but why don’t we start with the accents? Director Ridley Scott casting American actors to play real-life Italian characters who speak English but with a thick “Italian” accent is . . . a choice. There’s a reason many people discussing this film make reference to Chef Boyardee: because it isn’t far off the mark.

That said, for the most part, somehow, I felt it worked. With one notable exception, the principal parts are well cast, particularly Lady Gaga as Patrizia Gucci. Lady Gaga is the biggest surprise of the movie in that she’s not only the central character, but she’s the best thing in it. Furthermore, even with their adopted Italian accents, neither she nor Adam Driver as Maurizio Gucci are over the top about it.

The thing is, the trailers for House of Gucci made it look rather like a lot of this story is played for laughs, and when you watch the movie, you see that was clearly not Ridley Scott’s intention. This is a straight up drama, with just a couple of mildly amusing moments, none of them tied to over the top performances.

Misleading marketing aside, Scott’s problem isn’t tone so much as it’s overindulgence. Now, I don’t mind a long movie so long as it can justify its own length—Ridley Scott’s other movie this year, The Last Duel, released only a month and a half ago, managed it. (It was also a massive flop at the box office, but that’s a separate conversation.) House of Gucci dwells far too long on the early stages of Patrizia and Maurizio’s relationship, as Patrizia quite pointedly inserts herself into his life. Very little of it is necessary to the motion picture version of this story; half an hour could have been cut and it would still be 128 minutes long—still too long.

So now let’s talk about Jared Leto, who plays Maurizio’s cousin Paolo. Everything about his part in this movie is mystifying to me. He’s under a ton of makeup and prosthetics, to make him look like a frumpy middle-aged man. Note to Hollywood: there are plenty of talented actors who are already frumpy and middle-aged, famous ones even! Leto’s presence is one of the most pointless examples of stunt casting I have ever seen, and to top it off, his performance is the worst in the film. He really takes that “Chef Boyardee” accent and runs with it—to the point that it’s like he’s in a different movie. There’s a point of consistency to be made as well, as both Jeremy Irons as Maurizio’s father Rodolpho Gucci, and Al Pacino as Paolo’s father Aldo Gucci, occasionally drop their accents altogether. That’s far less distracting than Leto’s mystifyingly exaggerated performance.

In spite of all this, I found myself surprisingly engaged by the story in House of Gucci, which is based on true events I knew nothing about. So, even though I knew Patrizia arranged to have Maurizio murdered, I had no idea whether she succeeded. I became invested in what the outcome would be, even though the central character is a manipulative and overbearing woman, which, let’s be honest, isn’t the best. I may not be that pleased with how Patrizia is written, but that doesn’t lessen Lady Gaga’s embodiment of the role, which does a better job of showcasing her acting talents than A Star Is Born did (even though that movie was far better).

I just wish the movie weren’t so long, or that Ridley Scott had his actors deliver the lines straight, in their native accents. We see plenty movies about characters in other countries who speak English with American accents and we accept it just fine; in fact it feels far more natural than this. Truth be told, this story would have been far better served as told by an Italian director, using Italian actors, speaking in their native language, and Americans can just read subtitles. The final product given to us by Scott winds up coming across as less authentic than just about any other choice that could have been made.

House of Gucci is still fairly entertaining, mind you. It just would have been a lot more so with some major tightening up and a few more sensible choices in its execution. I would suggest that someone should reign in Ridley Scott’s worst impulses, but the man is 84 years old. On the one hand, that makes it incredible what kind of work he’s still doing. It also means it’s more impressive than it would be if he were half his age, and not riding on the legacy of several earlier masterworks to which this movie can’t even compare.

Overall: B-

KING RICHARD

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

This year’s movie for everyone has arrived. King Richard has no particular niche audience, unless you want to include antiracists—and there are some strong elements of such struggles in the story of Serena and Venus Williams, their father Richard, and their family. The key difference with this movie, though, is that unlike movies like Radio or The Blnd Side, King Richard not only doesn’t centralize its white characters, it was also directed by Reinaldo Marcus Green, who is Black.

Full disclosure: the script was written by Zach Baylin, a white guy who is also, oddly, working on the script for Creed III. That one he is evidently co-writing with a Black man (Keenan Coogler), and even in the case of King Richard films are always a collaborative effort and Green would have been the boss, but still. In cases like this I always wonder, could they not have found a qualified Black writer to tell a story from their own community? This all feels like King Richard as an example of Hollywood moving in the right direction, but still in the middle of many steps needed to be taken.

All that said, when it comes to the finished product, and its potential to reach wide-ranging audiences, King Richard is wildly successful. It’s a story easy to lose yourself in, from the very start, about parents Richard and Brandy Williams raising five girls and cultivating master tennis players in two of them, Serena and Venus. I don’t even think of “sports movies” as a go-to genre for me, and even I was powerless to its infectious spirit. This will be the perfect movie for the whole family to sit down and watch over Thanksgiving—I saw it in the theater, but it’s also currently streaming on HBO Max.

There’s a lot of talk about an Oscar nomination for Will Smith as the title character, and rightfully so. It would be his third nomination, and it’s easy to imagine it becoming his first win, barring another performance coming out of left field int he Oscar race (always a possibility). If he won this award, I would be happy for him. If he doesn’t get nominated, it will be a genuine shock.

No other performance here is likely to get a nomination, unless perhaps if it sweeps a bunch of categories, in which case there’s a slight possibility for Aunjanue Ellis, as Richard’s wife, Brandy. Ellis is very understated in the role but no less skilled, and her performance has a lot more time to stew on the margins of the first half of the film, while the focus is so much more on Richard. Still, Ellis does get a speech that would be perfect for an Oscars clip.

Most importantly, Saniyya Sidney is excellent as tennis prodigy Venus Williams, as is Demi Singleton as her sister Serena. The historical record already shows that Serena ultimately became the greatest tennis player ever, but King Richard focuses a bit more on Venus, largely because she was a year older, broke through critical barriers first, and the story of this film in particular is about Richard as their father most of all (hence the title). One might wonder why the movie is more about their dad than about the tennis players themselves, but the movie itself answers that question: they got to where they are because of him.

And Richard Williams was clearly a complex man, something Will Smith plays with careful precision. He’s imperfect, sometimes overbearing, and even as a parent incredibly supportive of his daughters’ sport interests, insisted that their education and well-being come first. He ruffled feathers by saying other kids’ parents should be shot, but we all know what kind of parents of kids in sports he’s talking about, and it’s hard to disagree. The man took big swings and big risks which, in the context of this film anyway, we always part of his grand, master plan. And, it would seem, his calculated risks paid off.

That, really, is the arc of the story in King Richard: seeing his risks pay off. And these are not risks that put his daughters in danger, quite the opposite: while “experts” tell him he’s likely throwing his daughters’ future away by refusing to allow them to go pro until he feels they are ready, he holds them back from that until he’s confident they won’t break under pressure or burn out, while still keeping their grades up. And after a somewhat forced break from competition, we get a climactic tennis match that does not go quite the way most such climaxes of sports movies go, and yet it’s still as riveting as the best of them, and it still ends with the expected emotional triumph.

King Richard is at once a very conventionally made sports movie, and an example of a unique kind of cinematic uplift. The only thing that seemed to be missing, for me, was exactly how Richard got to be so obsessive about cultivating greatness in his daughters as tennis players. We hear a brief reference to him and Brandy having been athletes themselves, but by the start of this story—the opening sequence, in fact—Richard is already hustling for sponsorships, and working his kids so hard that he and his wife get grief about it from their neighbor across the street.

What still sticks in the memory, though, is the love Richard has for his daughters, and the care with which he prepares them for the challenges of being both truly great at something and young Black women in America. We already know that these women have borne the brunt of a lot of stupid shit in our culture, and what King Richard provides is a backdrop, a blueprint for how they weathered what came to them with humility and grace. (There’s even a lesson learned from Disney’s Cinderella, according to Richard anyway.) The end of this movie is just the beginning of Venus and Serena’s stories, and you’ll be helpless to the call for cheering them on, just as I cheer for this movie.

A king and his princesses arrive declaring themselves to be reckoned with.

Overall: B+

EAST OF THE MOUNTAINS

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

It’s always fun for us Washingtonians when we get a local celebrity in a film actually set in our state. Tom Skerritt has done it more than once: in the 1992 movie Singles, he played the Mayor of Seattle—a guy who rejects one of the main characters’ plan for rapid rail transit because “people love their cars.” Shows what he knew!

I was just shocked to discover Skerritt is 88 years old. Even in the 1979 film Alien, he was 45. His earliest credit on IMDb.com is from when he was 29, in 1962. My point is, the man is old. Only recently has he begun to play parts about being old, though. We don’t ever learn exactly how old his character in East of the Mountains is, but it’s clear that terminally ill Ben Givens has lived a long life. He is preoccupied by memories of his early days with the wife who just died a year ago, in the Eastern Washington town where they met. Again, the movie never explicitly states what the town is that he returns to, but given the number of Mexican American characters and the apple orchards, presumably it’s around Yakima or Wenatchee.

As opposed to Mayor Weber, Ben is far past loving his car. He takes his dog on a road trip from his Seattle home to the other side of the mountains, and when it breaks down on the side of the highway, he just abandons it. He takes his family heirloom rifle, the dog in tow, and walks out into the Eastern Washington desert to do some bird hunting. And, to fulfill his plan to end his life.

Director S.J. Chiro waits quite some time into this story before telling us exactly why Ben has made this decision. Eventually, while Ben is talking to the local veterinarian he meets after his dog is attacked in the desert by a coyote hunting dog, he gets surprisingly explicit. Ben spent fifty years as a surgeon, so he knows what horrors to expect at the end of his life in his condition. I still thought about that after the film’s deceptively pleasant ending.

That said, I also wondered why Ben doesn’t consider assisted suicide. He’s a smart man; surely he knows Washington is relatively well known as a state with a Death with Dignity law, enacted in 2009. That no one in the movie even mentions it feels a little bit like a plot hole. Presumably it can be done a lot more pleasantly than pointing a rifle under your chin, something we see Ben do several times during the course of the film.

But, I guess, in that case we wouldn’t get to witness his comfortably melancholy hero’s journey. After he leaves his concerned daughter behind (Mira Sorvino, the only notable character not played by a local actor), we spend a lot of time alone with Ben, and Skerritt carries these scenes very well on his own. But, we also see him cross paths with a string of other characters along the way. Among these characters, there is a casual diversity I quite liked: a young interracial couple who picks up Ben along the highway; a Spanish-speaking man who helps him with his dog and ultimately brings him to the aforementioned veterinarian, Anita (Annie Gonzalez). Anita invites him for dinner while the dog has to stay two nights at the vet hospital, and she casually mentions how many more brown people there must be in the area than when Ben was young. It’s a passing moment, and they bond over something that has nothing to do with it: their respective histories as military vets.

I was a bit struck by how flatteringly Eastern Washington is depicted in East of the Mountains. Western Washingtonians have a tendency to be dismissive or contemptuous of the far more conservative Eastern Washington, but this movie has nothing but love for it. Even as someone who fled Eastern Washington the moment I could, I found this refreshing. Cinematographer Sebastien Scandiuzzi finds the beauty in all of the landscapes, creating indelible images of such beauty they arguably make the movie worth seeing on their own. Many movies are made in which their setting is described as “a character” in the film, but never have I seen that specifically with Central Washington. Some of the shots, of apple orchards or of low clouds passing over Evergreens of the Cascade Mountains, could be used in tourism commercials.

The entire cast is quite lovely, but Tom Skerritt makes the movie, combined with its beautiful imagery. Plenty of films have been made about people getting old and facing existential considerations, but context is key, and East of the Mountains has a unique context. This is a leisurely paced, meditative examination of how an elderly, terminal person might end their life on their own terms. It’s not nearly as sad as it sounds; in fact it’s a fairly pleasant ride. Strangely, it reminds us of how little more time we’ll get Skerritt onscreen and how much he will be missed when he’s gone.

A brief Odyssey for Pacific Northwesterners.

B+

BELFAST

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

There’s a lot to love about Belfast, perhaps most significantly its beautiful black and white cinematography, which wonderfully complements its warm and wistful tone. It should be noted that there are moments of color, used in two very specific ways: the opening shots are of modern-day Belfast, in color, so if you go knowing to expect a black and white movie, don’t get confused. You’re in the right movie.

And this is one worth seeing on the big screen, if you can. I was certainly glad I did. This movie is already very much in the Oscar conversation, and although I do think it deserves to be, I am also already wary of it becoming overrated. This is a movie pulled off with unique skill, but I would hesitate to call it a masterpiece—a word I’ve already seen thrown out about it.

The thing is, Belfast is slightly wanting, when it comes to the performances. This is a film by Kenneth Branagh, inspired by his own childhood in the titular city in Ireland, and it centers around a young boy nicknamed Buddy, played by the achingly adorable, 9-year-old Jude Hill. This little boy has talent, extracted by Branagh with surprising finesse—there’s one scene early on in which the camera lingers on his face for so long, the kid acting through it, I was astonished. But, he is still a kid, and there are moments when one wonders whether Branagh just happened to get lucky catching him just naturally being a kid.

Still, the kid carries the movie well. My real issue is with his dad, played by Jamie Dornan, who frankly isn’t any better here than he was in Fifty Shades of Grey. He has the look and demeanor to match that of his character, an unassuming working class husband and father doing his best to keep his family safe in dangerous times. He also appears in a number of scenes looking like little more than a deer caught in headlights. I’m a little mystified by the casting choice, honestly.

Buddy’s mom is played by the regal Caitriona Balfe. Best of all, we get both Ciarán Hinds and Judi Dench as Buddy’s grandparents. Dench in particular is more unrecognizable in this part than I think I have ever seen her, and both she and Hinds disappear into their parts with ease. I’d be interest in a movie focused on their characters.

But, this is more about Branagh’s recollection of his own childhood in late sixties Ireland, when clashes between Catholics and Protestants were consistently violent. The very idea of this is hard for me to wrap my head around—I mean, they’re all Christians, right?—but then, it’s not that different from warring sects of Muslims, I suppose. In neither case is it objectively rational, but, whatever. It’s also strange to consider from the vantage point of the 2020s, but it’s useful to note that people are still alive today who remember a time and place like this.

Belfast barely even has Catholic characters, as Buddy’s family are Protestant themselves—but, they are also caught in the crossfire, both metaphorically and literally, as a family uninterested in the militant beliefs of others of their same denomination. Very close to the start of the movie, we see Protestant rioters vandalizing the homes of many on their street, just because there are some Catholics still living there. The broad arc of the story involves Buddy coming to terms with the idea that their family will have to move away from their home in order to maintain their safety.

I left the movie thinking about what a mistake it can be to take for granted that it could never get like that where I live. That said, in spite of such heavy considerations, what really makes Belfast a success is its wealth of humor, particularly through the prism of Buddy’s innocence. Belfast has a lot in common with Alfonso Cuarón’s Roma (2018)—a film that gets a lot closer to being a masterpiece, and yet is far less accessible to general audiences, being a far more meditative and intellectual pursuit. Belfast is certainly comprised of layers and nuance of its own, but Branagh is also much more interested in making space for fun. Through the eyes of Buddy, the story has an irresistible sweetness to it.

Buddy also loves movies, and this is the other place where Branagh brings color into what he puts onscreen: every clip we see of movies they go to see is in color, and when the camera cuts to the family in the audience, they are in black and white. The movie reflected in color in Granny’s black and white glasses is a clever little detail. It also underscores the technicolor fantasies into which they can escape from the stresses of their lives.

It’s nice to see a movie about such kind, uncomplicated but still world-weary people. This is a family—including Lewis McAskie as Buddy’s older brother, Will, who gets the least screen time out of all of them—just trying to get by in trying times. It’s no spoiler to say that they wind up having to move away, as Branagh himself did at the age of nine, and this film serves to honor his memory of the home he had to leave. It has its seams visible here and there, but it still achieves its goal and as such is worth attention.

It was a good childhood for at least one kid.

Overall: B+