Watching the Credits

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  • ‘Ballerina’ allows a new star in the fray

    ‘Ballerina’ allows a new star in the fray

    “Ballerina,” the first spin-off of the “John Wick” franchise, proves that a star younger than the age of 60 can still successfully lead a highly practical, stunt-heavy action film to success. Whether or not that success translates to the box office remains to be seen.

    Ana De Armas excels in the fighting and inner fury of Eve Macarro, who since the murder of her father has grown up in the service of the Ruska Roma — a boarding house of assassins with an affinity for the ballet. In her early days as a working killer, she is given a lead on the cult that murdered her father, and puts her promising career as a gun for hire on the line to exact revenge.

    De Armas brings a raw emotion and sensitivity to the character of Macarro, a big departure from the more business-as-usual approach of Keanu Reeves as Wick. She is green in this world of assassins, and much of her humanity is still intact — you get the feeling that it’s all still a bit new for her. 

    Directed by Len Wiseman, “Ballerina” maintains the high energy and globe-trotting beats of “John Wick” director Chad Stahelski’s entries (Stahelski’s team was very involved in the production). The Wick films have a high bar for action and stunts, and the spinoff clears them with ease. From De Armas sporting a cocktail dress and fighting through a barrage of goons in a night club, to a flame thrower duel that is a high point for the “big dumb loud fire” crowd (AKA me). The action and pace that is customary for these films are both there in spades, and some of the kills would make the “Final Destination” films tip a cap.

    There’s not much originality to the story outside of what’s been established in previous films, but Gabriel Byrne is excellent as the big bad — The Chancellor — who takes some notes from the many diabolical, violent villains of ‘80s cop films. It works; you’re fully ready early on for this guy to get his comeuppance.

    The character Wick himself gets a not-insignificant amount of screen time, which really feels like a hedge on the bet of a new lead. His presence doesn’t really help the film all that much but doesn’t hurt it either. Listening to Reeves throat talk slowly and beat up goons is always a treat — I shan’t take it for granted. The character Wick is reluctant and a bit annoyed to be there, which is played by Reeves quite convincingly (he probably didn’t have to reach too deep for that).

    How “Bellerina” performs will likely be an indicator of how long these films set in the John Wick world can go. As someone who enjoys epic hand-to-hand fights, exploding faces and flamethrower fiascos, I hope they stick around for a while.

  • ‘Mission: Impossible — The Final Reckoning’ showcases the worst and best of the franchise

    ‘Mission: Impossible — The Final Reckoning’ showcases the worst and best of the franchise

    Invoking Dickensian prose to sum up the eighth entry of an action franchise led by Tom Cruise might seem an odd choice, but little describes “Mission: Impossible — The Final Reckoning” better than “it was the best of times, it was the worst of times.”

    The latest and possible final installment of the “Mission” franchise is a tale of two halves — one stuffs in brutally dull dialogue and endless self-mythologizing. The other builds to one of the most exciting and beautifully shot action finales ever put on a screen. To be entirely honest, the really good stuff only arrives in the last 30 minutes (along with a terrific underwater sequence around the halfway point).

    So do two amazing set pieces justify two hours and 50 minutes of runtime? For me, that answer is yes. But barely.

    Ethan Hunt (Cruise) — known by some as “the manifestation of destiny” — continues his battle against the Entity, a rouge artificial intelligence hellbent on ruling the world. Along with his ever-changing and growing team, Ethan must do battle with technology for the fate of the future.

    The usual suspects Benji (Simon Pegg) and Luther (Ving Rhames) help Ethan in his struggle with the internet, as well as newcomers Grace (Hayley Atwell), Paris (Pom Klementieff) and Degas (Greg Tarzan Davis). The absence of Illsa Faust (Rebecca Ferguson) is felt deeply in this — it would’ve been nice to see her in the fight one last time.

    There seems to be two things the “Mission” makers were terrified of in releasing this installment: that people would not think the franchise’s legacy — or Hunt as a character — was big or important enough, and that people would entirely forget the events of “Dead Reckoning,” which was released two years earlier. There could’ve also been a severe re-strategizing after that film disappointed at the box office.

    Whatever the reason, the result is a dump truck of reminiscence on the importance of the series’ hero, and the franchise as a whole. The problem is, all of that talk barely lets any action (the real legacy of these movies) get in its way for the first half of the film. Some series altering, hugely important events take place in the first 30 minutes, but they mostly play second fiddle to a barrage of Ethan glazing and repetitive conversations about the Entity and how bad it is.

    While this self-serious brand of expositional table setting is not new to the franchise, in past films it’s happened pretty quickly and more or less in the action: a talk in a van on the way back from a prison break, a briefing on the runway Ethan is flying out of for his next mission, a fakeout assignment from the bad guys before gassing out our hero. Director Christopher McQuarrie’s entries have up to now been quick to start, and maintained a brisk rhythm throughout. This one has a really long, flat overture. 

    Once the pretense is dropped, and the film is allowed to be a “Mission” movie again, it soars higher than the biplanes Cruise dangles from. The submarine sequence near the middle of the runtime plays like “The Abyss” meets “The Poseidon Adventure,” as Hunt has to navigate a rolling submarine housing nuclear weapons. The final action sequence involves skyward stunts that nearly defy logic. Cruise dangles from, stands on, and climbs all over multiple planes in flight. Once the Impossible Mission Force is doing its third act thing and that aspect ratio opens up, it’s a beautiful ride to the finish line.

    A compelling couple stretches in an otherwise mid film doesn’t usually justify the admission price. But McQuarrie and Cruise have become such masters of these unthinkable set pieces, it’s unlike anything you’ll see on any screen. We have access to a lot of exciting entertainment these days. But nothing like this. The crowd I saw this with was gasping during the final sequence. It’s the sort of thing that makes me want to stand and salute, and immediately go over to my Mom’s and turn off motion smoothing on her TV. This is nothing new for these movies, but it’s what makes them truly special.

    While a well executed entry with a standalone energy similar to “Rogue Nation” or “Fallout” would’ve been a preferable conclusion, the film franchise’s legacy was ultimately honored: Tom Cruise hanging on — to both these films and airborne vehicles — for dear life.

  • ‘Friendship’ lives in the horror of Tim Robinson in the real world

    ‘Friendship’ lives in the horror of Tim Robinson in the real world

    “Men shouldn’t have friends” is the tagline of Andrew DeYoung’s debut film “Friendship.” What is made clear is that men as deranged and unbalanced as Craig Waterman — portrayed by Tim Robinson with the exact nuclear insanity of characters from his sketch comedy hit “I Think You Should Leave” — probably shouldn’t. At least without adult supervision. Unfortunately, that’s hard to find when you’re an adult.

    “Friendship” is one of the funniest movies of the decade if Robinson is your cup of tea. Don’t let Paul Rudd’s name on the poster fool you, this is a Robinson vehicle through and through. Most of the runtime is spent following his character Craig through a life that is falling apart around him — one interaction after another ranging from awkward to psychotic.

    Craig, a suburban man whose laxadasical nature is draining the respect of his wife and son, takes a package over to his neighbor Austin (Rudd). The two start to form a friendship, unlocking an adventurous and chaotic side of Craig that had long been dormant. But after some strange encounters, Austin calls the friendship off, leading Craig to spiral.

    The brilliance of Robinson’s bizarre, rageful, scream-prone characters on his Netflix show is their likeness to a space alien with misplaced feelings trying to relate to the world. This is a sympathetic feeling in a twisted way; we’ve all struggled to meet the world at face value. But transitioning that energy to the big screen is jarring, for better or worse — mileage will vary by the viewer. 

    With A24 popping up in the opening credits and the beautiful, dynamic photography of Andrew Rydzewski, it wouldn’t be a stretch to think you were in for the comedy equivalent of “elevated horror.” You might get as far as the first signature Robinson freakout before realizing it’s not that type of movie. DeYoung’s commitment to shooting the film like a tense drama adds to the humor — it’s as if Robinson and company snuck into a Paul Thomas Anderson film.

    “Friendship” is less concerned with adult male friendship at large, and more about the horror of what a new connection can stir up in someone. Leaving your comfort zone can bring both catharsis and devastation, and for a character played by Robinson, it leads to a hilariously feral implosion.

    The wonderful Kate Mara plays Craig’s wife Tami, and is often a deadpan foil to Robinson’s hijinks. She has some odd quirks of her own though, and a hilarious penchant for emotionally cucking Craig at every turn — regularly getting drinks with her ex and kissing her son on the lips, one of the most bizarre moments of the film that happens in the first 10 minutes. 

    Rudd is playing some version of his character from “Anchorman” Brian Fantana, who got older, moved to the suburbs and got more responsible. He appears to be a free, easy riding spirit at first — luring Craig in with cool ancient rocks and a punk band — but is ultimately revealed to be just another guy doing his best. Seeing Rudd in this arena is welcome after he’s spent the better part of a decade in the franchise machine.

    There is the potential for real horror in making new friends. But fortunately, with “Friendship,” we can just laugh about it. At least for a few hours.

  • ‘Clown in a Cornfield’ carries more chainsaws and fewer metaphors

    ‘Clown in a Cornfield’ carries more chainsaws and fewer metaphors

    “Clown in a Cornfield” doesn’t do anything particularly new. And sometimes that’s a good thing.

    We live in a world of major event movies, cinematic universes and sequels upon sequels. There’s a web of connected, mixed-media IP — if you haven’t seen the latest Disney+ television show, you might not totally understand the turn in the third act of the movie you’re watching . A post-credits stinger hints at the next show you’re going to have to watch to keep up with the next movie. It can feel like a cyclical purgatory. 

    Outside of the franchise films, you could see the latest arthouse release, but perhaps you’re not in the mood. Even a standalone film like “Sinners” — the best and most entertaining blockbuster of the year — includes sadness and a depth that you just might not want to grapple with that day.

    Sometimes, you just want to grab a tub of popcorn and watch some creepy clowns chop up some feisty teens in and around a cornfield. On this and more, “Clown in a Cornfield” delivers.

    While the film definitely has some themes to chew on, there’s no “this movie is actually about trauma” you must reckon with. Or grief, postpartum depression or economic disparity. Nope, mostly just a clown with a chainsaw inflicting serious carnage.

    Set in the rural town of Kettle Springs, teenage Quinn (Katie Douglas) and her father (Aaron Abrams) have just moved from the city to start fresh. They find community has struggled to get its footing back since the burning down of the local corn syrup factory. Quinn meets Cole (Carson MacCormac) and his clique of filmmaking teens who produce a YouTube series about a killer clown. Soon after, the real thing turns up and sends the teens running, and the town reeling.

    Based on a 2020 novel of the same name, the strongest asset of this tractor terror slasher is its humor. A talented young cast led by Douglas ride the confused emotional peaks and valleys of a teenage friend group. The red herrings around the mystery of the killer’s identity have some hilarious payoffs, and even the clown has some good bits. Everyone is on board for a good time.

    Douglas is a standout in the lead role. She balances sass and wit with a sadness behind the eyes. While her relationship with her father is the emotional centerpiece, her bond with her newfound friends is the most compelling dynamic when the slashing starts. Their banter is funny throughout and really kicks up when the clown cuts loose. You really want good things for that bunch. Too bad you won’t get them.

    Will Sasso (a face I am always delighted to see) plays the town’s sheriff, with Kevin Duran portraying the mayor and Cole’s father. Both men are good ol’ boys mortified by the prospects of change. The Trumpian America metaphor here is thinly veiled as elder members of the town battle the inevitability of generational change, and the teens that seem to be the culprits of it. The teens — while certainly held up as the heroes — aren’t particularly respectful of the past, as shown in a hilarious sequence where the inability to drive stick-shift prevents someone’s escape from the coming clown.

    “Clown in a Cornfield” is one of those movies that doesn’t make you think. And we need those.

  • ‘Final Destination’ is so 2025

    ‘Final Destination’ is so 2025

    The United States in the year 2000 feels like a distant echo. It was the homestretch of the dot-com boom (long before tech figured out how to profit from our dopamine). Blonde highlights and low-rise jeans reigned. The bubble separating us from worldwide and domestic atrocities was still relatively thick and pliable, and media consisted mostly of TV news, radio and the good old Sunday edition. Dial-up internet was emerging as an information source, with chatrooms popping up like secret tunnels for kids to chat outside parental notice.

    There was no war, no Y2K (whew) and Destiny’s Child topped the Billboard Hot 100 with “Say My Name.” So the release of “Final Destination” — a horror movie about a group of teens that avoid certain death only to suffer it reclaiming them one by one — likely felt like just another schlocky horror exercise. Just swap out the masked man for inevitable doom itself, along with a garden variety of ways to go.

    The country receiving “Final Destination: Bloodlines” in 2025 is a different story. Horrors seemingly lurk around every corner — from the climate crisis, to systemic injustice, to unthinkably powerful AI, to the price of eggs, to brutal and divisive politics. Many of these burdens were present 25 years ago, but our relentless access to them and the inflammatory opinions around them now follow us on small screens wherever we go. Online rabbit holes drag our morale down with a video, a Google search, the first, second and third articles; tiny Rube Goldberg machines on a data plan.

    So the idea of saying something to your friends, spinning around in the street and getting turned into human soup by a speeding bus just makes sense on an existential level. Or being accidentally strangled in the shower, barbecued in a tanning bed or falling from a massive skyward restaurant due to a spoiled kid chucking a penny from it. The feeling of being stalked by an unseen horror feels so 2025.

    The most recent installment of “Final Destination” is one of the better entries in the franchise — a film about the decisions of a previous generation leading to certain doom for its descendants. Sound familiar?

    In “Bloodlines,” Iris (Brec Bassinger) attends the opening of a high-rise restaurant with her fiancé, and is killed in an epic structural collapse. This is revealed to be the violent and recurring nightmare of the college student Stefanie (Kaitlyn Santa Juana), Iris’ granddaughter. Stefanie heads back home to track down her estranged but alive grandmother, and deadly shenanigans ensue when she re-enters the mix with her family, which has to band together as death comes knocking.

    Like most horror tentpoles, these movies have a formulaic design. They start with a premonition of a disaster that kills many, a handful of characters escape the situation and because they were meant to die, death comes after them, offing them in a number of gory, grisly ways. The group thinks they’ve broken the curse, and as the final little twist, they haven’t. Picture wrap. 

    Among the usual horror movie quality factors such as memorability of the cast and quality of the kills, perhaps the factor most determinant in the success of a “Final Destination” movie is how it riffs on the formula.

    The riff in “Bloodlines” is the family component. Rather than following the order that the characters were meant to die in during the premonition — as most entries do — this one follows the characters by family tree and age, as none of them should have existed. This creates a side dish of dysfunctional family comedy. Tensions, grudges and guilt are all brought to the surface by the tragic events.

    The entire family is very well cast, particularly Richard Harmon as cousin Erik, who brims with the sarcastic confidence of a suburban man with tattoos. He is also the centerpiece of a set piece involving a nose ring, a ceiling fan and a chain. What an opportunity.

    The opening disaster sequence is the best in the franchise since the massive multi-vehicle freeway crash in “Final Destination 2.” Set in the ‘60s, the fits, tunes and decorations of the restaurant are louder than the sound of glass cracking below it. The Rube Goldberg machine is started up early, and the build to chaos is slower and more torturous than usual. When it goes down, the chaotic sequence plays out like revolving restaurant “Titanic.” But with a lot more CG carnage.

    There is no shortage of creative kills and thrills, but the show is ultimately stolen by a visibly ill Tony Todd in the second act. He reprises his roll as William Bludworth, a mythical coroner who waxes poetic about the will of death with a booming bass of a voice. He has been present in nearly every installment of “Final Destination” before passing away last year. In his last appearance as a key character in a horror franchise about death, his focus shifts to life.

    “Life is precious. Savor every second you’ve got.”

    The sudden turn to sincerity might seem abrupt to those who don’t have the context. But to those who follow this franchise, it’s a moment of real meaning in a series that doesn’t have much of it.

    Like so much IP before it, the “Final Destination” story outlives some of its cast. And a whopping $51 million of business at the opening weekend box office ensures it won’t be stopping anytime soon.

  • Nicolas Cage rides yet another visionary’s wave in ‘The Surfer’

    Nicolas Cage rides yet another visionary’s wave in ‘The Surfer’

    “Before you can surf, you must suffer.” Director Lorcan Finnegan ensures the audience does just that alongside Nicolas Cage’s titular character in “The Surfer,” a punishing but darkly funny surrealist thriller. 

    The Surfer (a character left gloriously unnamed), simply craves a surf with his teenage son on an idyllic beach. He is immediately thwarted by the locals, who have formed a territorial cult of hypermasculine, wealthy beach bros. Struggling to eat and drink in the sweltering heat, The Surfer is tormented into near madness as he tries to free his path to the waves, and salvage something lost in his life that’s bigger than his board.

    Finnegan’s allegorical tale (penned by Thomas Martin) is well-suited to Cage. His carnal and feverish performance is perfectly matched with a story about the torture of being cast out of what once came freely: an ocean, a home, a place, a life.

    Recent films like “Mandy,” “Dream Scenario,” “Longlegs” and now “The Surfer” have tapped into some of Cage’s zany, explosive onscreen abilities in new ways. He has mentioned in recent interviews that he is frequently and intentionally working with younger filmmakers who watched his work growing up. The result is a highly intentional deployment of his abilities that — in this instance — add gasoline to already blazing fire.

    Those looking for Cage meme moments will not be disappointed. The words “eat the rat” are uttered. Freakouts and meltdowns occur in perpetuity. A powerful cocktail of rich, surrealist cinema and balls-to-the-wall Cage is mixed and served.

    Finnegan uses his lead as an instrument, poking at toxic masculinity and the weird cults one has to subscribe to in order to simply exist in this world. “Don’t live here, don’t surf here” is a mantra of the exclusive bunch. Only those with affluence and the correct type of manly aura — as determined by their leader Scally — is permitted to join the group. They surf by day and party by night (and probably fit in a few Joe Rogan podcasts here and there).

    The Surfer’s hazy journey is jarring and viscerally upsetting for much of its runtime. From the opening credits, hostility reigns and confusion swells — the audience is out in the heat and the filth with its hero. As he gets further disoriented, so do we, to the point where reality itself becomes an uncertainty.

    Both a parable and an intense, at times psychedelic experience, “The Surfer” melts with influences such as Peter Weir’s “Picnic at Hanging Rock” (1965) and Frank Perry’s “The Swimmer” (1968). There is something quite contemporary too in its social observations. The rich, jacked beach bros make the rules, no matter how insufferable or unjust they might be, and the institutions gladly allow for it. But their actions have unforeseen consequences, which come to a head in a startlingly impactful conclusion.

    For Cage enthusiasts, “The Surfer” will likely be a winner. For everyone else, the beach is open and the tide is high. Feel free to ride the wave (but maybe don’t eat the rat).

  • ‘A Minecraft Movie’ and my first-person reflection on aging

    ‘A Minecraft Movie’ and my first-person reflection on aging

    I walked out of the bright Easter Sunday light and into the cool, dark comfort of my local multiplex. It was time to see “A Minecraft Movie.” Or so I decided.

    While wholesome, churchly Americans were donning bright ties and yellow dresses at the local Sunday service, I had set foot into another church of sorts: the church of Steve’s lava chicken. The church of the Piglin. The church of chicken jockey (an abundance of chicken, I would notice). But I could not know that yet. 

    Released in April, this film adapted the Swedish video game of the same name that empowered players to build structures and societies with cubelike shapes in a unique and open world. My main association with the game until this moment was occasionally watching college roommates play it in their boxers.

    My wife was conveniently working that morning — not that she would have attended in any conceivable scenario — and I found myself alone at the movies. This is normally the case. She’s more of a TV spirit. 

    As I settled into my seat with my popcorn tub, a herd of kids and their parents settled in the row behind me. I didn’t expect a large turnout given the Easter of it all, but the more the merrier. There’s nothing like sharing a film experience with the key demographic, so long as that demographic isn’t too loud (a grown man at “A Minecraft Movie” on a Sunday morning had this thought).

    Shortly after, five more filed in. Then another six. By the time the trailers were finished, the theater was probably 60 percent full.

    And we were off. Jack Black appeared onscreen to rapturous applause from the family masses. He donned the sort of beard that only two weeks of seasonal depression could buy me. And the kids were loving it. 

    It will be unsurprising to discover that I — a millennial man — very much like Jack Black. He started out as something close to the John Belushi of my generation; a tubby ball of comic lightning that was also pretty good at acting. In the later years of his career, he’s essentially become a kid’s movie star — bouncing between franchises like “Jumanji” and “Kung Foo Panda.” The fact that today’s youth were cheering for the man who punted Baxter off the bridge and starred in “School of Rock” brought me some joy.

    And then he started singing about chicken.

    As if called by their ancestors to perform a ritual in this cubic cathedral, nearly everyone in the theater sang those vibrant words:

    “L-L-L-Lava. Ch-Ch-Ch-Chicken. Steve’s lava chicken is as tasty as hell.”

    I jumped and immediately looked around behind me. Everyone was locked into this madness smiling ear to ear, singing this beyond idiotic song. Fathers, mothers, kids, their friends — all a united front watching Jack Black, Jason Momoa and the gang acting their hearts out in front a green screen. CG battles unfolded, Jennifer Coolidge started dating a robed cube man and fan service was being thrown at the screen that I didn’t remotely understand.

    A thought that wasn’t tasty as hell hit me: I’m old.

    Without the youth to tie me to “A Minecraft Movie” or children of my own to foster an introduction, I had completely missed out on…whatever this was. 

    The gray in my beard started to feel less like salt-and-pepper and more like I’d be better suited whaling. As a self-proclaimed pop-culture dork, this presented a choice. At 33 years old, I could fight this, or I could embrace it. 

    I could say “A Minecraft Movie” sucked because I couldn’t find a foothold. What unfolded before me was just out of my reach, though I must admit the film was entertaining. Everyone yelled “CHICKEN JOCKEY” and I nearly vaulted through the ceiling. Three-dimensional cubes were continuing to fight and bounce about. 

    Somewhere in the recesses of my mind, a voice called out: this isn’t meant for me.

    I once heard the advice “let people have things.” It’s something I’ve internalized over the years. As tempting as it might be to gatekeep and put “Minecraft” down, did my parents do that when I dragged them to see “Shrek?” Or “The Polar Express,” an actual nightmare come to life?  Every generation is entitled to its fun, stupid movie that hits just right. Whether it’s “Steve’s Lava Chicken” or Donkey singing “I’m a Believer” at a karaoke party.

    “A Minecraft Movie” bought the kids some joy and Jack Black another vacation home. Who can argue? It’s good to see the youth of the world out at the theater having an experience – even if it’s one that perplexes me to some degree.

    Walking out of the theater, a little back pain reminded me why perhaps I wasn’t fully in-the-know about this $1 billion box office phenomenon. But I also learned that I kind of enjoy it.

    I stepped back into the sun a new man. A man with broader borders and an accepting heart. A man who sort of knows what chicken jockey means.